The Pyramids of Protein

Elena stared at her company laptop, the screen displaying yet another organizational chart—the latest corporate restructuring presented as some kind of innovative breakthrough. Pyramids within pyramids, each layer more removed from reality than the last. She was forty-two, and for the first time in her career, she felt the cold edge of ageism pressing against her throat like a collar too tight.

"They want me to learn padel," she said to Marcus, not looking up from the screen. "Apparently, that's where the real networking happens now. Not golf. Not drinks. Padel."

Marcus stirred something on the stove. The kitchen filled with the smell of garlic and wilting spinach. "You hate racquet sports."

"That's not the point." Elena finally closed her laptop. "The point is that I'm being invited to participate in this elaborate performance of youth and vigor, and if I don't play along, I become one of those people who 'didn't adapt to the new culture.'"

She'd seen it happen to David last month. Good at his job, reliable, but unwilling to pretend that corporate culture was anything other than theater. Now his pyramid spot had been "optimized out of existence."

Marcus dumped the spinach into a bowl, added sliced orange segments, a splash of oil. "You could just not go."

"And be the first one cut when the next restructure happens?" Elena pressed her palms against her eyes. "I have a mortgage. I have responsibilities."

Barnaby, their elderly golden retriever, padded into the kitchen and nudged her hand with his wet nose. She scratched behind his ears automatically. At least someone was happy to see her. At least someone didn't care about her networking strategies or her cultural adaptability or her position in the godforsaken pyramid.

"What if this is it?" she said quietly. "What if I spend the next fifteen years climbing these pyramids, pretending to care about padel and strategy and alignment, only to reach the top and realize there was never anything there?"

Marcus set the salad in front of her. "Then you'll have spinach salad and a dog who loves you."

She looked at the bright orange segments against the dark greens. It was beautiful, in its way. Not enough, never enough, but something real.

"I'm going to learn padel," she said. "I'm going to be the most enthusiastic padel player they've ever seen. And I'm going to keep climbing until I can afford to walk away."

Barnaby woofed softly, like he understood the compromise. Adults made them every day. Some they named. Some they ate for dinner.