by Lindsey Hart
If I tell him, he’ll feel kind of responsible for raising a baby, and by kind of responsible, I mean financially. Maybe he’ll think he should do the token minimum and be in the kid’s life, but I don’t want that for my baby. So this was a surprise. So I’ve only truly known about it for a few minutes. So my cheeks are wet with tears, my whole body is trembling, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. But I still want this baby. The horror I felt the minute I saw two blue lines appear on the plastic stick was rivaled only by how much love I felt a second after—a heck of a lot of it.
I have no idea how I’ll raise a baby alone. I’m not ready. I had no plans for this. But I know I’ll make it work, whatever it takes. I never felt like I was number one or two or even three or four in my parent’s life. I know they love me. I know they must because they took care of me the best they could, but I also know they brushed me off whenever possible. Family vacations weren’t a thing because to them, vacation meant them going somewhere nice and me going to Granny’s. But going to Granny’s was the best time of my life. She was always there for me in ways they weren’t. She always got me, and she always made me know there was nothing I could do that would make her not love me. She was the mom my mom just never could be. Not that I’m not grateful to my parents or that I don’t love them. Because I do, and I know they love me too, but it just wasn’t the way Granny loved me. The way she loves me still. Or the way I love her. With her, I was always just accepted unconditionally. I felt like she was my kindred spirit or whatever. I was an old soul, and she was young at heart, and we just fit.
I want to love this baby the way she loved me. I don’t want my child to grow up knowing one of his or her parents doesn’t love him or her and didn’t really want him or her. I don’t want him or her to have a father who is just in it out of obligation. I don’t want him or her to feel like I often did growing up.
Like I was a mistake. Like my parents never meant to have me. I know I was a surprise too. They never had any more kids because they never wanted kids. They did try to explain it to me in nicer terms whenever I asked for a brother or sister. They said they were too busy with their jobs, and that they wanted to focus on their careers. It was better when I was older and could look after myself. They didn’t want to go back to diapers and sleepless nights. They were happy with our life as we were.
I very slowly peel myself off the floor. I throw the pregnancy test in the trash can, wash my hands and my face, and exit the bathroom.
I can hear Granny moving above me. She’s singing something soft, and even though I can’t hear the words, it’s comforting. The scent of cookies drifts down to me, and I imagine going upstairs and curling into Granny’s warm arms the way I have since I was a child. I imagine her taking away the hurt at the thought of quitting my job and never seeing Philippe again. Yes, it does sting. Yes, somehow, along the way, I guess I developed some sort of feelings. Yes, they might be the opposite of hate. And yes, they might even be close to something tender. I want her to take away the uncertainty of not having a job, of bringing a new life into the world.
I just want her to tell me that everything is going to be okay.
I know no matter how disappointed, stunned, or even angry she might be, in the end, she will. She loves me. She’s my hero, my role model. And she’s the strongest, sweetest, most amazing lady in the entire world. She taught me how to be brave, how to be kind. She gave me her wisdom and her strength, and she loved me. Always.
I know no matter how hard or rough things get, everything will be okay. It always has been before. And it will be again. Even if my heart feels a little bit broken, Granny will show me how to knit it back together again. At least, I hope so.
CHAPTER 16
Philippe
Though it’s up for debate, I’m not actually an idiot.
I know that not everything is right between Sutton and me. I can’t just turn off what happened a month ago at Jennifer’s wedding. I can’t just shut off the fact that Sutton isn’t just an admin assistant. I want her to be more, but I don’t know how to tell her. I’m pretty sure she’s done with being a fake girlfriend and done with doing things she shouldn’t have done with me because I am who I am, and she is who she is, and never the twain shall meet.
I wasn’t blind to the fact that there was this undercurrent between us. Not regret, exactly, but it was strained. It wasn’t hopeful because neither of us knew how to hope. I didn’t know what to do with my attraction, with my feelings. I was stuck between feeling them and admitting it. Not just because I was afraid of rejection, which I was, but also because we work together, and I’m supposed to be setting an example. I feel like I’m under a microscope here, and banging my secretary isn’t something I’m proud of.
I wouldn’t exactly call what I feel pride. It’s more like I enjoyed myself. I felt connected. I felt something real.
On Monday morning, I roll into my office early since I want to look over the reports—I had Sutton working on them late Friday afternoon—just to make sure there aren’t any errors that can be pointed out to me in the middle of a meeting again. I know I overreacted about it the last time, and I know it’s my job to make sure these reports get put out correctly, so I’m going to do it.
I find Sutton’s email sitting in my inbox. She sent it late Friday night. I feel a twinge of guilt when I realize it came in at just after eight. She was in the office at eight at night. Still. While I wasn’t doing my reports. I know I need to delegate and all that, and this is part of that, but I still feel bad about it. She doesn’t get paid for those extra hours. She never has. She puts them in because she cares.
I click on the email and start reading.
To say it’s not what I expected is a massive understatement.
Philippe,
First of all, I know you’re probably going to be pissed about this, so before you even go and get mad, please consider that I had to do this. For me. Because it was the right thing to do. Because I needed to do it. I used to think you were a selfish asshole, but now I know that’s not true. I actually think you could be a pretty nice guy if you tried.
I worked late on Friday to finish these reports for you, but I also packed up my office. I know if I talked to you about it before I did it, you would think of a million reasons why I shouldn’t quit, and you’d eventually convince me to stay. I couldn’t. I think you know why I couldn’t. Please believe this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. You didn’t make me feel like I had to leave or quit or anything. You were always professional. You acted like a grown-up, and I really do thank you for that.
Please don’t come to my house. Please don’t come to try and convince me to come back. I know it’s not that hard to find an admin assistant. I actually think Cherry at reception would do a great job. Or hire someone with more experience. Either way, it won’t be hard to grasp the workload. I actually made an instruction manual with many of the processes and procedures. I’ve been working on it since I started, so it’s pretty comprehensive. Mostly, I did it for myself, so I wouldn’t forget something and look like a moron when it counted, but it should actually help whoever takes my position next.
Please don’t call me. I actually have a new number now, and I won’t be checking my work email since it’s no longer my property. My office is completely clean too. Thank you for everything. This really was my decision and something I needed to do in order to move on and make myself happy. I have nothing but respect for you, and I promise I won’t write any more horrible things about you in any kind of journal anywhere.
Thank you for respecting my wishes and my privacy in this. And in all the other stuff too.
Oh, and if you keep working at it while being a little less grumpy, you could actually be a great boss. For everyone. You already kind of are, minus the bad attitude you have at times. Stop trying to be your dad. Your dad created and grew the company. And you’re his son. You’re Philippe, and no matter what, I’m sure he’d be proud of you.
Your friend,
Sutton Sethford
Your friend! Your friend! What kind of way is that to sign off an email?! We’re not friends. We’re not…well, we’re not enemies. But we’re not what I want to be either.
Did Sutton leave because she felt the same, and she was sure I didn’t because I was too stupid and scared to tell her what that night meant to me? Did Sutton pack up and leave because she thought she’d never mean anything, and it was impossible to work with me and pretend like it never happened? Did she have feelings for me? Or did she just get a better offer somewhere else, and this was her way of trying to let me down gently? Did she move on because she was sick and tired of dealing with me? It’s just so weird that she would suddenly clean out her office and disappear. She’d obviously been thinking about this for a while.
I shut my laptop and lean back in my chair. She told me not to come to her house, not to look for her. Is that code for don’t bother me, I don’t want to see you again, you asshole, or was it because she didn’t think she could bear it because she was hurt over what happened?
The more I think about it, the more likely it seems like she does have feelings for me. Some kind of feelings, at least. I’m not sure what they are, where they begin, where they stop, or how to define them, but it seems very likely that she couldn’t take working with me, thinking I wanted everything to be normal like that night at the hotel never happened. Like I didn’t care. A person doesn’t just leave unless something becomes unbearable. Sutton could take me and bear with me for all those years. Three. Years. She never once even threatened to quit. And now she suddenly just up and disappears?
Yes. She has to have some sort of feelings. I hurt her. I acted like I didn’t care. The truth is, I do. But I’m scared. I’m scared of putting myself out there. Of letting someone in. Someone to see the real me even though she already has. I’m scared because I did let her in. She saw me. That night meant something. No, it meant everything. But I thought it was better for both of us if we pretended it didn’t, because of our work relationship. I was too worried about becoming a massive cliché and hurting her in the process because of what people would say. I never thought about what it was like for her, or about the consequences. I never thought she’d walk out because she was hurt and needed to nurse those wounds and move on somewhere else.
I don’t know what I thought, actually, because I wasn’t thinking properly, but that’s over. For the first time in a very long time, maybe ever, I’m thinking clearly.
This isn’t about me. It’s not about me getting Sutton back because I need a good assistant or because I want her. This is about me making sure she’s okay. If I have to admit how I feel, I’ll gladly do it. Even if I put it all out there and she still tells me to take a hike, I guess I can live with it as long as I know she’s going to be okay. I can’t live with not knowing. The damage. The pain. The ache. The hurt. The grief. I can’t take knowing I put scars on her perfect, wonderful, and beautiful heart.
It occurs to me, as I’m driving over to Sutton’s house, that I’m doing the exact thing she asked me not to do. I know it’s rude, assumptive, and borderline egotistical to assume I can just knock on her door and…and do what?
I use the miles between the office and Sutton’s grandma’s house to figure it out.
What exactly can I say?
I didn’t give you any cause to hope I might feel the same because everyone knows I’m a massive dick.
About my massive dick…uh, I hope you don’t feel it was better that I never—uh—stuck it in you.
About all of it, I’m sorry I pretended like it never happened. I honestly didn’t think that, and I wasn’t trying to erase you. I’m just emotionally stunted.
It’s been so long since I felt anything that I basically went into full-on panic mode, not panic attack but panic mode—there is a difference—and had to block it all out and shut down completely.
I finally decide, when I’m within a couple of blocks from her grandma’s, that I’m sorry for everything. I don’t want you to quit, and I don’t want to lose you. I was scared. I was dumb. But I don’t want to be scared or dumb anymore. Or at least, if I am, I want to be them with you, might suffice.
I hope so. I’ve never been good with words. I know the second I pull up, all the words will probably slide right out of my mind, and I’ll be left standing at the door with nothing to say.
And of course, it’s exactly what happens. I completely freeze. The doorbell is right in front of me, but I can’t even bring myself to ring it. My tongue is so dry that I might as well have just walked this whole way with it dragging along the road.
The door creaks open before I can even ring the doorbell, and Sutton’s grandma eyes me like I might be there to sell her something she already has. I’m not peddling the good stuff. No chocolate bars or cookies.
I swallow so thickly that it makes a strange noise. Those grandma eyes of hers narrow.
“I—is—I was wondering if I could…uh…talk to…Sutton? If she’s here?”
“She’s sick. She said she called into work. Did you not believe her and had to come and see for yourself?” Sutton’s grandma is about five feet tall and slim enough that from the back, she could pass as a twelve-year-old girl, but when she scowls at me, that shit is fierce. A shiver crawls up my back, and I can literally feel my nuts tightening up as if in a second, this tiny old lady is going to pull a cleaver on me and turn my nuts into sushi.
Sick? She called in sick? Apparently, Sutton didn’t tell her grandma she actually quit. It’s not my business to bear the news, so I try and stammer out a response. “No—err—I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She never calls in sick. I was worried.” I think it’s a smooth recovery until two grey brows knit together. They’re the exact same shade as the fluffy, loosely permed grey curls on top of the little lady’s head.
“Do you check up on all your other employees when they call in sick after never calling in sick?”
So. She has me there. I practically shrink back. Thank god, she takes mercy on me.
“Well, come in then. It just so happens I was baking cookies. With the gluten stuff. Regular flour. But I can make another batch.”
“That’s really not necessary…”
“What else am I going to do with my time? I’m just sitting here waiting to die. Might as well make good use of my time.” Her wrinkled face remains serious for a few seconds, but then she bursts into a grin so big, I swear her false teeth just about fly right out of her mouth. “I’m kidding. I know I have at least five good years left in me.”
I stand there stupidly until Sutton’s grandma flings the door open. “Well? Are you coming in, or are you just going to stand out there?”
“I’m coming.” I go to step inside, but all of a sudden, Sutton appears behind her grandma. It makes the older woman jump nearly a foot in the air.
“Sweet sugared socks, you know I hate when you do that.”
“Sorry,” Sutton whispers.
She looks pale, and her face is almost completely white. On her forehead, there are little beads of moisture along her hairline. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun on top of her head, and she’s wearing a plain grey t-shirt and black yoga pants. It might be her pajamas, but I’m not sure. She’s dressed more casually than I’ve ever seen her, and she’s absolutely gorgeous.
“Try to announce yourself next time before you give your old granny a heart attack. Anyway, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
“Thanks.” Sutton doesn’t make a joke about needing her grandma to come and defend her with a knife or a flipper or a spatula. I think she would normally have. She’s off her game. She does not look pleased to see me, but she’s not entirely surprised either.
I haven’t stepped in yet. I’m still on the concrete step that leads up to the door, and Sutton takes advantage of it. She steps out in bare feet and closes the door loudly behind her. Once she’s certain it’s closed, and she’s out of hearing range, she cros
ses her arms and leans back against the door.
“Why are you here? I thought I was pretty clear in my wishes to never see you again.” Her heart isn’t in being mean. I don’t know if it ever was. She’s trying to be firm, but she honestly doesn’t look well. Her face looks more like she’s trying not to puke than it does angry.
“I know.” Swallowing is like trying to get a gym sock down my throat. “I know that.” Smooth. Try something else. Try half of what you rehearsed in the car.
“So?”
“So…uh…I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried after I got your email.”
“Worried because you won’t have anyone to look after you? Worried as in you don’t want to put the time and effort into training someone else? Worried you’re going to get behind on your reports and other work? Worried that the company is going to suffer because I bailed on you? Or worried about me?”
“About you.” I wish I could say it without a tremble in my voice. It hardly sounds convincing, and obviously, it’s not, because she rolls her eyes.
“Right. Well, I’m okay. Going to be fine. I meant what I said. I didn’t think it was appropriate to work there after you know. I just didn’t want to do it anymore. I was tired of pretending. It was weird. I didn’t think it was ever not going to be weird. I just want to go to a job where I don’t have to feel like I’m living a double life.”
“I never meant for you to feel that way.”
“Yes, well, it happened. It’s not all your fault. I have a big part to play in it too. I just couldn’t deal with the fallout. Honestly, I needed a change anyway. I had been there for years, and I want to do something else. Something more…I don’t know. Creative. I…yeah. I’m not going to ask for a reference—”