Page 8 of Man Flu

Rick and I look at each other. It’s the only time we have any mutual understanding for one another. Not that the divorce was my idea, but he was kind enough to make the decision for the both of us. Oh, and then he was kind enough to move in next door with his mistress.

“It’s just the way things have to be, sweetie,” Rick says to her with a loving smile.

“Can’t you just come home now?” Cora asks again, just like she does every time she sees him. She doesn’t understand what divorce means, or the whole “forever,” thing for that matter. Rick is never moving back in with me, and we will never be together as a couple again. It’s easy enough for me to understand, but still painful for Cora to comprehend.

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” Rick continues.

“It’s because you fucked Tiana, isn’t it?” Cora asks calmly and so surely, it steals every ounce of air out of my lungs. Oh, awesome. Unfortunately, Cora’s last babysitter was a tremendously horrible influence over her, and now I’m trying to bring her newfound sixteen-year-old attitude back down to one of a typical five-year-old.

I grab Cora by the arm and drag her and her cookie out the door we came in. “Thanks a lot, Hannah,” Rick says as I close the door behind us.

“Oh, you’re so welcome. You’re lucky that’s all she said.” I don’t say another word until we’re next door in our house, and I sit Cora down on the couch.

“First, we don’t say the word fu—that word. Second, thank you.”

“What does that word even mean?” Cora asks.

I inhale a slow breath of air and swallow the explanation I would like to give her instead of, “It means Tiana is a better friend to him than I am.”

“Hmm, weird,” Cora says. “Can I get up now?”

Before I answer her, she bounces off the couch and runs upstairs to her bedroom.

And … my meeting with Brett started five minutes ago.

I run upstairs to my office-loft and dial in as I start up my laptop. Of course, you need to do fifteen goddamn updates. This machine is as done as my marriage, and I need a new one. I need a lot of new things.

“Thanks for joining, Hannah,” Taylor says. “You’re only five minutes late today—it’s like a mom miracle, right?”

Something inside of me snaps when the smugness of his voice lingers in my head for a second longer than it should. “You know what, Taylor?” I spew his name as if it were the worst cuss word I’ve ever used. “Not only am I soaking wet from head to toe from the downpour I stood in for ten minutes waiting for my daughter, but then I needed to go drag her out of my ex-husband’s house. As I’m sure you know, he lives right next door to me. So, yes, I’m five minutes late today. Any other comments you’d like to start this fabulous sales meeting with?”

There’s silence on the other end of the call for a long pause. “This is our staff meeting, Hannah, so why don’t we hold our private conversations until later, okay?” Alan speaks up.

Mothertrucker. I scroll through my phone, opening my calendar to see what the hell was on the schedule for today, and yeah, of course, it’s a staff meeting. I swore it was a sales meeting.

More silence follows Alan’s lovely statement until I hear Brielle’s voice peep up. “I’ll start by introducing Logan, our new temp. He’ll be working with Hannah and me for the next few months while we hash out the new Anti-Hover-Mother segment.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Logan says.

Well, now my temp doesn’t need to wonder about my personal life because I just vomited it out to everyone on the team, including him. This is my life.