The reboot, p.17
The Reboot, page 17
It’s going to be really strange to go back and work at my own home, especially with it being run by strangers. Why can’t everything in my life be fine at the same time? My love life is finally going well, and I have actual friends, so I guess I should’ve expected my job to end and my son to decide he wants to live with his dad.
David eyes me sideways, but doesn’t say anything. All day long, he keeps shooting me strange looks, but every question he asks has something to do with work, including a lot of questions about the resumes he’s sent me to review for my replacement, the new resort manager.
“What’s wrong with you?” David finally asks, half an hour before quitting time.
I shrug. “Nothing.”
He frowns. “Weren’t you supposed to have the day off today? Or was that tomorrow?”
“Today.” I can’t help my sigh.
“We didn’t have anything that couldn’t wait,” he says. “So why are you here?”
He may not have noticed my ragged sigh, but he definitely notices when I burst into tears. Poor David. He’s a really good guy. If Amanda hadn’t been so clearly destined for Eddy, I would’ve gotten over my ill-advised crush and encouraged that. He deserves someone good. He’s patient, calm, and supportive as I recover from my bawling and explain what’s going on.
“Abby will get it under control, I’m sure,” I say. “It’s just scary, that’s all.”
“Have you made a plan?” he asks.
“A plan?”
“About what you’d do, heaven forbid, if the court did rule for your ex?”
I can practically feel the blood draining from my face.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” David says. “But as someone with a lot of business ventures, I can tell you that the court is always a single person, and that means that no matter how good your legal representation, and no matter how solid your case, the results are always a bit of a wild card.”
Any calm I’d managed to find evaporates like spit in the Sahara.
It hits me then, after hearing David say that the court is a person. Charlie or his parents must know a judge. Through Golf. Church. Somehow, they have a contact they’re reasonably certain will take their side. I’m sure of it. Otherwise, why would he suddenly start insisting on this? How would Charlie be comfortable ignoring the court ruling and keeping Aiden if he didn’t have some kind of backroom deal?
David’s right.
I need a plan if things don’t go my way. If Abigail can’t work her miracle, what then?
“You may not want to hear this, but I’m only trying to be helpful, alright? I know you’re happy here. I know you grew up here and have friends here. You have a boyfriend too, and he seems to be making you really happy.”
Where’s he going with this?
“But if the worst happens and the court thinks it’s better for Aiden to be in California, I can give you a job there easily. A lot of my business is based out of California. I’d even offer you a substantial raise—to address the much higher cost of living, obviously.”
And now I’m bawling. Again.
“I hope that means you’re touched,” he says. “Because if I upset you again, I’m so sorry. You for sure have the job offer here, working on the ranch I’m buying from your lousy brother. Maybe it’ll all go your way, and then I’m just the jerk who upset you over nothing.”
“No, this is gratitude,” I finally manage to say. “For sure.”
I’m driving home when Holden’s mom calls. Normally, I wouldn’t pick up. My ‘friends’ from California showed me exactly how close we were when Charlie went to jail. They all, as if they were on some kind of group message or something, closed ranks and dropped me like a hot potato.
But she just saw Aiden, and she might know something helpful. I can’t afford to screen her call out of residual rage.
“Karin,” I say. “How are you?”
“I can’t believe how long it’s been since we last talked,” she says. “Aiden has grown so much. He’s taller than Holden!”
He was always taller than Holden. Her kid’s a cocktail shrimp. “I’m so glad Charlie took the time to get the boys together.”
“He’s been amazing,” Karin says. “I can’t believe you let him get away.”
Get away? “He embezzled millions of dollars.”
She laughs, like I’m making a hilarious joke. “I bet you’re wishing you’d stood by him right about now instead of believing all that nonsense.”
Nonsense? Oh my word. I’m about one inch from telling Karin just how I really feel about her, so it’s probably better to change the subject. “So what did the boys do?”
“Yesterday?” she asks. “Or today?”
Why’s Aiden playing with Holden so much? Something weird is definitely going on. “You saw him yesterday and today?”
“I watched them while Charles went to another fundraiser. Your ex has just been absolutely indispensable for Spencer, you know.”
He’s a politician. I almost forgot about that. Last I checked, he was just an assemblyman. “Is his term almost up?”
“He’s running for mayor soon,” she says. “And based on current polling, we think he’ll be a lock. People just love him.”
Which still doesn’t explain. . .
“And Charles and his parents and their friends have set up a dozen different fundraisers already. It’s an absolute crime, but the political party hardly provides them anything these days. They have to come up with all their own campaign money, at least at this stage.”
“Wow, I had no idea Charlie even had an interest in politics.”
“Neither did we,” she says, “but we bumped into him at the movie theater, of all places. My brother was with us, and we all had gone to see that ghastly cartoon—you know, the one with the flying dogs?”
Luckily, I don’t know. “Your brother.” Something about him’s familiar, but I can’t place quite what. “Have I met your brother?”
“He’s almost never around,” she says. “Judges just don’t have much free time. Between their full dockets and handling administrative things, they practically work him to the bone. But he just loves it. I don’t get it.”
There it is.
“Well, anyway, I just wanted to say how delighted I was that Aiden plans to come back. School hasn’t been the same for Holden without him.”
I grit my teeth.
“When things start up again, we really need to get together. With the number of ladies buzzing around Charles, if you don’t act quickly, you may lose him for good.”
If I were the Hulk, I’d be shredding my clothing and the interior of my car as I smashed the phone to bits. But the devil inside of me stays tucked right where it belongs. My hand’s not green. Not even my eyes change, judging by the reflection in my rearview mirror. “When I get back, you’ll be the first person I call. Thanks so much for filling me in,” I say.
“Of course, girl. I mean, my husband is all Team Charles, but I’ve always had your back.”
Yeah, just like Judas Iscariot had big J’s back. “That means so much.”
“We should make shirts to wear to PTO events.” She’s practically gushing. “Oh, what an amazing idea! I wonder what lettering we should use. Team Donna. And I’m not the only one, I swear. All the moms are pulling for you.”
“Really?”
“Well, all the married ones, anyway.” She giggles then.
If I did have to relocate back to California, the only thing worse than dealing with all the PTO moms would be seeing Charlie all the time.
I wouldn’t even have Will around to support me.
That thought has me pulling over to the side of the road to practice breathing techniques I haven’t used since Aiden’s birth. Why does my life always go like this? Normal people don’t have to make these choices, do they? Because if things don’t go my way, the only path left to me that has Aiden in my life every day will require me to move to California.
And my boyfriend runs a ranch, so he can’t follow me there.
Which means, if I can’t figure out how to stop this runaway train, I may soon have to choose between Will and Aiden. I already know who I’ll pick if it comes to it.
It’s the first time in my life that I’ve really regretted being a mother.
16
Abigail
The first time I ever set eyes on an ultrasound machine, I swear, the imaging of the fetus looked like a blob. The tech pointed out Ethan’s arms, and I could make those out. But when she started pointing out other things—heart, lungs, bladder—I was lying when I nodded along and said, “Oh. Neat.”
And when they started talking about the gender?
Yeah. I definitely saw nothing that would tell me male or female. I didn’t have a lot of confidence that Ethan wasn’t really going to be Elena instead.
But they were right.
After four babies, I got a little better at making sense of what I was seeing. And today, the guy holding my hand for this ultrasound is trained in reading them. He looks positively radiant about the images on the screen.
“Your estimate and ours line up perfectly,” the tech says. “In fact, you’re only one day off from our projected due date.”
“How does it look?” Steve asks. “Are the sizes all where they should be?”
“Well, at sixteen weeks and five days, the head is supposed to be. . .” He clicks and moves the mouse, and then he clicks more. “Yep, right on.”
Steve’s beaming. He almost hasn’t stopped beaming since I told him over the weekend. He must’ve pulled some major strings to get us in for an ultrasound this fast.
“What about the gender?” His look’s almost sly. “We don’t want to wait to find out.”
“Are you sure?” The tech taps the screen. “Because I’m not really supposed to tell you. The radiologist will read it, and then—”
“Oh, please.” Steve rolls his eyes. “You know already.”
Flattery is absolutely the best way with this guy, I can already tell. “I mean, when you’ve done this for a certain number of years—”
“It’s a boy,” I say.
Both their jaws drop.
“It’s not my first ultrasound either,” I say. “And it’s not my first boy.”
“Wow,” the tech says. “The mother almost never notices on her own, but yes. She’s right. It’s most definitely a boy. Either that, or he’s growing a third leg.”
I try not to let my cringe over his joke show on my face. He’s really trying to be a friendly guy, and I appreciate it. “Let’s hope it’s not a third leg.”
“That’s my boy,” Steve says.
“Oh, for the love—”
Both the guys are laughing so hard, I don’t think they even noticed the OB came in. “I’m assuming the ultrasound looks pretty decent?”
“Nothing concerning I saw,” the tech says.
“Great. Let’s head back to an exam room, and I’ll complete my exam. I like for all the mothers to get a pelvic and—”
“I have a meeting, actually,” I say. There’s no way I’m about to let her do a breast exam, and if she’s insisting on a pelvic, that could definitely be next. “This whole thing was amazing—that you could get us in so quickly. You have no idea how much we appreciate it. But if we could shift whatever else we need today to the next appointment, that would be amazing.”
“Oh.” The OB frowns, but she doesn’t argue further. “Well, I do have plenty of other patients waiting, since I squeezed you in.”
“Yeah, see?” I pull my shirt back down over my barely-there belly and button my pants. Then I stand up. “We so appreciate it, but we don’t want to impose even more.”
“Alright,” Steve says. “The front desk can hopefully find us another time, and we’ll get all those Ts crossed then.”
“Perfect.” She extends her hand. “So nice to meet you, and congratulations.”
“There’s not a better obstetrician this side of the country,” Steve says. “The hospital was pretty delighted when she transferred out here. Dr. Heaps actually ran the maternal-fetal medicine program in Seattle for a decade before coming out here to be near her parents. We’re darn lucky to have a perinatologist at all, much less one of her caliber.”
“I’ve had four easy pregnancies in the past,” I say.
“But now that you’re over forty,” Dr. Heaps says, “we just want to keep a little bit closer eye.”
Great. I’m like a banana that’s too spotty—any little anomaly and everyone worries. If they want to wrap me in bubble wrap now, imagine if I told them about my lump. I feel better and better about my decision to hold off on saying anything.
Unfortunately, the lie I concocted about a meeting means I have to drive right over to the office the second we get back. It’s especially unfortunate because I feel sick as a dog and really just want to lie down and sleep.
Instead, I force myself to work through the pile of misery that’s always waiting for me. The first few briefs I wrote were almost exciting. I felt like I would make a difference in the world. But somewhere between then and now. . .the magic all went out of it. I suppose that’s how most jobs are.
I’m finalizing the inventory for the Eugene estate for the five millionth time when the door to my office jingles.
“Hello?”
The only sound I hear is a bit of shuffling in the front room.
I’m not at all big yet, but for some reason, it already feels hard to stand up. I ignore my aching feet and creaking knees and hop up and walk through the back door into the front room.
Coincidentally, it’s Mr. Fred Eugene, my cute-as-a-shar-pei client. I haven’t seen him in a while. Mostly his fiancée, Brooke Dailey, calls or comes by on his behalf.
“I was just finalizing your inventory with the updated valuation. I think the court will finally approve it, and we can be done. What can I do for you?”
Mr. Eugene grimaces. “The thing is. . .”
I duck my head a bit, hoping to get a better view of his face. “Is everything alright?”
He glances up at me and then quickly looks back down again.
“Why don’t we go to my office?”
He follows me slowly, and I honestly worry that he may be having a stroke or something. I watch him carefully, one of my hands ready to whip out my phone and call Steve.
“Here, please take a seat.” I perch on the edge of my desk, because standing for long periods of time leaves me a little unsteady right now. I’ve always had way less energy in the first part of pregnancy, and this one’s no exception.
He collapses onto one of my wingback chairs, and finally he looks up at me. “Can you draft a prenup, and then tell my fiancée that you’re insisting on it?”
I couldn’t be more shocked if he told me his first wife was back from the dead. He always seems so happy with her. “A prenup?” I wonder whether he really knows what he’s asking. “Why do you want one?”
“Don’t they tell the person you’re marrying that they can’t have any of your money?”
Or. . .maybe he totally gets it. “That’s a common misconception,” I say. “Entering into a marriage is basically a contract. You’re joining two people as one, legally, for a lot of things. So the prenuptial agreement can literally cover any aspect of that agreement. It certainly can say that she can’t have any of your money. Is that really what you want to do?”
He swallows slowly. “I’m a little nervous that she only wants to marry me to get my first wife’s money.”
I’m very proud of myself for not reacting to that obscenely obtuse comment. Once, when Ethan was very small, he hopped on Nate’s treadmill and turned it on. He was flung off onto the ground, and afterward, he said, “I shouldn’t have done that.” I managed to keep a straight face then too, but it was just as funny a statement.
“She’s just so much younger than me, and sometimes she acts like she really loves me, but other times she seems. . .frustrated with me.”
“Aren’t you getting married in like a week?”
He sighs. “Is it too late? Does it have to be done a month before or something?”
I shake my head. “You could do it an hour before and that would be fine, but these kinds of things often cause fights. You should be prepared for that.”
“Well, that’s why I want you to be the one insisting on it.” He looks so hopeful, so pathetically hopeful.
“Mr. Eugene, I can’t make you ask for anything like this. She’d immediately know it wasn’t me, or if she didn’t understand, she’d insist that you fire me.” I clasp my hands together so I have something to focus on. “Couldn’t you just be honest with her? Ask her outright whether she really loves you?”
He sighs. “It’s hard to be honest with someone you love. Sometimes your love blinds you.”
“But if you can’t talk to her, if you can’t be honest, and if you can’t trust her—” I was about to say, why are you with her? But then I think about me and Steve. I love him so much, and I love this little baby, too. But I’m afraid that if I’m honest with Steve, it may harm the baby.
And our relationship.
Maybe things aren’t as easy or as clear as I wish they were.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll draw up a prenup, and I’ll tell her we found a letter from your dearly departed wife saying she wanted you to get a prenup if you ever remarried. How’s that?”
His eyes light up. “That’s perfect!”
“What are you hoping will happen with this?” I need to know, if only to be sure how to draft it.
“I want her to look at the prenup and say, ‘I’ll sign anything. I just love you so much! Who cares whether I get money.’ But I’m afraid that if there’s a prenup, she’ll just walk away.”
“So it’s a test?”
He thinks for a moment. “I suppose it is.”
Let’s hope she’s not smart enough to see that coming and call his bluff. “If she agrees to sign, will you make her do it?”
