GRACE

IT DIDN’T TAKE me long to discover that a cat is a far cry from a real friend. Regardless of the fact that most of the staff was my parents’ ages, I was looking forward to starting my new job and meeting them. Maybe they had cute surfer sons they could introduce me to. That was about the extent of my expectations for how this job would help me—little did I know what it would really mean for my future.

Aida, the previous administrative assistant, met me at 8:30 to show me the ropes. For the first four hours of the day she led me around the office and introduced me to the rest of the office staff, and then explained every facet of the job, from filing and client databases to billing procedures and the computer system. By lunch my mind was swimming with terms and instructions and a ton of little details that I was positive I’d never remember. At this point I was completely convinced Mr. Williams had made a grave mistake in hiring me, and made a mental note to start looking for “Help Wanted” signs on the way home.

Salvation was met at lunch in the form of Jane Upton. A warm and jovial woman, she was the assistant for Mr. Williams Sr. and promised to help me keep my head above water. Better still was her offer to have her daughter, Missy, call me for coffee. Missy was a year older than I and had just finished getting her master’s degree out of state. I was so excited at the prospect of getting to meet someone younger than forty that it didn’t occur to me how bizarre it might be for this poor girl to be told by her mother that she had to go out with a complete stranger.

This didn’t dawn on me until later that evening. Suddenly I felt terribly embarrassed, like I was back in elementary school, the new girl in town, being asked to come over to play by girls whose mothers had forced them to ask. I hoped Jane would forget, then hoped she wouldn’t, and then the phone rang and Missy was asking if I’d like to meet her for coffee after work tomorrow. She sounded friendly, not at all like a woman being coerced, so I accepted.

We met at a coffeehouse down the street from the firm. A tall blonde with a deep tan (a description that fit most of the women I’d seen in California) sat waiting on a couch inside the café, whom I guessed correctly to be Missy. She treated me to a mocha, and all fears of uneasy conversation were put to rest when, after only a few minutes, our similarities bridged the gap of unfamiliarity. Before either of us knew it, nearly two hours had passed.

“Oh Missy, I’m so sorry; I had no idea how late it was!” I said when I realized the time. “I hope you’re not missing dinner or anything.”