She shrugs.
"I'm just saying what we're both thinking."
"I am not thinking about Noah eating whipped cream off me!"
"You are now," Belinda says smugly.
Damn it. She's right. It's probably all I'll be able to think about all afternoon now. I force the thoughts away and focus on my fries.
"Even if I were attracted to him," I say carefully, "which I'm not saying I am—"
"But you are."
"—it wouldn't matter. I need him for the kids. I'm not about to mess that up by making things complicated."
Belinda sighs dramatically. "When was the last time you got laid, honey?"
"Mom!"
"I'm serious. You're wound so tight you're vibrating. A little stress relief would do you good."
"I don't need stress relief. I need—" I break off, frustrated. "I don't know what I need."
"You need to let someone take care of you for once," Belinda says gently. "And not just the kids. You."
That's exactly what Noah said, and for some reason, it makes me feel uncomfortable. I don't need someone to take care of me. I can take care of myself.
Last time I trusted someone to care for me, he used my heart like a rag and wiped his boots with it.
"I'm fine."
"You're running yourself into the ground, and you won't ask for help because you think that makes you weak." Belinda reaches across the desk and covers my hand with hers. Her skin is warm, her touch gentle. "But it doesn't, Rika."
I blink hard against the sudden sting of tears.
"I can't fall apart," I whisper. "If I fall apart, everything falls apart."
"Then don't fall apart. Just… lean a little."
I squeeze her hand and pull away, wiping at my eyes before any tears can fall.
"I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking." Belinda sits back, her expression brightening. "Now, about Noah's ass."
I groan and drop my head to my desk. "This conversation is over."
Belinda laughs, bright and unapologetic. "Fine, fine. I'll stop. For now."
We finish lunch in relative peace, talking about her yoga classes and the new toddler-mindfulness class she's working on. It's nice. Normal. A brief respite from the chaos of my life.
When she finally leaves, I feel a little lighter. Not much, but enough to get through the rest of the day.
At least, that's what I think until Mitchell calls.
I'm in the middle of reviewing a client's quarterly taxes when my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, see Mitchell's name, and consider ignoring it.
But I don't, because Zoe's recital is tomorrow and I've been waiting all week for Mitchell to confirm he's coming. He has to come. Hehasto. I've already reminded him three times, and he promised—actually promised—that he'd be there.
