“Am I?” My voice shook.
“How long have you worked here, Lily?”
“It’ll be eleven years in August.”
He nodded. “And how many people have you seen me fire?”
I couldn’t think of any, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. People came and went, and I didn’t always ask for particulars. “I don’t know.”
The corners of his mouth twitched again. “I’m not exactly Donald Trump. I’ve never fired anyone.”
Relief started to trickle down my back like perspiration. I might not be out of the woods yet, but I wasn’t losing my job today.
“What did you tell the reporter?”
“The truth. I told her you’ve been here about a decade and that we don’t keep strict nine-to-five hours. I’ve seen you eating lunch at your desk for most of this year, and if you choose to do personal projects during that break time, you’re perfectly within your rights to do so. She didn’t seem to think there was much of a story if you weren’t being fired. Pity though. All publicity is good publicity and all that.”
My mouth was open. “Are you saying it’s good that this happened?”
“Not for you, obviously. And Caryn didn’t look too happy. I assume she’s Bride A? But from where I’m standing, you just brought us a bunch of free press.”
This wasn’t even remotely how I expected the conversation to go. “We won’t lose any funding?”
He chuckled. “Over a Buzzfeed article about a blog? No. I think we’ll manage to stay afloat.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet. That’s not why I called you in today.”
“It’s not?”
“Well, the blog is. But you still have your job. If you want it.”
“If I want it?”
“I read it—before you took it down. You’re a talented writer.”
I flushed, remembering the snarkiness, the description of my drunken grandmother naked in a hot tub, the graphic depiction of squeezing myself into the foundation garments that Caryn demanded I wear, the Alex and Justin debacle. Not exactly what I wanted Santa Boss knowing about my personal life.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“Lily, I need to ask—why are you still here?” I looked up, surprised. Was he telling me to go back to my office? “Eleven years is an awfully long time to spend on something you’re not passionate about.”
Was he firing me after all?
“Look, you can work here as long as you want to,” he continued. “I’m not going to push you out. You’re great at explaining things in a way that lets non-scientists understand what we’re doing. But part of my job is to help people reach their potential, because when people are comfortable enough to experiment, that’s when amazing discoveries happen. And Lily, you’re hiding here.”
My breathing was shallow, and I was suddenly terrified that I was going to cry again. “I think you need a plan,” he said. “What do you want to be doing? Because I don’t think writing press releases about neutrinos is it.”
He stopped, and I was clearly expected to formulate some kind of response. But I didn’t know what to say. I had just been laid bare by someone I thought hardly knew my name. I spent so much time creeping past his office so he wouldn’t realize how often I was late for work, only for him to tell the Washington Post, of all things, that our hours were flexible. For him to read such intimate details of my life and somehow see through those escapades to recognize that this job was a screen I hid behind so that I wouldn’t risk failure with my own writing. Because of course young Lily hadn’t lain in bed at night with a flashlight scribbling in a diary about her future career as a public relations officer for a scientific organization. I had always wanted to write. But to actually write and put that work out into the world for people to read and reject? Yes, it was what I wanted and the blog had helped me realize that, but—
“I want to write,” I said quietly. “But—” I stopped.
“But?” he asked gently.
“I’m scared,” I whispered, not even realizing that it was true until I said it.
“Of course you are. It’s terrifying to create something that’s never existed before. But like every good scientist learns, trial and error is the only way to discovery.”
I shook my head. “I’m not a scientist though.”
He smiled kindly. “Oh yes you are.”