A pinch of guilt sneaks into my chest. He’s right. I’m surprised by how quickly he can whiz past the whole thing, but being the professional I am, I don’t insist. Instead, I stay on topic and keep answering his questions. I can’t help but notice he doesn’t smile for the remainder of our meeting.
It’s much easier to keep my mind out of the gutter like this.
By the time I’ve emptied my second mug, we’re finally wrapping up the meeting. Will grabs his phone and stops the recording, his face completely blank. “I’ll get working on your plan today,” he says dryly before getting up. “I’ll be in touch. Take care of yourself.” He only gives me one short look before he makes his way out.
I watch him leave, and there’s suddenly nothing to distract me from the guilt, even though I can’t understand why. I’m probably one of the last people who should feel bad about revelling in Will’s discomfort.
But there’s something about seeing this proud, self-assured man with such a dead look in his eyes that makes the whole thing feel … wrong.
“It might not be what it looks like,” Mom lectures while she stirs the pan of risotto. “You can never know.” The satisfying smell of garlic and white wine wafts from the stove as she turns to me, placing a hand on her small hip. Her long white hair is gathered up in her signature messy bun, except for one stray strand curled in front of her face.
Mom called earlier today, and after I gave her a brief rundown of my situation with Rosalie, she offered to come watch Julian after she finished work at 4 p.m. as well as make dinner for the two of us. I gladly took her up on her offer, but now that I’m venting to her about Will, she’s not reacting the way I’d expected her to.
“Oh, believe me, Mom, I know,” I retort from the floor. I’m holding Julian underneath his armpits and letting him flex hislittle legs against the hardwood. “Unless you forgot who we’re talking about here?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” She tucks the curly strand of hair behind her ear and keeps stirring. “I’ll remind you that I have met this young man myself several times, you know.”
Matt and I were together for ten years. The odds of my mom and his best friend being in the house at the same time were high, so of course they bumped into each other a few times.
“Right,” I continue, “but that’s nothing compared to how well I know him.”
“You know, I think you’re too close to the situation to judge him fairly.” Mom pauses her lecture when Julian glances her way and she gives him a silly smile. “Every time I’ve met Will, I’ve only gotten good vibes from him. And vibes don’t lie.”
“Mom, no offense,” I start, “but you have terrible judgement with men.” I’m referring, of course, not only to my cheating father, but to the two following boyfriends who did the same to her afterwards.
“Bah.” She waves it off with her free hand. “You’re not reading it right, sweetie. It’s because I’ve dealt with so many assholes that I know one when I see one. And Will isn’t one.”
I roll my eyes. But there’s no use arguing about it any further with her. Suffice to say, I didn’t inherit my stubbornness from my dad.
We don’t speak of it more until after dinner when I’m breastfeeding Julian in the living room while Mom tidies the place. “I keep thinking about it,” she begins, stopping mid-motion as she’s picking up Julian’s tummy time mat. “And hear me out … is it at all possible that you’re choosing to believe Will is an asshole because there’s a chance he could actually help?”
“Ugh, Mom,” I grumble out. “I don’t doubt he can help. I just doubt that he doesn’t have ulterior motives … that he doesn’t want to fuck with me while he’s at it.”
“Why would he do that, though?”
I raise my eyebrows, confused as to how she can’t see the obvious answer. To me, at least, nothing is clearer. “Because he’s Matt’s best friend? Because he’d probably find it hilarious to make my life even more miserable than Matt did, out of solidarity for his friend?”
Mom suddenly stops and crosses her arms. Despite her tiny frame, her presence is taking up all the space in my small living room. “Sweetie, I want you to think for a moment—is there any way he behaved with you when you were with Matt that makes you believe he’d want to make your life miserable on purpose?”
I think back to the last ten years. And I’ve got to admit that, no, Will never showed any malicious intent toward me. At least, nothing that I could see. Quite the contrary, actually. He always went out of his way to be friendly and kind towards me. To include me in their inside jokes.
But I once believed Matt was kind, that he loved and respected me. And look where that got me.
It was all a facade.
So how am I supposed to believe it’s not a facade for Will, too?
A jolt of pain pierces my chest. It’s rare for the hurt to echo through me as it did when the wound was fresh. Mom saw it all firsthand. She witnessed me barely able to eat or get out of bed. If it hadn’t been for her and Avery, who came back to help care for me and the girls despite her own pregnancy, I don’t know how I would have managed.
And this is why I can hardly believe Mom can’t see what I see.
“You know,” she continues, “if you’re so worried about this, why didn’t you just ask me for help?”
Because you would have said yes.
“Mom. You’re retiring in ten years.” I leave out what’s obvious to both of us; how Dad has more retirement savingsfrom three decades of working while Mom ran the household for him, and how she gets to reap none of it. She can’t afford not to work full-time if she wants to retire. And I’d be a terrible daughter if I let her take a bunch of time off to babysit.
“Nothing’s more important to me than my kids. And grandkids,” she adds, her face now stern. “I’m the one who’s supposed to worry about you, Sophie. Not the other way around.”
