Martha and Sarah

With sweaty palms, Martha opened her borrowed attaché case and slipped her resumé out to review it while she waited on a pew bench in the extravagant lobby. This would be her third interview that week, and her nerves were nearly frayed. She would be showing in no time, and she knew no one would hire a pregnant woman. Martha had stuttered during the second interview and had fought back tears as she walked home in defeat. On this morning, more determined than ever, she practiced her old speech exercises as she walked the 20 blocks to tackle her final chance at landing a job. Martha was so focused that two different cabs had honked and yelled at her to pay attention, and she nearly got creamed by a speeding ‘79 Chevy.

She looked up from her resumé to take in the lobby. This downtown building housed a massive financial center, but the lobby didn’t really portray business, as much as it did palace. Martha smiled at the thought of a duke lounging in his chaise at the tippy top of the building treating himself to grapes. Intricate plaster vines snaked their way up 50-foot cylindrical columns to a colorful ceiling complete with elaborate stained-glass scenes of angels and fairies dancing. It seemed like a gay old time up there, and Martha wished she could capture that for herself. But that was fantasy, and the reality of her morning was a 20-block walk to something hopeful for her and her unborn child. On this day, 50 feet up seemed much further than the 20 blocks she had traveled.

The lobby was bustling with people. Some were socializing, while some were walking briskly, all business; everyone was carrying papers. The men wore tan suits accessorized with ties in varying shades of maroon, and the women all donned pleated skirts or puffed sleeve dresses cinched at the waist complete with low heels. Martha blushed as she looked down at her black flats, the only nice shoes she owned, and her rented taupe suit she had worn all week long. She took a sniff of her armpits as discreetly as possible.

“Martha Radley?” A young lady with a six-inch-high blonde nest piled on top of her head suddenly stood before her.

Martha clenched her attaché case. “Y-yes, here. Hi.”

The young lady smiled. “Right this way.”

***

I need to be alone for a while, but my office is too visible with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls and a direct view of nearly everyone else on this floor. Why did we design it this way again? Oh right, because we’re a design firm and modern everything, yet ever-changing. As soon as we have our workspace here just right, a new trend flies past us, begging to be grasped but gone with the wind, like the money we had just spent on our most recent project. We use more resources to change our own spaces on this floor than we do on our clients’ offices. I am going to write that down on the agenda for my next team meeting. Then, I must escape.

I grab my purse and walk briskly, hoping it looks like I’m headed somewhere important so no one will stop me. My palms start to sweat as I wait for the elevator doors to open. “Elevators, take me where you will; my only request is that I’d like not to be in charge for five minutes.”

“Ms. Rad—” My assistant suddenly appears, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.

“Whatever it is, can you hold it for me for a few minutes?”

The elevator pings, and I point up to the illuminated circle like that gesture will explain to him everything he needs to know. He gives me an unsure look, then literally bites his tongue and walks away. He may curse me under his breath, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

When I step into the rectangular escape tube and the doors close, I exhale for the first time in days. After a peaceful few seconds the doors open, and the bright lobby appears before me. I float past the newly tiled 50-foot cylindrical columns and take a look up at the skylights in the ceiling that I helped redesign. A glass ceiling, the only one for miles, literally and figuratively I always like to think. As I step out into the busy city, the smells and the noise of bustling people make me feel nauseous suddenly, a nausea that has flirted with me for a few weeks now. I turn right and head to the nearest drug store.

***

“So, it says here, you were a cashier before, is that right?” the blue-eyed, mustached man said to Martha after a few minutes of small talk.

She was half-listening, half-practicing her speech patterns in her head. She took a deep breath. “Yes, I was a c-cashier. And the only reason I left that job was b-because I moved into the city. For more opportunities.”

“Ambitious, eh?” He chuckled and resembled Santa for a moment.

Martha just stared at him, not wanting to give away any more information than necessary about her reasons for moving here. Or her one big reason, really.

“I don’t blame you. Everyone moves to the city nowadays. The lights, the speed, it calls to people. You seem like a country girl yourself. But it’s not for me to judge. So, do you have an interest in finance?”

Martha gulped. He could see right through her. “I’d like to learn. I’m a quick s-study. If I could start as an assistant, I would put in 110% all the time. R-really.”

He rested his chin on his knuckles, and she wondered if he thought her to be over-eager or if he was judging her for her faults in her speech. “I do need an assistant. Mine keep getting knocked up and quitting to stay home with their babies.”

At this, a wave of nausea threatened to swallow Martha whole. She coughed into her sleeve to cover the blushing redness that surely enveloped her face.

“I’m sorry,” Mustache said. “I don’t know why I said that; I spoke out of turn. For the record, I’m happy for these ladies and their families. Only it leaves me high and dry.”

Martha just nodded and regained her composure.

“There’s something to you,” Mustache continued, and Martha wondered if he knew her secret. “I feel comfortable around you, comfortable enough to make an off-handed comment, apparently. Again, sorry about that.” He cleared his throat. “You know, that’s the kind of assistant I need: someone who can handle my faults.”

Martha smiled, feeling like she was winning. Feeling seen and heard. With a confidence she had not felt in years, she said, “Yes, that is me. I can do that.”

***

Back in my building, I slip into the lobby bathroom and head to the stall farthest from the door. I take a peek under the stalls to see if I recognize anyone’s shoes. I know all my employees’ feet, but that is a quirk I have made a mental note never to tell anyone about.

With only one pair of shoes to be seen, and an unfamiliar pair at that, I feel secluded enough to take the pregnancy test.

***

It didn’t take long for one of Martha’s new co-workers to pick up on her pregnancy. “When are you going to tell the boss?” she asked Martha while biting her nails.

“Never,” Martha shrugged. “Maybe as I start showing he’ll just think I’m eating well with my new paychecks.”

“Ha! You and I don’t make enough to buy milk and bread in the same week!”

Though that was not true, Martha did still feel wildly unprepared to bring her baby into the world and did plan never to tell her boss until it was completely obvious. She had started to borrow books from the office to study finance at night. She popped into the library when she had time and hid in corners reading about pregnancy and newborns. She almost took notes a few times but didn’t want to leave a paper trail about her big secret, which was about to be not-so-secret. Martha wanted to move up in the world and fast. She didn’t know how many weeks she had left before she might get kicked to the curb.

A few days after Martha’s conversation with her co-worker, her boss called her in to his office. “Martha, have a seat.”

She told herself this was routine but felt her throat tighten.

“Martha. I know about the baby.”

She could hardly breathe. Martha wasn’t ready for this opportunity to be taken from her. She made a mental note to distance herself from her co-worker who must have shared the news without permission.

“First of all, congratulations. I am not going to ask if you knew of your condition at the interview, as it is a moot point now. What I want to know is how long will you be staying with us, and when do I need to hire a new assistant…again?”

“Do I-I have a ch-choice?” This was the first time she had stuttered since her interview.

He looked confused. “Of course, you have a choice. I would like for you to stay, but it’s up to you.”

The air seemed to circulate in her chest again. “So, you’re not f-firing me?”

“Firing you?” He chuckled. “No, no Martha, I just kind of assumed you were leaving like all my previous assistants have, and I wanted to get a head start on the replacement process.”

“Oh. No sir, I’m not leaving. A quick maternity leave maybe, but I would like to stay indefinitely, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really,” Martha said without a stutter, and meant it.

“Well, that is great news!” His Santa face lit up. “You’ve already done a great job in your short time here; plus, I cannot bear to read another resumé for a while.”

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“And I meant it when I said congratulations. Babies are a blessing! I have two myself and four grandbabies.” He pointed to the pictures on the desk behind him and proceeded to name his family members. “And this littlest addition has got me wrapped around her finger. Her name is Sarah.”

Martha smiled at the photo of the happy, chubby-cheeked baby.

Her boss asked, “Do you have a name picked out? Sorry if that’s too forward.”

“Oh, umm, maybe Matthew for a boy.”

“And for a girl?”

With an overwhelming certainty, Martha looked at the photo and back up at her boss. “I like Sarah, actually. Yes. Sarah.”

***

I can hardly breathe. It doesn’t help that I have my face pressed to the inside of the stall door while the test looms behind me on the back of the toilet. I don’t even need to look at it to know what it says. The timer on my phone dings, jolting me upright. It’s time to take a peek.

A minute later I stumble out of the bathroom and plop down on my favorite bench in the lobby. I make a phone call. “Mom?”

“Hey Sar, what are you doing calling me? I’m in my office, you could have just come downstairs.”

“I figured you were, but I’m the lobby, and I didn’t want to waste any time… I needed to talk to you right this second.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Mom’s voice shakes a bit.

I gulp. “Well, I have news.”

“Sarah, is your assistant quitting again? You really need to be nicer to them, the turnover is--”

“Mom, no, it’s not that,” I interrupt her. “I’m…pregnant.” Silence fills the other end of the line. “Mom?”

Then, a squeal pierces my eardrum so abruptly I almost throw the phone. “Sarah Jane Radley! No, you are not!”

I stick my finger in the nearly injured ear and switch the phone to the other side. “Yes, Mom. I have the test right here. Mom, someone on your floor is going to think you’ve fallen or something. That was an epic scream!”

“Nonsense. You know my corner office is a fortress; you built it. I can’t help it if I’m excited!” We both take big exhales. “Sarah. I am so happy for you. Congratulations. Babies are a blessing!” Her excitement starts to settle in on me; tears well up, and I smile.

“Did you say you’re in the lobby? I’m coming down.”

“Okay, Mom. I’m at your bench.” I rub my hand along the recently upholstered arm rail, and I can feel the arm of the wooden pew underneath, the very pew my mom waited on, pregnant with me, when she first interviewed in this building 35 years ago. I had a hand in this upholstery project, and I almost regret covering the wood at all. But sometimes, change is good.

Mom responded, “You mean our bench. Mine, my baby’s, and her baby’s bench.”

I wipe a tear from my cheek. “Yeah, Mom. It’s ours.”