Simmer Down by Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant

important harassment fact for ten minutes.
    “I think I’ve got enough food out to keep everyone fed for a little while.” Josh put his arm around me, and we moved through the crowd. “Should we go hang out with Sean now?”
    “Ha-ha. Actually, I’d like to talk to Heather for a minute if you can stand being near my family.”
    “I love your family. Heather included, even if she doesn’t love me.” Josh gave me a quick kiss and went to talk to my parents while I made a beeline for my sister.
    I grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her away from Ben. “Start talking,” I ordered.
    “Don’t be mad at me, please. I just ran into Sean the other day and I thought you might like to see him again—”
    “No, you did not run into him. He told me you called him! And why would I want to see him again?”
    “I just want you to really think about getting involved with someone like Josh. Chloe, honestly, what kind of life could you have with him for the long term? He’s a chef. He’ll work long, late hours. He’ll be gone evenings, weekends, holidays. What if you two get married and have children? He’s not going to be there the way somebody like Sean would. And Josh is never going to make a lot of money. You know what most chefs make. Are you two going to live in your little condo forever?”
    I was fuming. “You are so out of line, it is incredible we are related. First of all, I am already involved with Josh, and I don’t need to think about it. I know what his career is like, and I would rather be with someone who is passionate and creative and dedicated, even if it means he isn’t at home as much, than with someone I didn’t love who works some boring, uncreative nine-to-five job,” I spat out. “How dare you, Heather? Do I look unhappy to you? Did I ask for you to decide what I want? What I need? And what have you done to Sean? Did you tell him I want to get back together? God, you are unbelievable. I’m disgusted with you.”
    Heather had tears in her eyes. Oh, no! I’d gone too far and made her cry.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am. I just want you to have what I have. But I didn’t say anything to Sean, I promise. I just told him you wouldn’t mind seeing him again, that’s all.”
    “Heather, I don’t need a goddamn picket-fence life like you have. I’m glad you are happy and have a great architect husband and great kids and a big, fat house in snooty old Brookline. Really, I am. I want a great life, too, but I might do it differently.” Especially if having Heather’s life meant getting pregnant and being hit with the notion that wearing L. L. Bean and listening to Celine Dion made you some sort of Earth Mother. “Maybe I’ll be with Josh, maybe someone else, but you have to stay out of it, okay? Please?”
    Heather nodded rather pathetically. “I will try. I promise.”
    I gave her an exasperated hug. Static came over the loudspeakers, and I turned to the front of the gallery.
    “Good evening, everyone. I’m Randolph Schmitt, and I’d like to welcome all of you to this year’s Food for Thought!”
    The distinguished-looking Randolph Schmitt was flanked by Gavin and Naomi on one side and Eliot on the other. After issuing a great many unsubtle hints about opening our wallets and donating substantial amounts of money to the Food for Thought charities, he introduced Naomi, who, he promised, would make some brief remarks about workplace harassment.
    Having evidently overcome her anxiety about being surrounded by Boston’s elite, Naomi practically leaped toward the microphone. Eliot looked so nervous that his frizzy hair seemed to pulsate with energy. He was, I assumed, appropriately afraid that Naomi would say something so bizarre that tonight’s visitors would never again enter his gallery. He did, however, manage to clap politely as Naomi seized the microphone in both hands. She immediately thanked Mr. Schmitt, Gavin, Josh, and me for our hard work. “And a special thank you