Trying to ignore an oncoming headache, I congratulate myself for taking a chance and going to Will. It didn’t kill me to ask for his help, even though it kind of felt like it in the moment. And last Sunday, when we came across him and his nephews at the park, there was even a moment where I didn’t completely despise the time I spent with him.
I even had fun.
But that doesn’t matter.
I shake off the memory of him smiling with his nephews and focus my attention back on the pages in front of me. I don’t care if I had fun for a moment. I can’t allow him further into my life than he already is. Even if his full-bellied laughter as he played with the kids sent a jolt of warmth down my spine.
The shrill ring of my cell phone slices through my hazy thoughts. I flinch and Julian stirs. Luckily, he only shifts in his sling but doesn’t wake as I reach for the cell phone on my desk. A knot forms in my stomach.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Côté?” I recognize the voice on the other end as Tiffany, the director of Heather’s daycare. My stomach squirms more. “It’s Tiff from The Learning Ladder. I’m afraid Heather has come down with a fever. We need you to pick her up as soon as possible.”
Dread builds in my chest. Great. Just what I need right now. I glance down at Julian, still sleeping soundly against me, and feel a surge of protectiveness.
“Of course,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I’m on my way.”
I hang up and try to mentally prepare for the juggling act ahead. But before I’m done getting ready to leave, the phone rings again.
This can’t be good.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Côté, Gwen’s school here. I’m sorry, but Gwen has just thrown up, the poor sweetie. She needs to be picked up immediately.”
This is a nightmare. I must be asleep.
A wave of nausea hits me, and I’m not sure if it’s in reaction to this news, or because I’m coming down with whatever has hit the girls, too. “Thank you, I’ll be right there,” I say, though what I want to do is scream into the void.
I hang up, the weight of my solitude pressing down like an unwelcome blanket of snow. This is exactly why I’m working with Will. For days like this. Right now, I still don’t know how I’m going to catch up with everything else I still need to do, but I’m hopeful that in the future, I’ll have better systems in place to keep everything running when family beckons me.
It would make all my efforts worth it.
“Okay, Sophie,” I murmur to myself, rallying my spirits as best I can. “You’ve got this. You’re Sophie motherfucking Côté.” But even as I say it, I’m not sure I believe it.
The throb in my temples intensifies, and I wince. I press a hand to my forehead, willing away the pain, but it’s stubborn. My body feels heavy, each movement sluggish and drained. I hadn’t noticed it before because I was too focused on my work.
No, not now. I can’t afford to be sick.
I try to think as quickly as I can. I don’t have much time before I need to rush and grab the girls. Mom is out of town this week on a vacation. All my friends are working. That only leaves …
I grunt as I realize what I have to do, then bring my phone back up with a shaky hand. The screen blurs for a second before I find Matthew’s number and press call. It rings and rings; hope dwindles with each hollow tone. Then his voicemail greeting washes over me.
I hang up without leaving a message, internally groaning. What’s the point?
The silence that follows is crushing. Isolation wraps its cold fingers around my heart and squeezes. Matthew showed me last week that I can’t depend on him if it’s not his time with the girls. I’m on my own.
I swipe at a tear that dares to escape, scolding myself for the moment of weakness. My girls need me.
The keys jangle in my hand as I fumble with the lock. Once inside, the air feels heavy—or maybe it’s this sickness clouding everything I perceive. In one hand I have Julian’s carrier, while my other arm holds Heather close. Her head is burrowed against my shoulder, heat rising from her tiny body. Gwen trails behind us, a ghost of her usual vibrant self.
It tears me apart that I can’t carry my oldest. She needs me just as much as the littles. And right now, I can’t give her what she needs.
“Mommy doesn’t feel so good,” I whisper, ushering them into the living room. The couch becomes our makeshift sickbay, strewn with blankets and stuffed animals.
“Water, Mommy?” Heather’s voice is a rasp; it cuts through me.
“Of course, baby.” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m splintering. I shuffle to the kitchen, each step laborious. Thecoolness of the faucet handle is a brief respite for my clammy palm. Glasses fill, one, two, three—the third for me, a desperate attempt to quell the nausea building.
