Leaving The Man Who Never Chose Me

I froze.

"Yolanda just took over your project, and you go and get even out of spite?"

The breath in my chest jammed up tight and dull.

I raised my eyes slowly. "If she'd earned the project on merit, I'd have nothing to say. But she doesn't deserve it."

I set the cup down on the counter and walked straight out of the break room.

I'd just finished dabbing burn ointment on my hand when my supervisor pulled me in last minute to cover for a colleague on simultaneous interpretation. My partners, as it happened, were Greg Mann and Yolanda Swanson.

I pushed the emotion down, took the materials, and slipped into work mode.

Yolanda stood behind me, in charge of passing along the terminology notes.

The first half of the session went smoothly.

After the client rattled off a long string of technical terms, Yolanda dragged her feet and never handed over the organized notes.

My interpreting was forced to a halt.

The whole room went dead silent for a solid dozen seconds.

Greg strode up behind me and hissed under his breath, "Get up."

I didn't stand. Leaning on my own experience, I quickly smoothed out the phrasing and improvised a rough interpretation on the spot, then finished the rest without a single slip.

Once the client was seen off, only the three of us were left in the conference room.

Yolanda kept her head down and said nothing.

Greg's face was dark. "You blanked on the terminology right there in front of everyone. Since when did your skills slip this badly?" His voice was cold.

My back was still soaked in cold sweat. I tried to explain. "Yolanda didn't hand me the materials in time. I didn't have a chance to get familiar with the content—"

"Don't make excuses and pass the blame! I won't report this to management this time. One more, and you're gone."

The rest of it lodged in my throat. I couldn't get out half a word in my defense.

All his eyes could see was Yolanda getting the raw end of it. If he'd paid me even a little more attention, he'd have realized I had already submitted my resignation.

I stopped arguing and gave a small nod.

When I walked out of the building after work, Greg's voice came from behind me. "I'll give you a ride. We can grab dinner on the way."

I shook my head and turned him down.

He didn't push it. He left with Yolanda instead.

Watching the car pull away, I raised my hand for a cab, bent down and got in, and gave the driver the airport address.

On the way, I opened my contacts and deleted every last one of Greg's and Yolanda's numbers.

The next morning.

Greg passed my workstation, saw the empty seat, and frowned.

I was never late.

He looked down and opened our chat window, ready to type and ask where I was.

The words were still sitting in the message box when his department pinged him about an urgent new project, and he set the doubt aside for now.

He figured he'd use it as a chance to season Yolanda, so he put her straight in as lead interpreter.

But Yolanda kept fumbling live, her translations full of holes.

The longer Greg listened, the more agitated he got. He turned and told his assistant, "Is Lena here yet? Have her come cover this."

The assistant looked startled and reminded him quietly, "Manager Mann, Lena finished her resignation paperwork yesterday."