by Lauren Sams
‘I’ll give you my number! Then we can work out a better day.’ She is smiling so much I am afraid her mouth will just burst right open, spilling teeth and tongue everywhere.
‘OK, sure . . . mine is 04—’
‘Wait! I’ve got a better idea. I’ll friend you on Facebook. And then I can add you to the group.’
‘The group?’
‘It’s a group just for the daycare parents. So we can organise meetings and discuss what’s going on here. I mean, it all seems fine so far, but there is a new staff member coming on board in a few weeks, so . . .’
‘There is?’
‘Yes, didn’t you get the newsletter?’
I shake my head. ‘Look, I’m really running quite late, I do have to run. But thanks, er . . .’
‘Jen,’ she says. ‘I’ll friend you. Then you won’t forget!’
I run for the gate, laughing in that big, loud, pretend way I do when something is not actually funny but I need to save face. I sprint for the office. Sweat patches start to form under my arms.
If Jen is Harrison’s mum, who the hell is Pip’s teacher?
When I finally make it to the office, the line for coffee is twenty deep. I check my phone. 9.20. Fuck. I swipe my card and run for the elevator. By the time I have made it to my desk (9.23), I am what the kids would call a ‘hot mess’, only I am literally hot, not metaphorically. Sweating profusely, I switch on my computer and breathe.
Time to start the day.
*
At midday, my boobs began to throb, my own milky alarm clock going off just as it would at home. Only this time, there was no baby to feed.
I dug out my breast pump then realised I had no idea where I could use it. The kitchen seemed too clean. The bathroom seemed too dirty. I considered shutting the door to my office, but the giant glass windows could prove problematic. Then I remembered: Lee told me there was a breastfeeding room.
So I knocked on Meredith’s door.
‘Hello, George! How’s it all going?’ Meredith looked up from her knife and fork, poised over a plate at her desk.
Meredith had launched The Weekend just over a year ago, to great acclaim. The industry loved it, advertisers were buying and readers had given great feedback. It was, by all accounts, a huge success, which was quite something in these days of declining circulation and incessant talk of ‘the end of print’. It was heartening to know that people still wanted to read something that wasn’t condensed to 140 characters.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I interrupted your lunch. I’ll come back.’ I could feel my boobs hardening like a concrete sidewalk. Someone had better stick a handprint in me, quick.
‘No, no! I’m just eating, not stopping. Come in.’
Meredith continued eating the . . . thing on her plate. It was a flat brown disc, dry and lonely.
‘OK, if that’s alright.’
She nodded as she finished the disc. ‘Right, that’s over.’
‘What was that?’
‘What?’ Meredith looked up at me.
‘Um, what were you eating?’
‘Veggie patty. I’m on a diet.’
Meredith was one of the thinnest women I had ever seen, and I used to edit a women’s fashion magazine.
‘You’re on a diet?’
She nodded.
‘But . . . Why are you on a diet?’
She stared at me as if she hadn’t understood the question. ‘What do you mean?’
It was my turn to stare. ‘I mean . . . why are you on a diet? You seem very . . . healthy to me.’
‘I seem healthy?’ She repeated the word ‘healthy’ as if I had actually said ‘gastric bypass candidate’.
‘Thin. You seem thin,’ I corrected myself.
‘Oh,’ she said, relaxing into a smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘You don’t look like you need to be on a diet, that’s what I mean,’ I said, and she brightened.
‘Thank you. But that’s why I’m on a diet. I don’t ever want anyone to think I should go on a diet.’
‘So you’re just always on a diet?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Meredith nodded and smiled. ‘So how’s it all going out there? Everyone being nice to you? Not scaring you away in your first week?’
So far it was a pretty standard mix of media types. The food writer, Neil, with the teensiest paunch and the most gargantuan ego. The young writer, Anna, who, by virtue of having wealthy parents, had managed to intern for years before she finally got a paying job. It was the unspoken Hunger Games of publishing: whose parents’ finances were robust enough to sponsor their fashion-obsessed offspring through the dry years of an internship? There were the hard-working subs who never seemed to leave their desks. The fashion team who flitted in and out between appointments and had, within my first three hours on the job, asked me if they could get another $5000 for the photographer they really, really wanted for an upcoming shoot. (Short answer: no.) The older, more harried writers who had barely looked up from their phone interviews as Meredith paraded around me the office.
‘Yeah, everyone seems great. It looks like a very well-oiled machine.’
It was true. The flat plan was done weeks in advance, there were plenty of ad bookings, covers had been secured.
‘Well, I keep an eye on everything. I like to know what’s going on with everyone in the team.’
I nodded enthusiastically.
‘Have you had a chance to think about the podcast?’
I squinted. Was I meant to have thought about the podcast? I’d been here a week and Meredith hadn’t mentioned it since our first meeting, before I’d started. Shit.
‘Um . . . not in any specific sense, no.’
Meredith frowned. ‘Well, that’s your first priority.’ It was? Since when? ‘Have a think about what it should be about, what we might call it, who’ll be on it – topline stuff.’
‘Uh, OK. I was sort of thinking that I should spend the first month or so just getting the lay of the land.’
Meredith blinked. ‘I’m sure you’ll figure it all out quite quickly. The podcast is of particular importance, so please do prioritise it. We’ll have a meeting on Monday to discuss your ideas.’
‘This Monday?’
Meredith nodded.
‘And change these cover lines,’ she said, pushing a mock-up of next week’s cover towards me.
‘They’re weak,’ she went on. ‘“15 essential pieces” – it doesn’t tell me anything. Pieces of what?’
‘Right,’ I said, a little confused. I mean, obviously when you put the word ‘essential’ next to the word ‘pieces’ it meant clothing. That was basic magazine speak. Like tresses meant hair and pins meant legs. You’d never say those things in real life, but you could get away with it in mags.
‘Oh, OK. Sure. No problem.’
‘George?’ Meredith asked, cocking her head ever so slightly.
‘Yes?’ I smiled, hoping my expression was enthusiastic rather than exhausted, which is how I already felt.
‘You need to hit the ground running, OK? I don’t have time for people who don’t want to put in the work. The Weekend is very, very important to me and my career. And it could define yours. I have big plans for you, and I want to see you succeed. Do you want to succeed?’
I nodded.
‘Good,’ she said, smiling tightly. ‘I’m very glad to hear it. I think you and I will get along very well.’
‘Yeah, I think so too. I’m so excited to be here. This is my dream job, it really is. I’m ready to work hard. But, uh, I need to ask you something first – where can I pump?’
‘What?’ Meredith’s smile faded.
‘I need to express. I’m still breastfeeding,’ I explained.
‘A child?’
No, a dog.
I stared at her. ‘Yes. My baby. P—’ Before I could say Pip’s name, Meredith cut me off.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, flatly, her eyes flicking back to her computer.
‘You don’t know where I
can express?’
‘No.’
‘OK. Is there a common room? A breastfeeding room? Lee said there was . . .’
She didn’t take her eyes off the screen. A second ago, we’d been a team, working towards global domination – or at least, a podcast. Now she didn’t want anything to do with me.
Meredith shrugged. ‘I’m really not sure. Nobody has ever asked that before.’ Meredith stared at her computer, tapping at her keyboard as if I wasn’t there.
‘Really?’
She turned to me, apparently surprised that I was still there. ‘Really what?’
‘Really . . . nobody has ever asked about breastfeeding?’
She flashed a tight smile. ‘No. Why don’t you go ask Bea?’ she said, gesturing to her assistant, whose desk sat outside her office.
‘Ah, OK. Sure.’
Another forced smile and Meredith turned back to her computer.
What just happened?
Chapter 4
‘I can’t believe you’re dating, Nina – this is so exciting!’ said Ellie.
I raised a sceptical eyebrow at her.
‘I know!’ Nina said, her eyes switching on like the Griswolds’ Christmas lights. ‘Jed is amazing. I can’t wait for you to meet him, El. You’re really going to like him.’
I stared at Ellie in shock. There was no universe in which my most sensible friend would ‘really like’ Jed, the schoolboy bartender boning our recently separated, borderline depressed friend.
Nina and Jed had been dating for about a month, and in the brief snatches of time I got to talk to my friend, it was all Jed, all the time. I’d heard all about the Kickstarter Jed was running to fund his ‘research trip’ to Canada (what this research entailed, Jed could not yet say) and the varying shades of his hair at dusk. I’d heard about the ‘amazing’ bar he worked at, how it was ‘so different’ because the bartenders refused to serve beer, wine or cocktails. ‘What can you drink, then?’ I’d asked. ‘Whisky,’ said Nina, who then rhapsodised about whisky for a good fifteen minutes. She didn’t even like whisky! Nobody liked whisky until two years ago!
But Ellie just smiled right back, her eyes also alight with the thrill of it all. These women had been married for way too long, I thought, if this was what got their rocks off.
‘I can’t wait to meet him!’ she said, and the two of them started giggling like 15-year-olds. Nina was all lilting vowels and upspeak now. Soon she would start shopping at Sportsgirl. Then, she’d get a cutesy cover for her phone. It would have a doughnut or a pineapple on it. Or some stupid saying like, ‘Dance like nobody’s watching’. My head hurt just thinking about it.
Nina’s promise to help me with Pip was all but forgotten (by everyone except me, that is). She’d told me she would pick Pip up every day, but so far I’d had to step in at least three times a week. I hadn’t brought it up, but I was rounding the corner of Frustrated and on my way to Pissed. I really needed Neen, and she seemed totally oblivious.
I focused on helping Lucas finish his toast, zooming it into his gob like an aeroplane, as Nina and Ellie twittered about Jed. Lucas giggled, his mouth full, and crumbs sprayed onto the table. Since staying at Ellie’s house last year, Lucas and I had become firm buddies. I really liked spending time with him. It was easy. At four, he was genuinely funny and laughed easily. Nothing made Lucas happier than a fart joke. I could work with that.
By the time I tuned back in to Nina and Ellie’s conversation, they’d moved on to Nina’s second-favourite topic, The Reinvention of Nina Doherty.
‘So where do you think you’ll go?’ Ellie was asking, hailing the waiter for another cup of coffee. I glanced down at Pip. Could I have another one? Better not chance it. She hadn’t been taking the bottle at daycare, so I had to feed her more often when I was around. As soon as she woke up, she’d be ready for a boob. Decaf, please.
‘Not sure. I mean, I’d love to go to the Middle East. I’ve always found it so fascinating.’
‘What?’ I squinted at Neen. ‘You’re going to the Middle East? Are we talking Dubai or Beirut?’
Nina shrugged. ‘I really just want to go somewhere different, you know? I’ve never really travelled. All my holidays with Matt were to islands where all we did was drink cocktails by the pool. We could have been anywhere.’
Ellie beamed and nodded. ‘That sounds amazing.’
‘I’ll probably take next year off work, maybe do a bit of travelling then. Jed’s heading to Canada for a while, maybe I’ll start there with him.’
I stared at Nina. She was talking about all this like it was no big deal.
‘You’re taking a year off work?’
Nina nodded and continued to munch on her granola. ‘Yeah.’
‘Seriously?’ Nina had mentioned a change in career, but I hadn’t imagined she’d actually follow through with it. ‘Why?’
‘Lots of reasons. I don’t love it anymore. Maybe I never did.’
While Ellie nodded in sympathy and agreement, I pressed on. This was ridiculous. Nina loved being a teacher. She was throwing everything away. She was only thirty-five, she wasn’t old enough for a mid-life crisis.
‘So you’ll just travel for a year?’
She nodded, smiling. She looked excited. ‘Yeah. Jed has a YHA membership, so I’ll probably hang out with him for a while. Save some money.’
‘YHA? As in . . . youth hostels?’
She nodded again.
Even Ellie was disturbed now. ‘Nina. You can’t stay in a hostel. You’ll be mugged. You’ll end up on Foreign Correspondent.’
‘Or Today Tonight,’ I added, finishing the last of Lucas’s toast.
‘Guys, enough. Nothing has been decided yet. And if and when I stay in a hostel, I’ll be absolutely fine. OK?’
Nina crossed her arms and sat back.
I said nothing, and Ellie, god bless her, had the good sense to change the subject.
‘And what about you, George? How’s work?’
I took a deep breath and thought about the first two weeks. It had been like running a marathon every single day, with no training, over and over. Every time I felt like I had a handle on things, or could stop or slow down, some obstacle would appear out of nowhere and I’d be running again, just trying to keep up. I had done everything and I’d done nothing.
But the work itself wasn’t the problem. I liked the work, the pace of it, the team. I was excited to have a challenge ahead of me. I’d thought up some cool podcast ideas and Meredith seemed to like them. (After the weird breastfeeding episode, Meredith had returned to her normal, if slightly neurotic, self. I made a note to keep talk of Pip to a minimum around her.) It was getting all the other stuff – my life, essentially – figured out that was the hard bit. It didn’t help that Nina wasn’t pitching in the way she’d assured me she would.
I started to answer when Ellie noticed that Lucas had run away.
‘Lucas! Lucas! Get back here. Lucas! Get. Down. Now. I’m counting to three. Are you ready? One . . .’ Lucas had hoisted himself up on his chair, then climbed onto the fence behind us. By the time Ellie had counted to two, he was three tables down. The kid was quick. Like, celebrity-in-drug-scandal-needs-to-flee-the-country quick.
‘I’ll get him,’ said Neen.
When she was gone, I whispered to Ellie, ‘What are you doing? Don’t encourage this!’
‘Huh?’
Pippa started to mewl in her pram and Ellie and I both instinctively reached out to rock it.
‘Don’t encourage this ridiculous thing with Jed. Or being a bloody pastry chef. Or going to sodding Beirut, for that matter. This is not right. I thought Nina would sleep with this Jed guy once and that would be it! It’s gone on too long now.’
Ellie shook her head. ‘Don’t be crazy. She needs a rebound. If we don’t encourage it, if we tell her how stupid it is, she’ll just run off with him and we’ll never see her again.’
‘She’s not sixteen, El. She’s not going to run away with her boyfriend
.’
‘Just give her space. And time. She’s getting divorced. She needs to be reckless and crazy for a while.’
Nina had never been reckless or crazy. She was inherently sensible. It was in her DNA; it was what made her Nina. I was the reckless one, the one who’d made Nina and Matt sit through countless dinners with dickhead boyfriends who would drink all their expensive wine and then bring out pingers at the end of the meal in the same way other people brought out Michel’s Patisserie mud cake for dessert. The craziest thing she’d done before this was the life-drawing class we organised for her hen’s party in the mid-2000s.
So I sat back and ate the rest of my omelette. Fine. I would let her be reckless and crazy. Surely it wouldn’t last long. This was Nina: responsible, clever, got-her-shit-together Nina. She was thirty-five, for Christ’s sake. I could just imagine all the venereal diseases Jed might pass on to her. I knew this much: I was too old to comb crabs out of my best friend’s pubes.
Then there was the question of Nina’s crazy career 180. Pastry chef? That was a joke, surely . . . but there was some level of earnestness to Nina’s sudden search for meaning. I needed to put a stop to her soul search before it got out of hand. Before she started reading The Prophet or planning to visit a yoga retreat in Bali. Before she started posting motivational quotes to Instagram. Before she went on a ‘wellness journey’.
‘Here he is, the runaway fugitive!’ said Neen, returning triumphant with Lucas tucked under one arm in the football hold. He tried to squirm away, but you could tell he loved it. He loved Nina. She was fantastic with kids, always meeting them at their level, never expecting too much of them. She was a natural. Which was exactly why she had chosen to be a school teacher. And exactly why she loved it. And why she should not, under any circumstances, move to Beirut to become a pastry chef.
‘Thanks, Neen,’ said Ellie. ‘Lucas, sit down and finish your babycino,’ she continued, her voice hardening. ‘Honestly.’ She tsk-tsked and then lowered her voice to speak to Nina and I. ‘He’s been . . . difficult lately.’
Mmm. He didn’t look difficult. Lucas sat down obediently and began playing with the wooden toy train Ellie had packed for him.