I eventually asked for help in the form of advice. I called my mother, Christy’s mother, and Susan. I didn’t mention my wandering eye, but I told them about Christy’s sex drive. I also told them about everything else she was going through, her doubts, insomnia, and mood swings.
The women were all concerned that the baby blues had lasted this long, but they all said the same things: watch her and help as much as I could, be patient and don’t get upset with her, and give her time. Things would get better, they said.
* * *
The dawn of the nineties brought another major change as Trip and I began studying in earnest for our licensing exams. They were a grueling four-day ordeal scheduled for the end of January.
Work made some allowances for senior interns in the weeks leading up to the exams, but we still had to keep up with our projects. Fortunately, we had junior interns who could pick up the slack—with careful supervision, of course.
My home life had begun to return to normal, although it wasn’t anything like the days before Laurie. I hadn’t expected parenthood to be a walk in the park, but it seemed like we’d gone through an extra-rough period.
My part had been nothing compared to Christy’s. Did we really want more kids if she was going to suffer like that? Part of me did, but another part thought the cost was too high.
Trip didn’t understand, of course. I didn’t want to make Christy sound like a basket case, but I tried to explain some of the things she’d gone through. He just shrugged them off.
“She’ll have to get used to it. Wren deals with the same thing. That’s what mothers do.”
I didn’t point out that Wren had the benefit of a nanny. And she had a job to go to, an escape from home and full-time motherhood.
“And you’re a father,” Trip added. “Suck it up.”
I fumed inside but didn’t say what I was thinking.
Trip didn’t have to worry that Wren wasn’t eating enough. He didn’t have to reassure her that she was a good mother. He didn’t have to make dinner himself so his exhausted wife could shower. He didn’t study at night so he could comfort his daughter if she needed him, just so his wife could sleep. He didn’t even have to wonder if his sex life would ever be the same again.
No, fatherhood for Trip meant playing with his son for a few minutes after work. Then he’d watch the boy while Wren made dinner. He certainly didn’t lose any sleep, since Davis was old enough to sleep through the night. He didn’t even have to do anything in the morning, because Wren got the boy ready for the day. Trip simply kissed them goodbye, and that was the last time he had to be a father until the entire cycle repeated itself in the evening.
I wanted to punch him. In the face. Repeatedly.
* * *
The licensing exam was actually a series of tests, the most difficult I’d ever taken. They covered everything I’d learned in school, everything I’d learned on the job, and hundreds of additional rules, regulations, and codes. I felt like my brain had been sucked dry afterward.
I was sure I’d passed, but I still waited in suspense for more than a month before I received a letter that confirmed it. Trip received his the following day, and we went out to celebrate. Then we applied to the Georgia state board and were licensed as architects. It was all fairly anticlimactic, especially when I realized I’d spent almost nine years of my life to get to this point.
We both received promotions and raises as well, although Trip’s was more than mine (which annoyed me). He was a rising star in the company, and his boss assigned him to manage several small projects on his own.
My own career hadn’t exactly languished, but my boss wanted to be a stock broker more than an architect. He loved to value engineer a project to the point where it hardly resembled the original design. He had zero vision and even less creativity.
Not surprisingly, he didn’t like me. That was okay, because I didn’t particularly like him. So I wasn’t the least bit surprised when he “dumped” a new assignment on my desk.
“Hughes—”
He never called me Paul. He thought he was architecture’s answer to Gordon Gekko in Wall Street. He even slicked back his hair and tried to look like Michael Douglas.
“—you’re in charge of the fresh meat.”
He meant the new first-year interns. He treated people below him like peons, which was another source of friction between us.
“HR said they’ll be finished with their paperwork after lunch,” he continued. “Find projects where they can’t do any damage.” He started to turn away but then pretended to remember something. “Oh, yeah, we’re supposed to do ‘professional development’ with them… or some shit like that. That’s your department too. Make it happen.”
“I’ll get right on it.” I smiled, but my eyes were cool. Then I wondered if I could hit him hard enough to knock him out with a single punch.
He must have seen something in my expression, because he hurried out of my office and left me to it.
I blew out my breath and rested my head in my hands. I needed to start judo again, or boxing, or even ballroom dancing—anything to work out my aggression.
Still, I spent a couple of hours reviewing all the projects on my team’s list. Then I went down to HR to collect my new crop of interns. We had four of them, a woman and three men. They were all young and nervous, except for the woman, who looked like she had a chip on her shoulder. I could understand that. Architecture was still a boys’ club in many ways.
“Hi, I’m Paul,” I said. “I’m an architect and one of the project managers here. I’ll be helping with your professional development. Let’s start with names.”
They introduced themselves.
“You remind me of my first boss,” I said to the woman, whose name was Holly. She didn’t really remind me of Diana, but it was a useful segue for what I really wanted to say.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. A woman named Diana. Best architect I ever worked with.”
Holly’s eyebrows went up.
“I was first in my class when I graduated, but she was smarter than me and a better designer. I learned a lot from her.” That much was true.
One of the guys snorted under his breath. He wore an expensive suit, had James Spader hair, and sported perfect teeth. He practically reeked of money.
“Lemme guess,” I said, a little mocking, “you never met a woman smarter’n you?”
He knew better than to step on that little land mine, so he shrugged instead.
“Well, I’m going to make an educated guess,” I said to all of them. “I’m betting that Holly has had to work harder and put up with more crap than any of you guys—”
The other two shifted uncomfortably, and Holly looked surprised. The suit rolled his eyes.
“—so I’m going to put her in charge of schedules and drafting for a new restaurant.” I added for her benefit, “It’s a small project, but you’ll have more control and input.”
She nodded.
“I have projects for the rest of you,” I said to the others, “but you’ll have to prove to me that you’re as good as Holly.”
“So… what?” the suit said. “She gets the best project because she’s a girl?”
“She’s a woman,” I said icily. “And she gets the best project because I think she can do the job. I’m not so sure about you. Architecture’s a serious business for serious people. I’ll know soon enough if you’re one of ’em or not.” I looked at the other two.
“Fine by me.”
“Yeah, sure,” the other agreed. “You’re the boss.”
I cocked an eyebrow at the suit.
“Whatever,” he said dismissively. He had a chip on his shoulder too, but it was the kind that wealthy kids and overprivileged snots developed. He thought he was better than everyone else because his parents had money.