I tell myself, "I am going to get this promotion" as I let out a loud sigh and roll my shoulders on the corner of 7^th and 43^rd. I need to clear my head before this big interview. My childhood dream – to stand amid dozens of skyscrapers in country's largest city.

Currently, I work as a project manager in northern Pennsylvania. But, with this promotion, I will be heading the entire northeast section of OutMad Advertising, centered in New York.

Walking across Broadway, I hear a familiar ring. It must be Sarah.

"Hello?"

"Are you up there yet? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be! You're going to do great!" These sentences flow continuously into the ear piece of my cell phone. She has always spoken fast when she was excited, but since finding out she is pregnant, she has made it her job to complete many tasks at once before the baby arrives in December.

"Yes. Yes. And I know."

I wanted to tell her about my stresses. My doubts. It's not the easiest thing to get a director job of a whole advertising division at 27. Maybe I'm just not as confident as a man should be, but I need this job for Sarah and our baby.

"I'm so excited for you."

Her reassurance broke my mental roller coaster for a split second. Trying to concentrate on my wife and not the busy streets of the city, I decide to take a seat on a bench outside of a bagel shop. There's something about these bagels that everyone seems to talk about. My mom would always order them to a grocery store closer to our home in New Jersey. When I met Sarah, she too began to carry the obsession. But, since the pregnancy, she doesn't seem to like her toasted onion with cream cheese as much.

"Thank you, Sarah. How's our little boy?"

"Hey! It can just as easily be a girl growing in here."

I can image her gracefully stroking her stomach as she does whenever we talk about the baby.

"Well, let's hope I sent the right sperm your way." A chuckle escaped my mouth. Sarah reciprocated.

Growing up with mostly brothers, Sarah wants to finally have more girls at home than boys. Being an only child, I can't relate to her "big family problems" as she likes to call it.

"If he or she is healthy, I will be happy" I assure her.

"You need to get to your interview!"

"I know. I know. I'm just sitting in front of a bagel store across the street from the office."

"Please, stop it with these bagels! Go over there and knock them dead! Little Hailey needs formula once she's born."

Hailey.

My mom's middle name and Sarah's sister's name. I guess it would work out if we were to have a girl.

"Alright alright, Sarah! OK, I'm about to go into the office now. I love you."

"I love you more. See you when you're running the whole northeast division."

The office feels cold and stiff. All the while, phones are ringing, potential colleagues are running in front of me, and the posters hanging on the wall catch my gaze.

"Have baby comfortable" is plastered on the middle poster of a section of cribs by the front desk. I talk to the reception lady. Being directed to wait for the boss, I am immediately drawn to the crib advertisement again. It looks so familiar.

It is the same crib from my childhood.

I slept in that bed for the first two and a half years of my life. Mine had a blue-matte finish on a pure wood surface. My bedding. Ah, the giraffes and elephants. My two favorite animals growing up.

When I was younger, I was constantly coddled by my mom. Every day when I would wake up in that crib, she would immediately pick me up and tell me how much she loved me. In that crib, I would occasionally be greeted by my father. In reality, I didn't know who he was until I was four. Notoriously, he was just the man I saw if I were to wake up in the middle of the night and my mom, by the off chance, would not come to console me. He didn't know how to hold me. He didn't rock me the way my mom did. He was distant. Always at work. I would only see him at dinner after my mom had spent the previous hour cooking.

Now I see the marketing assistant go to the reception desk asking where they could find a Peter Graham. Not wanting to seem like I was eagerly waiting (god, I'm such a girl), I sat contently across from the crib advertisements until he approached me.

"Mr. Graham?"

The man is wearing a dark blue suit with light pinstripes with his left hand reaching toward mine for a greeting. I stand while placing my palm to his.

"Yes, sir. Nice to meet you" I say while shacking his hand up and down.

"Please, follow me to Mr. Greene's office."

The office of my dreams. One that overlooks the busy streets of Times Square. The one that holds widescreens on its outside walls with visual capabilities to show our ads in real-time.

The marketing assistant leads me to the office of OutMad's head honcho- Steven Greene. I would be taking his job since he accepted an international promotion last month. Steven's office is on the corner of the building. The windows blind me with streaking light. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust.

"Mr. Greene will be here in a minute. Feel free to take a seat and wait for him." The marketing assistant exits the room leaving me to stress all by myself. Great.

The seats across the desk are made from an expensive cloth, something out of our price range when Sarah and I redecorated our house in the spring.

The seats aren't as comfortable as I thought they would be. My mom was right about how thrift shopping is the best resort to all things home décor.

There's a light knock as a blonde man enters through the doorway.

"Hello. Sorry to keep you waiting, Peter."

"No problem, sir." I stretch out my hand for a greeting. Steven pressed his palm firmly to mine.

His suit. Similar to the marketing assistants only nicer.

"So, Peter, tell me about your qualifications."

"Well, I graduated from University of Pennsylvania with a BA in marketing and a minor in communications. After graduation, I applied to OutMad's Pennsylvania group. Soon after, I was promoted to project manager for the state with close relations to the rest of the northeast region."

"Sounds good. I have some of your projects on file, and I'm very impressed."

"Thank you, sir."

"If I would want anyone to run this division, it would be you, Peter. I just want to know some background first. Tell me about your home life. Have any family up here? Kids?"

Hailey. He can't know that my mind will be somewhere other than the office in the crucial seasonal months. Steven shouldn't even be asking me these questions. I was informed when I became a boss in Pennsylvania that I couldn't ask applicants about their personal lives. I want to keep my thoughts to myself, but I also don't want Mr. Greene to change his mind on my promotion.

"Most of my family live in New Jersey, but my wife and I live in the Poconos." Maybe it's better if I don't mention that Sarah is pregnant.

"Beautiful spot for vacation."

"Yes, it's pretty spectacular."

"I have to be honest with you Peter. This job requires a lot of long nights and weekends. Are you up for that?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"Alright then. I'll call you later this evening with details on your transfer."

"Thank you, Mr. Greene. Thank you so much."

I leave the office like a giddy child.

My face is flushed. Red like a tomato. I cannot contain the pride I feel inside. I know who I need to call.

"Hi, dad, it's me, Peter," I say in an awkward manner. I always have to ensure that my dad knows who's on the other line whenever I call him.

"Oh, hi. How are you?"

"I wanted to tell you that I got that job in New York Sarah was telling you about."

"A promotion! Again? That's amazing. Boy, I can't tell you how good it feels to receive that recognition. Wait until that pay increase. After that, all the raucous seems to be worth it." My dad gave a bit of a chuckle.

"Yeah! Oh, and Sarah just got offered a promotion, too, at the school. She doesn't know if she'll take it with the baby on its way and everything."

"That's great, Pete. Look, I'm busy here. I'll call you later. Maybe we can have lunch."

"Oka..." the call ended. Classic dad.

I take the 42^nd street train station to the southern point of the city.

New York City trains all share in the collective stench of urine and crushed dreams. This time, luckily, I do not fall into either of those categories. I can sit in a stiff seat without the feeling of pure disappointment. Who would have thought that lil' ole Peter Graham could be heading the northeast division of OutMad advertising?

I should call Sarah. I might just wait until she picks me up from the Jersey bus stop. She likes in person interactions.

The next stop brought in at least two dozen more passengers. A family sat across from me. They look like tourists. Possibly a dad, mom, and a son. The son can't be older than 12. I took my first train ride when I was about his age on a family trip in New York.

The summer before seventh grade, my father took a week off from work to take my mom and I to the city. This is where my obsession with the sleepless metropolitan area started. My mom, Veronica, promised to take me on the train whenever we could.

"Veronica, trains are not a place for a boy," my dad would say.

In his mind, trains were for the poor and helpless. If he was going to have a son, he would not spend a dime on a train when I could be driven around in a car.

"Well, trains are not for Debby-downers either." This comeback made me laugh each time my mom said it.

My mom would hold my hand at all the stops to make sure I wouldn't fall.

"Veronica, he's a man. Let him get by on his own."

After that first stop on the train ride, my mom stopped holding my hand. I did not like when she held my hand but the comfort of knowing she was there was something I needed in a foreign city. She could see that I was upset.

"Don't worry, we'll stop by the best bagel shop in the city. Right by Times Square. There's a bench right outside for eating. You'll love it."

"Stop it with those goddamn bagels, Veronica" my father snapped.

I leaned over closer to my mom and whispered, "can I get the poppy seed one?"

She smiled and nodded.

My dad noticed and cleared his throat.

"Well, if you're getting bagels, why don't you pick me up a sesame seed one."

My dad kissed my mom on the forehead and gave me a pat on the head.

The family that caught my eye today are gathering their bags filled with cameras and maps together. When the train halts for its next stop, the mother reaches out to hold her son's hand. He nor the father hesitated. A kind and simple act of parenting my father couldn't seem to bear.

My stop is up next so I gather myself and approach the exit. I must catch the Jersey bus. It doesn't leave for another 18 minutes.

Walking toward the awning in front of the stop, I see a blue Sudan like mine. It starts to honk and pulls into a parking spot.

Sarah.

I rush over to greet her from the driver's side. I reach her and hold her hand as she waddles out.

"You know you shouldn't be driving this much in your condition," I tease.

"My condition? I think you forgot that it takes two to tango, mister."

We exchange giggles and a few small kisses.

"Why did you drive all the way here to get me?"

"Is it too much to think that I just wanted to see my husband?"

I say, smirking, "of course not, but let me drive home, OK?"

I help her into the passenger's side. I don't think she realizes how much she needs me. Almost five months pregnant and already hormonal, I know I should be by her side as much as I can.

"You like the new car," Sarah questioned.

"Um, yeah, I guess. I just prefer manual."

"Why on earth would anyone prefer manual?"

"That's the kind of car my dad taught me how to drive in."

It all happened the summer after my freshman year. My dad was determined to have me driving by the fall. Being a doctor in the emergency room, my dad hardly had more than a few minutes at a time to teach me, so we spent most of our sessions in the hospital's parking lot.

"Look, son, all you do it press this, hold that, and shift here."

All of the comments and gestures to different parts of the car were completely foreign to me.

"Got it?" He would ask me this every time I looked perplexed which happened to be most of the time.

"Yeah, got it." Of course I got it. Well, I got it after the three almost car accidents in the rear parking lot of the hospital. After I did my first successful loop in the parking lot, I heard the ring for my dad's pager. I knew that even a good session wouldn't last long. I parked.

"Sorry, Pete. It's the hospital. I got to run. I'll call your mom to come and pick you up."

The all too familiar wave of disappointment and loneliness ruined that day for me.

"That's so sweet that your dad taught you how to drive, sweetie," Sarah said while twirling the right side of my hair.

"Yeah. What a guy."

I pull up to our driveway looking at the gear shift to put the Sudan in park.

"Let me help you out," I say to Sarah.

Like at the train station, I lend her my hand so she can make it out of the car without losing her balance.

"You know, I'm not going to break just because I'm pregnant."

"I know, I just want to help you."

She holds onto my arm until we reach the threshold. She stops me from turning the knob.

"What's going on? Why can't I go in?" I said this as she urges my hand away from pushing open the door.

"Just hang on a second. Don't be mad, but I went through our attic when you were in New York and found a lot of our baby stuff. It's all over the house so don't trip over anything." She speaks as if she's tripped over a few things while I was at the interview.

"Why didn't you wait for me to come back? You shouldn't be doing all this lifting by yourself."

"It wasn't that heavy. I'm pregnant, not an invalid." She moves her arms from blocking the door to placing them on her hips.

"I know that, but I just want you to take it easy for the next few months."

Sarah acknowledges my comment with a subtle but very noticeable eye roll before she turns the knob to let me see the horror.

I respond, "wow, I thought we had floors when I left this morning."

Sarah gave me yet another eye roll. This time, I think she may have strained her neck a bit.

There are boxes everywhere. Some closed. Sealed tight. Others are busting out the seams. Some are empty from Sarah's apparent scavenger hunt. Focusing on not dying amid all the mess, I lose my balance from tripping over the porch rug. Sarah comes to my aid even when I didn't need it. OK, maybe I did need it but just a little bit.

I collect myself and fix my disheveled suit jacket and say, "well, what do you want to do with all of this stuff?"

"I wasn't planning to bring all of this stuff down, but I was wanting to find a little lamb my father gave me when I was little. But, after seeing your stuff, I thought maybe you would want to look through it too."

My gaze immediately goes to a box that has a quilt blanket resting on the top. The blanket from my crib. Gosh, I still love giraffes and elephants.

"My father gave this to me." I begin to snuggle with the quilted fabric. "I didn't know I kept it. I threw out a lot of the stuff my dad gave me before we moved in."

"I rarely hear you talk about having your dad around when you were a kid."

"He wasn't really around, but he did his best with work and such"

"Was it lonely?"

"Not really. I mean, he was distant, but it got better. Besides, I always had my mom to look after me."

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, Sarah's facial expression shifted. I know she feels bad about bringing up my mom even though it's been almost ten years. Sarah places her hand on the bend of me knee. I place my hand over hers.

"You're going to be just as great of a mother as she was."

Her face becomes more somber as if she's trying to stay strong for me when it should be the other way around.

"Damn, these pregnancy hormones." She tries to laugh a bit.

She goes on, "I have to tell you something."

She trails off to tell me how her OB-GYN appointment was changed from tomorrow to today. While I was in New York, she had her mom drive her across town to the doctor's office. She said that the baby was healthy. She also found out the sex of the baby. I interject.

"What? Is there a boy or a girl in there? Is it a Hailey?" I place my hand on her stomach.

"No." Sarah starts to tear up. "We're having a boy," she says as she places her hand over mine.

I hug her and kiss her stomach.

A boy. A son. Our son. My son.

The bliss didn't last long. My phone vibrates in my front pocket. I see that the caller ID is 'Greene, Steven.'

"Sorry, Sarah, I have to take this." I leave Sarah in the living room as I climb to reach the outer porch. I press 'talk' on the lower left side of my phone and pull it toward my face.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Peter. It's Steven. I wanted to confirm some information with you about the job. Are you sure you want to accept this position?"

This job. This baby. This raise. This baby boy. This promotion. My son.

I know what I have to do.

I go back into the house to see Sarah folding some of my old baby clothes.

"I think we should name him Adam. It's Polish. After your obsession with bagels." She laughs.

I don't think she knows the extent in which my obsession goes. My dream is to go to Poland just to be in the country in which bagels were invented.

"That's a great idea." I walk closer to her only stumbling 8 times over the mess that is the living room.

"What did your boss say?"

It's almost like she knew what I was going to say before I said it.

"I got the promotion."

She looks happy but hesitant.

"That's amazing."

"What's better is that I worked out to spend weekends in New York and weekdays here from home for the first year."

She looks stunned.

"How did you work that out?"

"I have my ways."

For the rest of the night, we sorted through our old childhood memories. Most of the stuff I kept were memories from my mom. I found the books she read to me that I would read to my son. I even found a few bagel shop menus. But, under everything, I found a picture of my first driving lesson—hospital parking lot and all.

Submitted as a creative piece for Seminar by the Sea – a gender studies program in Maine!