Expat

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Standing outside my husband’s partner office in Barcelona, I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. After quitting my job in Richmond, Virginia, to follow my husband’s promotion to Europe, I had started tagging along on his business trips. But I didn’t want to go inside his Barcelona office, because I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and then I would have to tell the receptionist that I was the wife of Brian, which wasn’t such a bad thing to be when his company was paying for the hotel room, but still. To be known only as “the wife” was something that I was still adjusting to after always identifying with the title on my former business card.

I sent a text message to Brian and set my blue backpack on top of my suitcase. I was tourist tired, with sore legs to match my sore shoulders. And now, as I waited for my husband and his boss, I felt something else: inadequate.

Stripped of my job title, I couldn’t help but think that being just a “wife” didn’t feel important enough for someone that graduated six years ago at the top of her class. Someone, whose grades indicated that she that would beat her B-average husband to the boardroom, instead of the other way around.

Finally, Brian and his boss emerged, two men in suits carrying their suitcases and laptop bags. His boss was walking and typing on his BlackBerry at the same time. A Spanish woman walked next to them, also wearing a suit. I patted down my hair, smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from my t-shirt, and tried not to feel insignificant.

“John, this is my wife, Chantal,” said Brian, introducing me to his boss for the first time. John looked up from his BlackBerry and shook my hand and then returned to his message while I stared at the top of his shiny head.

“Katrina, this is my wife,” Brian said. “Katrina is the manager of the wind division here.”

We shook hands. Yep. Right now, my title was “wife.” Was that better than “unemployed copywriter?” I debated this in my head but either way still felt like a loser. After all, I used to travel for work too. I used to be someone other than just a wife.

“Here is your cab, it was a pleasure to have met all of you,” said Katrina, looking at John and Brian. I tried not to feel ignored.

“You want to get in the back?” said Brian as he opened the taxi door. Of course I would go in the back. I was unemployed. I’d sit anywhere if the ride was free.