My Boss Said, “Only One Room Left? We’re Both Adults, Right?” Single Dad Replied, I Won’t Tell A…

Shared Secrets and Vulnerable Truths

Her attempt at humor helped ease the tension. But as we walked toward room 17, I felt a strange mix of anxiety.

The room was basic but clean. It had two double beds with faded floral comforters and a small table with two chairs.

The TV had probably been state-of-the-art during the Clinton administration. The bathroom was tiny with just a shower, toilet, and sink.

“Home sweet home,” Catherine said, setting her bag on the bed. “I’m going to change out of these wet clothes.”

While she was in the bathroom, I called my sister to check on Emma. At six years old, my daughter was the center of my universe.

She was the reason I pushed myself so hard at work. After Melissa died three years ago, it had been just the two of us.

“She’s fine, Danny,” my sister assured me. “She’s already asleep. How’s the trip going?”

I lowered my voice. “We got caught in a storm and had to stop. There was only one room left, so I’m sharing with my boss.”

My sister’s laugh came through the phone. “Ooh, workplace romance in the making.”

“Very funny,” I muttered. “She’s my boss, Jen. And besides, I’m not looking for anyone.”

“It’s been three years, Danny. Melissa would want you to be happy.”

I was saved from responding by Catherine’s emergence. She had changed into yoga pants and a Northwestern University sweatshirt.

Her face was free of makeup. It was the most casual I’d ever seen her, looking younger and more approachable.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” she said, settling onto her bed with her laptop.

In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and stared. At thirty-four, I looked older than I should.

The lines around my eyes were deeper. Grief, single parenthood, and the constant pressure to provide for Emma had aged me.

When I emerged, Catherine was typing rapidly. Her face was illuminated by the screen’s blue glow.

“Working on the Denison proposal?” I asked. She nodded, saying their CMO emailed some last-minute requests.

“Want me to help?” Catherine finally looked up, studying me for a moment.

“You should rest. You’ve been driving all day.”

“I don’t mind. Two heads are better than one, right?”

A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “All right. I’ll email you what I have so far.”

For the next hour, we worked side by side. The sound of typing and rain created a strangely peaceful atmosphere.

“Can I ask you something?” Catherine said suddenly. I looked up from my screen.

“Sure.” “Why did you apply for the account manager position?”

“Your background was in creative, not sales.” The question caught me off guard.

“Honestly? The money. Account managers make better commissions, and with Emma, I needed the financial stability.”

Catherine nodded slowly. “I thought it might be something like that. You’re good with clients, Daniel.”

“But I can tell your heart isn’t in the sales pitch. You light up when talking about creative aspects.”

I felt strangely exposed. “The creative department doesn’t have the same growth potential,” I said defensively.

“Maybe not traditionally,” she conceded. “But talent always finds a way to rise.”

She closed her laptop. “I was in a similar position once, taking a job that wasn’t quite right because it seemed responsible.”

“What happened?” I asked. Catherine had always seemed like someone who had her life perfectly mapped out.

“I was miserable for three years until I finally admitted the truth. Life’s too short to do something that doesn’t fulfill you.”

“It’s not that simple when you have someone depending on you,” I said quietly. Her expression softened.

“Your daughter Emma, right? How old is she?” “Six,” I replied, unable to keep the pride from my voice.

“She’s in first grade now. Smart as a whip and twice as quick.”

“You have a picture?” I pulled up my favorite photo of Emma.

“She’s beautiful,” Catherine said, warming as she looked at the image. “She has your smile.”

“Everyone says she looks like her mom.” I felt the familiar ache in my chest.

“I can see you in her, too. In the eyes especially, there’s a determination there.”

“Stubbornness, you mean,” I laughed. “She gets that from both sides, unfortunately.”

The professional boundary between us shifted. I told Catherine about Emma’s obsession with space and her astronaut costume.

“She sounds amazing,” Catherine said. “You’re doing a great job with her, Daniel.”

“I’m trying. Some days I feel like I’m failing her completely.”

“Children don’t need perfect parents,” Catherine said gently. “They need present ones.”

“It’s hard balancing everything,” I confessed. “That’s why this trip has been so stressful with the sitter cancelling.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Catherine asked. “We could have rescheduled some of these meetings.”

“I didn’t want to seem unprofessional.” Catherine looked at me firmly.

“Having a family isn’t unprofessional. It’s life. The company has policies to support working parents.”

“It’s different for fathers,” I said. “There’s an unspoken expectation that work should still come first.”

“You’re right. There is a double standard, but it only persists if we allow it.”

“If you had come to me, I would have worked with you. I’ll try to be more upfront in the future.”