“Well, I haven’t accepted the position yet,” I tell her.
“Okay, but you’re going to. You should be happy. Why don’t you sound happy?”
“It’s complicated,” I answer, and I know my sister can tell something is wrong.
“Ellie…” she trails off. “Why haven’t you accepted the job? It’s the Redwood Hotel! This is like your dream job.”
“It’s not my dream job. It’s practically secretarial,” I say, using my bright blue plastic spoon to push a pecan around in the swirl of chocolate and caramel sauces.
“On the top floor! You’re not dealing with customers, Ellie. You’re working alongside CEOs. There is a difference, and if I had to guess, it’s a high-paying difference. I’m sure there are a lot of benefits too.”
Yeah. Benefits for him.
“I know. It’s just…” I trail off. I’m not about to tell her what happened in that office. I’m not about to tell her that the CEO of the Redwood Hotel, among others, proposed a benefits clause that includes obligatory sex. The very idea of my applying for a job like that is mortifying. No matter how powerful and wealthy and attractive my potential boss was.
“You know what I think?” she asks. It’s the question she asks when she is about to say something older-sisterly. Something where she calls me out on my shit and I have no choice but to agree with her because nine times out of ten, she’s right.
Somehow, considering the lack of details I’m giving her, I’m not so sure she’s going to be right.
“I think you are self-sabotaging because of what happened with Dylan,” she says.
“What does Dylan have to do with this?” I ask.
“Well, think about it. He used you to get higher in the company than you were. Then he cheated on you, waved it around in your face until you were humiliated enough to quit. And then you went through your little depressive slash slut era and–”
“Hang on,” I cut her off. “What slut era?”
“You do realize you went on dates, right? Not to mention the night you spent at that masquerade party.”
“I went on dates to try to forget about Dylan, yes. But I’d hardly call it a slut era.”
“Either way,” Rachel keeps going. “You are now a single mom, and you’ve been out of the corporate world of hotel work for over five years, and with Dylan waving his success around in your face, I can see how getting back out there is intimidating.”
“I’m not intimidated,” I tell her, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “It’s just…it’s an assistant job. I used to have people listening to me. Working under me. Not taking callsfor a grumpy, rich man at his giant desk. It’s not…” I trail off as my throat grows tight. “It’s not where I thought I’d be right now. I’m not…you.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asks, and I swallow hard.
“I don’t have my life together. I’m not engaged and living in a beautiful home, planning a honeymoon, and everything else. I’m a mom in an apartment living paycheck to paycheck.”
“You’re a mom,” she says. Immediately, I feel guilty. Despite not being married yet, Rachel and Chance have been trying for a baby for almost four years. “That’s saying something.”
“I’m sorry I forgot you had another appointment with the OB,” I apologize. “How did that go?”
“Well. He pretty much said IVF is our only hope at this point.”
“Oh Rache. I’m so sorry. But I mean…that means it’s still possible, right?”
“Yeah, if I happened to have thirty grand just lying around,” she mutters.
“Thirty grand?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Rachel’s voice catches in her throat. “Apparently that’s how much it costs for women like me to get to be moms,”
“Jesus, Rache,” I whisper as tears sting my eyes.
“And since we just bought the new house and the new car and with the wedding plans. I don’t think that will be happening anytime soon. So. Yeah.”
I bite my lip to hold back the tears. Meanwhile, Rachel is good at hiding all her pain as usual.
