Mommy Tracked

by Whitney Gaskell

  And it was the only time when she wasn’t worrying. Worry had become Juliet’s default state. She worried about everything—about the twins, about work, about money. How they were going to swing all of the extras that were constantly cropping up—new tires for Patrick’s minivan, the roof repair they’d been putting off for months, the girls’ dance lessons—on top of the fixed monthly costs. The mortgage. School tuition. Her law-school loans.

  She’d turn the rest of the day over to her worries. But not now. Now she just focused on her lungs expanding with the humid salt air, the way her leg muscles strained up the incline of the bridge, and the rhythmic pound of her heartbeat. Juliet ran two and a half miles, which took her just over the bridge, and then turned around and ran back home.

  A little less than an hour after she left, she walked in the back door of her house, sweating but not winded. She tossed the morning paper on the kitchen counter, poured herself a cup of coffee, and took it into the office, where she settled down behind her desk and switched the computer screen on.

  This was her routine, every day, even when it rained. She knew her friends—Grace, in particular—thought she was crazy to get up so early just to work out, but it kept Juliet sane, made her feel like she actually had a grip on her life.

  And her friends would never know just how important that grip was to her.

  Juliet opened up her e-mail and sipped the bitter coffee as the messages downloaded from her office account. There wasn’t much in her in-box; she’d checked it last night before going to bed. Mostly spam, and a note from a client asking for clarification on the documents Juliet needed from him to comply with a document request the plaintiffs in his case had made. At this, Juliet sighed. She’d already told the client, Peter Hamilton, what she needed—in explicit detail—three times. Hamilton was a nervous man, so distracted by the sexual-harassment lawsuit that had been filed against him that he needed constant hand-holding. He was her least favorite sort of client.

  Juliet knew she wasn’t any good at being emotionally supportive. She lacked whatever gene it was that made people want to reach out to one another, to share feelings, to listen empathetically. It was why she’d gone into the law; no one expected an attorney to be warm and cuddly. Although sometimes she thought that maybe she’d have been better off if she’d become a doctor instead—a surgeon, maybe, where the patients would be unconscious when she saw them.

  And then, with an electronic chime to announce its arrival, another e-mail popped up in her in-box. One that made Juliet sit up a little straighter, that made her pulse buzz and her heart give an excited lurch. It was from her boss, Alex Frost. Juliet clicked on it.

  TO: COLE, JULIET jcole@littlefrost.com

  FROM: FROST, ALEX afrost@littlefrost.com

  RE: lunch

  Juliet—Are you free for lunch today? We need to go over the status of the D.B. case. I’ll have Gail make a reservation for us at the Treehouse.

  Alex

  Lunch with Alex! And not just a sandwich in the conference room but an actual lunch out at one of the nicest restaurants in town.

  Will it be just the two of us? she wondered, enjoying the way the thrill fluttered through her. It must be. No one else has worked on the dead-baby case. Well, no one other than Richard, but he’s only done a few motions here and there.

  Juliet’s next thought was an uncharacteristically feminine one: Oh, my God—what am I going to wear?

  She got up abruptly and, carrying her coffee with her, headed up to the master bedroom. The bed was rumpled and unmade but empty. There was the sound of a toilet flushing in the attached bathroom, and then Patrick appeared in the bedroom doorway, wearing a white V-neck T-shirt and striped pajama pants and looking sleepy. His black curly hair was standing up in peaks, and there was a red sheet mark on his left cheek.

  “Is that coffee for me?” he asked hopefully, yawning widely.

  Juliet shook her head. “Not a chance,” she said, pulling her mug closer, as though he might try to fight her for it.

  Patrick’s face fell, and he scratched his side. “How was your run?”

  “Fine. Shouldn’t you get the girls up? They’re going to be late for school.”

  Juliet stepped past Patrick and into their walk-in closet to appraise her wardrobe. She usually wore tailored pantsuits to work, but lunch with Alex Frost called for something…sexier. Juliet began pushing through her clothes, whipping one hanger over at a time. A tan Brooks Brothers pantsuit. A gray tropical-wool Brooks Brothers pantsuit. A navy-blue pinstriped Ann Taylor pantsuit. Another gray wool Brooks Brothers pantsuit.

  Jesus, Juliet thought. When was the last time I bought girl clothes?

  Masculine was usually her preferred look. Despite articles in the bar magazines about family-friendly law firms, flextime, and paternity leave, the law was still a male-dominated, old-school profession. The only chance a woman had to succeed was if she turned herself into a virtual man, at least during business hours.

  She paused at the black strapless Nicole Miller dress she’d worn to a wedding two summers ago. It was sexy, in a tailored, minimalist sort of way. Would it work if I wore it with a blazer? No, probably not, she thought, and pushed the dress aside.

  Just when she was about to give up and pull out her standard black pantsuit, she spotted the chocolate-brown skirt suit she’d bought at The Limited back when she was in law school, broke, needed something for interviews, and still thought that showing her legs off might benefit her professionally.

  Perfect, she thought. The skirt was short without being slutty, and the jacket nipped in at the waist. Suitable for work but not too masculine. And maybe, just maybe, Alex would notice her legs.

  Juliet pulled out the suit, neatly hung on a wooden hanger, and retrieved a white oxford shirt that had been crisply pressed at the dry cleaner. She laid the suit and shirt out on the bed, then stripped out of her sweaty jogging clothes. Just as she was tossing her shorts in the clothes hamper, Patrick returned with a steaming mug of coffee. He took in her naked body, looking her up and down, and raised one eyebrow. He suddenly looked much more awake, and his eyes glittered with interest.

  “Can you be late for work?” he asked suggestively.

  “No,” Juliet said, walking into the bathroom. “Not today I can’t. Did you get the girls up?”

  She didn’t wait for his answer. And fifteen minutes later, when she returned from her shower, wearing a fluffy white robe, her legs cleanly shaven and her hair freshly washed, Patrick was back in bed. Asleep.

  Juliet closed her eyes briefly and tried to swallow back her irritation. How could he fall asleep? It was almost seven. She had to get ready for work and didn’t have time to get the twins off to school too. Was it really too much to expect Patrick to handle this on his own, without her nagging him every step of the way?

  “Patrick!” she said sharply.

  “I’m awake. I am.”

  “Your eyes are closed.”

  He opened one eye and looked at her blearily.

  “It’s already seven,” Juliet said.

  “Oh, crap. Is it really?”

  “Yes. Really. How late were you up last night, anyway?” she asked. Patrick had still been watching a basketball game on television when she’d gone to bed. She hadn’t heard him come up.

  “Midnight. Maybe a little later.” He stretched and scratched his chin. His beard was heavy, giving him that scruffy, unkempt look she’d found so sexy when they first started dating. His eyes started to shut again, and Juliet had to clamp down her jaw and count to five to keep herself from doing something drastic, like throwing a glass of cold water at him.

  But just as she opened her mouth, ready to calmly but firmly tell him that if he didn’t get a move on they’d be late, again, there was knock at the door. Muffled giggles and whispers could be heard outside, and then in unison Emma and Izzy called out, “Little pigs, little pigs, let us come in!”

  Patrick’s eyes were still shut, but he grinned. “Not by the
hairs on our chinny chin chins,” he yelled back.

  Juliet’s irritation started to fade. It was hard to stay annoyed in the face of such silliness. And the twins excelled at being silly. It shimmered from them, infusing everyone they came in contact with. It was impossible to look at their identical faces, at the creamy skin, dancing blue eyes, snub little noses, and not grin.

  “Then we’ll huff, and we’ll puff, and we’ll blow your house in!” the twins shrieked.

  The door swung open and the girls came running in, their arms waving and their long dark hair streaming behind them. They threw themselves on the bed, landing squarely on Patrick’s chest and stomach, and began tickling him.

  “Argh!” Patrick cried out, laughing and grunting at the same time. He curled up to protect his testicles from getting kicked. “Enough! You win!”

  But the girls weren’t inclined to grant their prisoner mercy. Giggling, they tussled with their father, elbows flying, bare little feet waving in the air.

  “Help!” Patrick yelled to Juliet.

  But she just shook her head and grinned at him. “You’re on your own. It serves you right for going back to bed.”

  Patrick let out a yelp as Izzy tickled him under his armpit—his most ticklish spot, Juliet knew—and then the three of them rolled over onto Juliet’s side of the bed, right onto her neatly laid-out suit.

  “Stop!” Juliet cried, her amusement drying up. “You’re going to wrinkle my clothes!”

  She dashed forward to grab the suit, but it was too late. The great huddle of father and daughters was rolling around, oblivious to Juliet’s protests. Arms and knees were akimbo, three pairs of feet, one large and two small, were trampling the suit and shirt. By the time Juliet pulled the garments off the bed, the shirt was crumpled and the skirt had an enormous crease over it. The jacket had mostly escaped, although it did look as though it could use a touch of ironing to freshen it up. Juliet glanced at the clock. Shit. She was already late and didn’t have time to iron. Anger flared up inside her, pressing hotly in her chest.

  Patrick and the girls were still rolling around, giggling like mad things.

  “Hey,” Juliet said tightly.

  “No fair tickling Daddy!” Patrick yelped. The twins shrieked with glee and redoubled their efforts.

  “Hey!” Juliet said again, louder than she meant to. Her voice was like a whip cracking across the room. All antics immediately ceased, and her husband and daughters looked at her, identical expressions of surprise on their faces.

  “Why are you yelling?” Patrick asked her.

  “I’m not yelling. I was speaking loudly to get your attention. Girls, get off Daddy and go get dressed. You’re going to be late for school,” Juliet said, fighting to keep her voice calm and upbeat. She hated playing the heavy, hated that the girls would inevitably see them as Fun Daddy and Mean Mommy.

  “Okay, Mommy,” the girls chorused. They tumbled out of the room, still giggling and whispering to each other.

  Patrick was looking at her as though she were the Bitch Queen from Hell.

  “What?” she asked defensively.

  “You just seem a little pointy this morning.”

  “Look at my suit,” Juliet said irritably. She held up the wrinkled garments. “And I don’t have time to iron. I’m going to have to find something else to wear.”

  “I’ll iron it for you,” Patrick said. He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. “Here, give them to me.”

  Juliet felt a wash of guilt. Even if she had no intention of actually cheating on her husband, she was wearing the suit for Alex’s benefit.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Juliet said, clutching the suit to her chest when Patrick reached for it.

  “Come on, give it to me,” Patrick said, stretching his arms up over his head as he yawned again. He was a tall man, nearly six foot five, and broadly built. It was another trait that had attracted Juliet to him when they’d first met at a dinner party thrown by mutual friends. She’d been tired of always wearing flats for her date’s benefit and loved being with a man who was taller than she, even when she wore her highest heels. Standing next to Patrick had made her feel petite and dainty for the first time in her life. She’d also loved that he was a firefighter. It had seemed like such a manly-man sort of job, so much sexier than the lawyers and tech executives she was used to dating.

  Still, when she’d gotten pregnant a few months after they married—a surprise souvenir from their weekend scuba-diving jaunt down to the Keys—it had only made sense for Patrick to be the one to stay at home with the girls. Juliet earned nearly three times what he made, and they would never have been able to pay their mortgage on his salary alone.

  Juliet had to talk Patrick into leaving his job. He hadn’t wanted to at first.

  “I don’t want to be a kept man,” he’d said every time she brought up the subject.

  “Is that what you think of stay-at-home moms? That they’re ‘kept women’?” Juliet would counter.

  “No, of course not. It’s just…different,” Patrick had said.

  And Juliet, ever the litigator, would pounce. “It’s only different if you’re approaching it with a dated, misogynistic point of view,” she argued.

  “It just doesn’t feel right having you bear all of the financial responsibility,” Patrick would respond somewhat feebly.

  Juliet knew it was only a matter of time before she’d wear him down. There were so many reasons it made sense for him to stay home with the twins. Day care was expensive for one child; for twins it would end up being nearly two grand a month. A nanny would cost even more. Patrick would have to pick up extra shifts at work to cover the additional costs, and then he’d hardly ever see the girls. And Juliet was already stuck working long hours until she made partner at her law firm.

  Finally Patrick had agreed. Reluctantly. At first Juliet was thrilled with the arrangement, happy that she could leave the twins every day knowing they were being cared for by the one person in the world who loved them as much as she did. If that meant she’d miss out on all of the firsts—first smiles, first words, first steps—well, that couldn’t be helped. And if one of the twins woke in the middle of the night, shaken to tears by the aftereffects of a nightmare, and called for Daddy, not her, Juliet tried not to take it too personally. The same applied when she got home in time to supervise the bath-and-bedtime routine, only to have one of the twins bossily inform her that Daddy poured lots more bubble bath into the tub and that the pajama tops covered with little red hearts could not, under pain of torture, be worn with the purple striped bottoms.

  It’s a small price to pay, knowing that the twins are safe and happy, Juliet had thought.

  As Patrick took the crumpled suit from her and laid it back out on the bed, she hesitated for a minute, wanting to apologize for her irritable outburst, to explain that the stress of the dead-baby case had been getting to her, to fold her arms around Patrick and rest her head against the flat plane of his chest, absorbing his calmness.

  But Patrick was in the closet for a long time, noisily trying to extract the ironing board from where it was stored behind the luggage, for some inexplicable reason. Juliet noticed the clock. Shit. Now she was really, really late. She hurried back to the bathroom to finish getting ready, instantly forgetting her intentions to apologize.

  “I have to cancel our lunch,” Alex Frost announced.

  Juliet looked up from the deposition she was reading, startled at the interruption. She hadn’t heard Alex approach, hadn’t realized he was standing in the doorway to her office until he’d spoken. Excitement fluttered in her stomach at the sight of him.

  Alex was in his late forties but looked young for his age. He was tall and muscular, with blond hair that he wore back off his face, vivid blue eyes, and a sharp jaw that rounded at the chin. He was, as usual, dressed impeccably in one of his custom-made suits, this one a gray sharkskin. Alex wasn’t a traditionally handsome man—his eyes were too squinty and his nose too snub—but he had a
sleekness about him and the sort of forceful alpha-male personality that Juliet had always found irresistible.

  Juliet smiled coolly at him, pushing back the swell of intermingled excitement at seeing him and disappointment that their lunch was off. Shit. “Okay. Would you like to go over the dead-baby case later this afternoon?”

  “I can’t. I just got called into court for an emergency hearing on the Dunder case, and then I’m going to be in client meetings all afternoon,” Alex said. He grinned sexily. “Life of the busy lawyer.”

  “Tell me about it,” Juliet said, gesturing toward the stack of depositions on her desk.

  “Let’s get together tomorrow. I have a client meeting at four that will probably run late, though, so it’ll have to be after that.”

  The twins had a tap-dance class tomorrow afternoon, and Juliet was planning to slip out of work early to watch, since she hadn’t yet made it to one. But that wasn’t exactly something she could admit to her boss. Not if she wanted to make partner. Most women lawyers who had children were shunted onto the mommy track, with no hope of making partner. It was the price they paid for taking advantage of maternity leaves, flextime, and weekends off. Juliet wasn’t about to let that happen to her, even if it meant working twice as hard as every man in the office.

  “Fine. I’ll put it on my calendar,” Juliet said.

  After Alex left, Juliet returned to her deposition, quickly scanning each page before flipping to the next, and marking down notes of what she thought was important. She’d gotten through one deposition and started on another when her phone rang.

  Juliet picked up the phone. “Juliet Cole,” she said briskly.

  “Hi, Juliet? This is Chloe Truman? We met at the Mothers Coming Together meeting?” The woman’s voice was tentative, so that everything she said sounded like a question.

  Juliet frowned and tried to place the name.