Not Ready for Mom Jeans (19 page)

Jake and I stayed up late talking with my parents. And by “stayed up late talking” I mean “drank beer and played Monopoly.”

There’s nothing like my dad drunkenly yelling, “Two hundred dollars! Passing Go is the best!”

Sara’s declaration of war continued. Late last night, she went back to her legislature and asked for more funding. She definitely received it, since she slept for around two hours last night.

Jake and I didn’t dare attempt to put her anywhere near the travel swing, for fear the heavens would open up and acid rain would wash down upon us and melt our faces off. Kind of like what happened to the Nazis in
Raiders of the Lost Ark.

After we bid farewell to my parents, Sam, and the Cottage of Which We Will Never Speak Again, we set off for another fun-filled three-hour drive. Sara was asleep when we left, so Jake and I thought we might luck out and enjoy a peaceful, quiet drive home, where we could nurse our hangovers properly.

After a half hour, she woke up and Baby Hitler appeared.

After two hours, Jake pulled the car over, silently got out, walked around to the trunk, opened it, and pulled out the travel swing. He smashed it a few times before throwing it as hard as he could into a field. He got back in the car.

Neither of us said a word.

Until forty-five minutes later when I wondered out loud if he thought we could sell Sara on eBay.

He didn’t answer.

“IS THAT A NO?” I screamed over Sara’s wails.

To recap:

Sara: cruel dictator.

Parents: dead.

Hangover: brutal.

Greg: probably well rested and tanned.

Travel swing: busted, lying in a field somewhere in northern Illinois.

Monday, May 26

I feel like total crap again today. My head is killing me, my joints are achy, and I have hideous cotton mouth. After I dropped Sara off at day-care this morning, I actually contemplated calling in sick to work and going home and sleeping for eight hours. Until I realized I’d make it all the way back home and then feel horribly guilty and have to go pick Sara up at day-care. Not to mention, I have an enormous amount of work piled on my desk and I want to leave at a reasonable hour tonight.

“Clare, are you free around two?” Christina called from her office.

“Yes,” I called back, and prayed she wouldn’t ask me to do anything that required full brain capacity.

“Great, let’s meet in my office at that time.”

Crap.

Either she was going to give me a new project or I had dropped the ball with one of my events and I was going to get an ass-reaming. I quickly tore open my event files and scoured them for any detail I might have missed, but everything seemed in place and on time.

I figured she was going to give me a new project. One that would take her ten minutes to explain and about forty hours for me to complete.

Oh joy. As though I’m not in the office enough as it is. As though I didn’t work late last week and have to race home just to see Sara before her bedtime. As though I didn’t put her into her crib and cry because I only spent fifteen minutes with her before bedtime.

Mule Face, having heard the exchange, e-mailed me,
Ooohhh, someone’s in trouble! What do you think she’s going to say????

I ignored her e-mail and pictured her in a bathing suit to make myself feel better.

At two, I walked into Christina’s office and sat down on one of the plush brown leather chairs.

“So, what’s up?” I said as I flipped open my leather binder.

“One second,” she said as she finished typing on her computer.

I gazed around her office and stared at her perfectly pressed gray worsted wool suit. Bitch. She always has the best clothes.

“OK, sorry,” she said, and took off her black Gucci frames. She swiveled in her chair to face me. “So, how’s the golf outing going?”

“Great. Everything’s going well. No snags. Should be a pretty straightforward event,” I gave her my best I-Am-So-Capable-You-Don’t-Want-to-Make-Me-Go-Crazy-by-Giving-Me-Another-Project-Do-You?

She stood up, and walked over to her office door, and closed it.

My stomach dropped a little.

“You know you’re one of my best event consultants, right?” she said.

Oh no, I’m getting fired.

But I’ve worked my ass off in this job. All of my clients love me.

I think I made a little squeaking sound.

“And we always get outstanding feedback from your clients,” she continued as she sat back down at her desk.

They’re firing me because I’m
too
good. I’m a threat.

I’m going to have to become a cage dancer to pay our bills.

Maybe Sara can get a job. What is she qualified to do? Maybe she could hire herself out as a human tornado siren.

“… an assistant,” Christina said.

I only caught the last couple of words, since I was too busy mentally revising my résumé.

“I’m sorry, what?” I said.

“You’ve taken on so many new clients and brought this company so much business that we’re offering you the opportunity to hire an assistant to help with your back-office responsibilities. To free up your time for more client interaction,” Christina finished.

“Wow, whoa, I mean thank you,” I said, dumbfounded.

“No, thank
you.
I think you do a phenomenal job and you really deserve this.” Christina leaned back in her chair and tapped a pencil against the table.

I composed myself quickly and said, “Thank you, I won’t let you down.”

I walked out of Christina’s office in a daze. In the span of ten minutes, I went from preparing myself to become a stripper to having an assistant at the most prestigious event-planning firm in the city. I nearly plowed over Mule Face, who was hovering outside the door, holding a Snickers bar. She gave me this huge fakey smile and congratulated me, having heard the entire conversation with her ear pressed to the door. I smiled sweetly at her, knowing she was
dying
inside that I’m getting an assistant and she’s not. My smile didn’t even break when she asked if it was due to some affirmative action initiative for mothers in the workplace.

As I sat back down at my desk, I thought,
This. This is what I’ve worked so hard for—recognition, accomplishment, accolades. This is why I work until it’s dark out and have to speed home to see my daughter. I kick ass at my job.

Yet even in my moment of triumph, my minute of victory, it was still hard to feel 100 percent happy. I know that with this assistant will come with greater responsibilities, longer hours, and increased expectations. No gifts come for free, and I will pay for this one with a pound of guilt.

Wednesday, May 28

The glow of my meeting with Christina still surrounds me. For as many times as I fantasize about running away, turning off my cell phone, and checking into a nice hotel, or for all the times lately that I’ve lamented about my mom’s health, her lumpectomy next month, Sara’s sleeping schedule, and my coworkers, my life really isn’t that bad.

Sure, I’m exhausted pretty much all of the time, and working full-time and having a baby means that I really have a hard time doing anything 100 percent, but I really can’t complain. And I have the option of working, not the necessity anymore. I have my own choices, my own direction—even if I’m not sure if the road I’m traveling is the right one.

Not to mention, Sara’s a pretty good baby except for blips on the radar like the Great Tooth That Almost Killed Us All. And Jake’s always willing to help out with the baby and household stuff.

So, my life really isn’t so bad. Reese’s life, on the other hand, isn’t one that I envy.

Of course, she made a certain choice by marrying Matt right out of college, but I think the idea of getting married and having a family, at the time, was more important than
who
she actually created that life with. While Grace was planned, Brendan certainly wasn’t, and Reese’s paying for it in spades.

I arrived at her house during my lunch break to drop off a gift I bought for Brendan. Before I could even knock on the door, I heard the unmistakable sound of a newborn cry.

Reese answered the door in sweatpants and a baby puke–stained T-shirt. I think it was the first time since college that I’ve seen her in her pajamas.

“Hi, oh no! Is it noon already?” She leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes.

“Tough day?” I said, and walked inside.

“You have no idea,” she said, and closed the door behind me.

I followed her into the enormous family room, decorated straight out of a Pottery Barn catalog, with white candles everywhere, huge plush couches, and tons of comfy throw pillows. Next to the television, Brendan was lying in his swing, squirming and crying.

“He just won’t stop,” she said as she picked him up. “What’s wrong, honey?” she said to him. He screamed louder and stiffened his body. “He cries anytime he’s not sleeping or eating,” she said to me as she sat down on the couch next to me.

I didn’t dare say the C word.

The C word used to mean a part of a woman’s anatomy. A word that I can’t stand.

Now, the C word is much, much more offensive.

C-O-L-I-C.

Thankfully, God didn’t curse me with a colicky child. I guess he thought getting knocked up while on the pill was funny enough.

“Do you want me to take him and give you a break?” I offered.

“No, that’s—,” she said distractedly as she yanked up her shirt and stuck her boob in his mouth. “Ah, there.” Her body relaxed and she closed her eyes for a minute.

“Where’s Grace?” I asked as I snapped my head around the room. I hoped she wasn’t playing in the kitchen with knives thanks to Reese’s sleep deprivation.

“Napping, thank the dear Lord. I had no idea having two would be this hard.” She exhaled loudly.

“I know …,” I said, and trailed off.
It probably would be easier if you had some help from that husband,
I thought. “So, a boy, huh? That’s so cool.”

“I know, one of each.” Reese’s eyes were still closed as she lay very still.

“I’m already worrying about all the stuff that comes with having a girl, like the mean girl cliques and her telling me how uncool I dress and how much I embarrass her.” I laughed.

“That’s nothing. A few months ago, I saw a five-year-old wearing eye shadow and complaining she looked fat.”

I shuddered. “I’d rather you didn’t tell me those things. At least we’ll have each other. We can raise our girls together.”

“No kidding. We can drink a bottle of wine every time they tell us they hate us.” Reese opened one eye and looked at me.

“Then we’ll become alcoholics.” I laughed.

“Before I forget, since I’d swear my IQ seeps out in my breast milk, I got you something. It’s on the kitchen table,” she said, and nodded toward the kitchen.

“Reese, what? No, are you crazy? Why did you buy me something?” I shook my head.

“For being there for me in the hospital. If you wouldn’t have been there …” She trailed off, her eyes glistening.

“You would’ve been by yourself,” I said before I could stop myself.

She looked at me and her mouth wavered for a minute, but she set it in a thin smile. “Go get it.”

I walked into her gorgeous kitchen and looked around at the cherry cabinets, granite countertops, and stainless-steel appliances that I’d drooled over many times. I picked up a green and pink–wrapped box and brought it into the family room. I opened it and inside was a beautiful light pink cashmere wrap.

“Ohhh, Reese. It’s beautiful!” I held up the soft material and rubbed it against my cheek. “You’re insane—you shouldn’t have!” I said lightly.

“Yes, I should,” she said.

“Well, now my gift is going to look stupid,” I said as I awkwardly pushed my present over to her on the couch.

“Open it for me. I don’t want to move him and risk another meltdown.” She nodded toward Baby Brendan.

I opened the present and handed it to her.

“It’s just a shorts and T-shirt set with little baby flip-flops.” I awkwardly held it up like a
Price Is Right
model.