“I see,” Will replies. “Hmm … so, it seems like my schedule is pretty packed for the upcoming weeks.”
My stomach twists itself in knots, and my jaw hangs open. “What?”
“Yeah. I’m in pretty high demand—what can I say?” He’s speaking in an exaggerated tone. I’m not sure if he’s playing around with me or if he’s serious. “But maybe if you ask nicely, I can move things around and fit you in.”
What I’d like to tell him isI’ll see about fitting my fist in your face,but I swallow those words and clench my teeth.
He wants me to beg for it.
My heart starts to race and a bead of perspiration forms at my hairline. I don’t know what else I expected. Of course he’s not going to make this easy for me. I breathe through my nose and exhale the anger—or at least try to. But it doesn’t make much of a difference.
“Will,” I begin, trying my best not to scream, “will you help me with my business … please?”
“Hmm.” I don’t particularly enjoy how suave his hum sounds over the phone. “Sophie, it would be a pleasure for me to help you. Now … was that so hard?”
Heat rushes through my face again. “Don’t push it,” I say through gritted teeth. “So how will this work? I assume I have to sign some documents? When should I expect the bill?”
“I’ll let Rob handle that stuff,” Will explains. “No need to worry. My goal is to get you where you want to be. Speaking of which, we’ll need to have our kick-off meeting so I can get what I need to establish a plan for you. Are you available …” There’s movement on the other end of the phone. “… this Friday at 1 p.m.?”
I glance at Julian, who’s still happily playing with his toys on his mat. If I can get another spot at thehalte, that’ll work. If I can’t, then I’ll have to resort to asking Mom for help. “Sure.” A strong need arises within me to gain back at least some semblance of control over this situation. “But I pick the place.”
“Of course. That won’t be a problem. This is your project. I’ll send the invite to your business email and you can update it with the details.”
“Great.”
“Great. I’ll see you on Friday, then, Sophie. And thank you for trusting me.” He hangs up before I can.
I hang up, pressing the phone to my chest. Is it just my imagination, or did I hear sincerity in this voice? He sounded genuinely thankful. In fact, as soon as he agreed to help, his entire tone changed.
Well, maybe heisthankful in his own twisted way. Maybe this is his sick way of getting off on some sort of power trip. I can only imagine how satisfied he must feel knowing that I basically begged for his help.
But it can’t be as nearly satisfying as it felt to watch me stay blissfully unaware for months about Matthew’s infidelity. How superior he must have felt. I can almost hear the words he must have been thinking during all those months Matt was cheating:I know something you don’t.I have knowledge that could destroy your entire life in the palm of my hands.
I shake my head to rid myself of the image of Will’s mocking face in my head and bend over to pick up Julian, who lets out a satisfied coo when I hold him close. For a moment, I only focus on him, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. I close my eyes and feel a singular tear roll down my flushed cheek.
“Thank God I have you,” I whisper to my son with my eyes shut. It’s all so much, all at once. The weight of everything I have to do today—and every single day until further notice—presses down on me like I’m deep in the ocean’s abyss, my entire being threatening to snap under the pressure.
For the last year, I’ve been on a never-ending Ferris wheel, and it seems like there’s no stopping in sight. Yes, motherhood makes time pass by in a blur, but it’s been so much worse sinceMatt and I split. Now the days melt into each other, leaving me with too much to do and too little time, suffocating me with all the responsibility weighing on my shoulders. And the repetition of it all is eroding my spirit, little by little, smoothing down the edges that give me … well, my edge.
When Matthew and I were together, it wasn’t so bad because I had someone along for the ride. Another grown-up trudging through the drudgery that’s required to make a household run. And even during the periods when the girls were babies, and I could barely function as a human being, Avery was here.
Unlike some of my other friends, Avery never made me feel like I was ‘too much’ when I brought the girls to an outing. She also always went out of her way to adapt her plans to make them child-friendly, even though I never asked her to. Not a single time.
Because I didn’t have to.
This time around, it’s different. The time I spend with other grown-ups is for work, and even though these moments light me up, it’s not the same. I can’t even remember the last time I hung out with a friend, except when Avery visited last week. That’s the worst part of it. Avery doesn’t even live in the same country anymore. Right now, she and Logan are in Singapore, and it still seems like I get to spend more time with her than with the friends in my city. It’s ridiculous.
But there’s no use lamenting over this. The more time I spend feeling sorry for myself, the less time I’ll have to tackle my to-do list.
I spend the rest of the day catching up on work that Rosalie should have been doing—although, it’s a slog since I need to take a break from time to time to entertain Julian. Even though I do babywearing for most of the day, it’s not enough at this age anymore. He needs more stimulation than just being stuck against my chest for hours at a time.
By the time I need to make dinner for myself, I’ve managed to do the minimum amount of work required to not fall behind on the projects Rosalie was handling. But I didn’t get around to doing any of the marketing or prospecting tasks that were on my plate. Although that shouldn’t be too much of an issue, since we’ll be fixing that once I start working with Will.
I frown, chastising myself for putting too much hope on Will. I shouldn’t put all my eggs in one basket. But by now, I’m completely drained, and there’s no chance I can get anything else done without completely butchering it.
As I’m in the middle of cooking myself dinner—acorn squash soup—with Julian held against me in a sling, my phone vibrates against the counter. I drop the chef’s knife and check who it’s from.
My shoulders relax when I see it’s from Tania. I could really use a friend right now.
