She is he

The day after the new year, my family of three visited Grandma’s house for a gathering.

I had just settled into my seat when I received a text from my cousin, Leslie Bolton:

[Allison, I just sent my proposal to your email. Please, review it, I’m begging you! Whether I keep my job or not depends entirely on this!]

Leslie worked in a design agency. Her company was struggling financially and planned to lay off employees. The company used the collaboration with us to make the staff compete—whoever’s proposal was selected would stay.

A day before New Year's Eve, her colleagues had already submitted their proposals, but Leslie hadn’t finished hers. Determined to outshine everyone with a perfect design, she had worked nonstop for over a month, surviving on just two hours of sleep per night.

However, one of my business partners had already found a proposal he liked and saw no need for further discussion. It was only after my repeated pleas that he reluctantly agreed to give Leslie a chance.

Still, he made it clear that meeting deadlines was also a test of competence. To be fair to the other entries, the proposal had to be submitted by 8 p.m. sharp. There were no exceptions.

I had reminded Leslie multiple times to send her proposal in as soon as possible, yet after waiting the entire day, she had only just sent it.

It was already 7:45 p.m.

In our work group chat, my two other partners were growing impatient. One of them even grumbled that if it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have wasted their holidays working overtime.

I quickly forwarded Leslie’s proposal to the group. At the very least, I had done my part for her.

Just as I thought everything was finally under control, a red exclamation mark popped up on my screen.

There was no internet connection. The file had failed to send.

I looked up and saw Aunt Mary’s ten-year-old son, Ben holding the unplugged internet cable, making faces at me.

Suppressing my frustration, I said to him, “Stop messing around, Ben. Plug it back in."

Just then, Aunt Mary’s voice rang out, sharp and indignant. “Why are you yelling at a child, Allison?"

The entire family turned to stare at me.

I was baffled and laughed helplessly.

"I wasn’t yelling. I just asked him to reconnect the cable," I explained.

Aunt Mary dusted off the nutshells from her palm and eyed me with disdain.

"Working overtime during holiday—just how ‘busy’ are you? Even your uncle, who runs a whole supermarket, isn’t this busy! Who are you trying to impress?"

I checked the time—only twelve minutes left. I couldn’t afford to argue, so I decided to send the file from my phone instead.

But before I could, Aunt Mary snatched my phone away.

"I’m talking to you, and you're staring at your phone? I can’t stand you young people! It’s the new year, and instead of talking to family, you pretend to be busy on your phone just to avoid us.

“So pretentious! Do you really think you’re some big shot? You’re just another underpaid office drone making three thousand a month!"