Overwhelmed

by Marita A. Hansen

  The main psychologist continued talking. “Now,” Miriam’s eyes went between me and Nicky, “are there any particular issues that you find causes the most concern?”

  I wasn’t sure whether she was asking me or Nicky, so I started talking, something I often did when I needed to explain things, especially since I felt like I had failed Nicky. Yet, not being here would’ve failed her more. I needed to find a way to make my baby better. She was broken inside and I wanted to fix her, I just didn’t know how, but hoped with all my heart and soul that the lady across from us did.

  “She has trouble approaching people, especially at counters,” I said. “When we were overseas she used to refuse to go up and order takeaways, so I had to do it. She also doesn’t like going out, mainly because she’s self-conscious about her appearance,” I added, not wanting to pinpoint Nicky’s weight just in case it upset her. I continued talking, mentioning the way she slept in too much and also her refusal to do chores, preferring to argue rather than get them done. I breathed out once I’d finished, feeling bad for saying those things in front of Nicky to complete strangers, but also knowing that the psychologists needed to know our situation.

  Miriam thanked me and turned to Nicky. “Is this how you see things?”

  “I guess so,” Nicky replied.

  “Can you tell me why you don’t like going out? What are you self-conscious about?”

  Nicky shifted about in her chair. “I don’t know.”

  I placed a hand on her lap to give her support.

  She opened her mouth again, then closed it. “I don’t know,” she repeated.

  Miriam’s gaze moved to me. “Would I be able to speak to Nicky alone? Maybe she’ll open up more that way.”

  I nodded, although it hurt that she thought I was holding Nicky back from speaking. I got up and left the room, closing the door behind me. I went back to the reception area and sat down. I pulled out my Kindle and started reading, wanting to distract myself from what they could be talking about. I didn’t want to think about the possibility of Nicky complaining about me, or worse, her father. Tom was a good dad. He never hit the kids and rarely lost his temper, only losing his patience when Nicky pushed too far. I just didn’t want those women to think bad things about Tom.

  And even more so...

  ...would they be able to help Nicky?

  Several minutes later, I looked up as the ladies and Nicky came out. The older woman smiled at me. “We’ve had a good talk with Nicky, and she would like to come in again. Is that alright?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay, I will discuss with my team what we can do for Nicky, regarding the best way to conduct the sessions.”

  I stood up. “Thank you.”

  She smiled at me. “You’re welcome, and I hope we can make things easier for Nicky as well as yourself.”

  I thanked her again, then parted ways. Nicky and I headed into the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, I turned to Nicky. “How’d it go?”

  “Good.”

  “What did they ask?”

  She shrugged. “Just what made me feel uncomfortable, what upset me the most, and what triggered my thoughts about suicide.”

  The door opened. “What did you say?” I said, stepping out.

  “Pretty much what you did. Though, I mainly nodded and grunted.” She looked at me with a worried expression, probably wanting my approval.

  I placed a hand on her back. “So, you really want to come back?”

  She nodded. “I liked them.”

  “Good. I want you to feel like you can speak to them without worrying.” We stopped by my car.

  She got into the front passenger seat while I got behind the wheel. I started up the engine and pulled out, relieved that the appointment had gone better than expected, the older woman making us both feel comfortable. Though, I knew things were far from okay, I just hoped that this was a step in the right direction.

  13

  Tom had gone to work early, while the kids had left a few minutes ago for their first day back at school. I swiped up Remy’s shorts and shirt he’d dumped on the floor after changing into his school uniform. I threw them into the wash-basket in the bathroom, knowing I should put on a load of washing, but preferring to check my emails first.

  I walked into my room and pulled out my laptop, then climbed onto the bed. I opened the computer up, going straight to my email account. Twenty messages popped up, hardly anything this time—thankfully. I deleted the bulk of them, since they were mostly updates from the reading sites I was connected to. I stopped at the second to last email, noticing the name Eric Firth.

  I clicked it open, wondering how he got my email and why was he contacting me. An image of him came up in the corner, his smiling face so handsome. I started reading his message, my mouth dropping open in shock. I got fucked by a publisher! I continued to read his email in stunned silence:

  I would like to make a time for you to come into my office to talk about your books...

  I stopped reading, wondering how he knew about me, because I didn’t give him my... Shit, I did give him my last name. Was he interested in my books or meeting for sex like Tom had said? But he said he wanted to talk about my books, which meant he must have known I’d self-published quite a number.

  My mind went to Tom, wondering whether I should ring and tell him. I pushed the computer off my lap and ran out of my room, going to the kitchen. I swiped the phone up and ran back to my room, excited that a publisher might be interested in my books, because... I put the phone down and picked up the computer, deciding to Google who Eric Firth was first, making sure he wasn’t lying to me.

  I clicked open Google and entered his name. A number of links came up for him. I clicked on a page that appeared official, sighing in relief. He was the owner of Firth Publishing, a British company and ... my eyes widened. The Firth Publishing Agency, the same one who’d turned down my letter and synopsis for my first book. I didn’t make the connection that night, being that my mind was on something else besides my writing. Why would I? He should be in England, not New Zealand, plus I’d only contacted one of his editors, not him personally. I scrolled through the company’s website, finding that they had an office in Auckland, the address matching the one in his email.

  I smiled, relieved he was genuine and even more excited he was interested in my books, and that they might finally get traditionally published. Over the moon, I quickly dialled Tom’s number.

  “Kia ora, Tom Hamlin speaking,” he answered, probably not having checked his caller ID. There was a lot of noise behind him, drilling and hammering sounds.

  “It’s me,” I said.

  “Well, what a coincidence, my name is Me too,” he replied, making me smile.

  “I’ve got some good news.”

  “What?”

  “A publisher wants me to come in for an interview. It’s...” I stopped myself before telling him it was Eric, my mind imagining what he would say: ‘He’s not interested in your books, he just wants to have sex.’

  “It’s what?” he shouted, the noise behind him growing louder.

  “It’s in Auckland, the publisher wants to see me tomorrow,” I said, hoping I could get an appointment that quick, because I didn’t think I could wait, my excitement and nerves doing the tango in my stomach.

  “Cool,” Tom said. “We’ll talk about it tonight; I’m in the middle of something. Love you.”

  I replied back with an “I love you too,” then hung up. I refocused on the computer, clicking on ‘Reply’ to answer Eric. I wrote back, saying I would be happy to come in for a meeting, and asked if tomorrow would be alright. I also asked what to bring, hoping he didn’t want to see my pathetic CV.

  After a few minutes, an email came back, saying to just bring myself, and that he was looking forward to talking about my books and the possibility of publishing them. He included a time, one I luckily could make. I bounced on the bed, so excited.

  I confirmed the time with him, then s
ent an email to my editors, telling them about what was happening. Both of them responded quickly, saying I deserved it and that they knew I’d eventually get picked up. After finishing a few back and forth excited emails, I finally calmed down enough to open my newest book to finish the edits. But instead, I started bouncing on my bed again, not believing this was happening.

  Eventually, I got myself under control and focused on Eric’s email, my eyes going to those few magical words, “...publishing your books.” A big grin split my face, my heart telling me that for once things were going my way.

  ***

  The Firth Publishing building was a boutique brick and stone structure, squashed between two large glass towers. I pushed through the front door, finding the interior warm and welcoming. The rich burgundy walls were decorated with old English paintings of the countryside, giving me the impression I’d stepped into an English lodge. There was even a fireplace on my right, finishing off the effect.

  I headed for the reception desk. The forty-something lady behind it gave me a practiced smile, her white teeth and red lipstick flawless.

  “How may I help you?” she asked.

  I smiled back, both nervous and excited. “I’m Kelly Hamlin. I have an appointment with Mr. Firth.”

  She glanced at her computer. “He’ll be with you soon. Please take a seat.”

  I thanked her and went over to the burgundy couch, looking up at the fancy ceiling. A leaf design circled a stained-glass light, reminding me of the Art Nouveau period.

  A door near the reception desk opened, drawing my attention to it. Eric emerged, looking even better than I remembered. His tall body was clad in an amazing black suit, the cut accentuating his physique, while the top few buttons of his white silk shirt were left open, giving him a casual, but smart appearance.

  Smiling wide, he held his arms out. “So nice to see you again, Kelly,” he said, that British accent of his so smooth and sexy.

  Feeling self-conscious, I pushed up off the couch and hugged him. I inhaled deeply, getting lost in the delicious smell of his cologne.

  He pulled back, and swept a hand towards what I assumed was his office. I entered the room, the colour scheme matching the reception. There was a rich mahogany desk and a wall covered in books, the shelf reaching to a high ceiling. It had a ladder, which looked like it could slide back and forth—a librarian’s dream.

  Eric closed the door behind me, doubling my nervousness. Even though the room was large, it felt small with him in it.

  “Please take a seat,” he said, pulling a chair out for me to sit down.

  I lowered myself into it while Eric rounded his desk.

  He sat down. “How come you didn’t call me after the club?”

  I winced, feeling embarrassed. “Tom threw your card away.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Why?”

  “He said you didn’t want coffee, that you were just after sex.”

  Eric burst out laughing. “A man knows what another man wants.” He stopped laughing, though his smile remained. “But I’m a publisher, and I thought you’d ring since you’re an author.”

  “How did you know I’m an author?” I asked, nervous over the fact he didn’t deny wanting sex. “I never told you.”

  “I recognised you from your picture on the internet.”

  “Then, why didn’t you mention it at the club?”

  “I don’t go to the Top Hat to talk business.”

  I nodded, feeling stupid.

  “Though, I must say,” he added, “you look much more beautiful in person. Your photo really doesn’t do you justice.”

  “Thank you.” I smoothed my skirt over my knees, wishing he would talk about my books and not me.

  He clasped his hands together and leaned over the desk. “I seem to have a bad habit of making you uncomfortable. Don’t be. I didn’t get you here on false pretences. Yes, I am very interested in getting to know you more, but if it’s just through your books, I will settle for that.”

  “Have you read any of them?”

  “I’ve read the first two. I’ve started the third in the series and am very much enjoying it. I think you would have a good market here as well as in Australia, even possibly in Britain. I’m not sure about the States, but publicity is everything.”

  I smiled. “I would love to get my books into stores here.”

  “And I would love to help you achieve that. Though, if you choose to publish with my company, you will need to do a book tour. Would you be open to that?”

  My heart started beating fast, his words making me want to jump up and down and hug him, but instead I nodded, answering with a simple “Yes.”

  “Great!” he said, pushing to his feet. “I will get a contract ready for you to sign.” He moved around the desk, holding his arms out again.

  I pushed up and hugged him. Eric gripped onto me tighter this time, causing me to stiffen in his embrace.

  “I think we will do wonderful business together,” he said, finally pulling away.

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so.” He ran a hand down my arm, causing goose bumps to form across my skin. “How come you haven’t been back to the club?”

  “I’ve been busy,” I replied, feeling my face heat at the memory of him naked and on top of me. Plus, he kept running his hand up and down my arm, making it harder to breathe.

  He raised his eyebrows. “So busy that you can’t have at least one night out a week?”

  “I have two kids.”

  “I have two as well,” he let go of my arm, “though only one is living with me now. My youngest is starting Auckland University, which is why I’m basing myself here for the meantime.” A shadow crossed over his face, his expression so sad. “He’s rather troublesome, so needs constant watching. I’m hoping he will calm down, especially since he wants to be here. I would’ve preferred to send him to Oxford, but he made some Kiwi friends and insisted on going to the same university. I just hope he finally finds what he’s looking for here.”

  “What about his mother?”

  “She died five years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. It’s why I pander to Tate. He took it really hard when my wife passed away.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-three. He took some time off before agreeing to go to university. Though, I do credit his friends for teaching him the value of tertiary education.”

  “How old is your other child?”

  “Marcus is twenty-eight. He has a different mother.”

  “You look too young to have a son that age,” I said, surprised.

  “I was a very stupid teenager,” he grinned, “and an extremely horny one.”

  I smiled, thinking the last bit hadn’t changed.

  His grin widened, the twinkle in his eyes telling me he knew what I was thinking. “How old are your children?” he asked.

  “My boy’s eleven and my girl is fifteen, well, sixteen next month.”

  “Are they a handful like mine?”

  “Most definitely, my girl the most. She gives me grey hairs.”

  He brushed my hair back. “I can’t see any.”

  “I dye them,” I said, pointing to my temple, very conscious of his touch.

  He ran his thumb over my hairline, making my flesh heat. “Greys are nothing to be ashamed of.” He pointed to his own hair. “Obviously, I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Your grey flecks make you look distinguished,” and sexy, “whereas mine just makes me look old.”

  “I doubt that,” he said, focusing on my lips.

  I remained silent, not knowing what to say in response, his heated looks tying my tongue in knots.

  He raised his gaze. “By the way, are you free Saturday night?”

  “Ah...” I cleared my throat. “I was planning on spending time with my family.”

  “Then find a babysitter, so you and Tom can come to my party. It’s for some writers, agents, and prod
ucers. Actually, that brings up a point. Why don’t you have an agent? I could only find your email address connected with your books.”

  “I’m self-published.”

  “I know, but you still should have an agent. They are important, and I have one in mind that would be perfect for you. He will be at the party, so please accept my invitation.”

  I nodded, feeling excited about the prospect.

  “Great!” he said, looking genuinely happy. He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, causing a thrill to race through me. The man was making me feel like a school girl with a crush on a way too hot teacher, or with his voice, a posh professor.

  I went to step away from him, but Eric placed his hand at the back of my head. His face went serious, giving me the impression he was going to kiss me on the lips. He cleared his throat, then let me go, running his wayward hand down his shirt. “Actually, I forgot that no other partners will be coming, so it’ll be better if you attend alone. It might look bad if I allow you to bring your significant other, when I haven’t given the other guests the same courtesy.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a talk with Tom.”

  His smile returned. “Good, I’ll have my secretary email you the details. It will be at my Mission Bay home,” he said, making me wonder how many homes he had. He leaned forward and kissed my cheek again, his lips lingering for a second too long. After a tense moment, he pulled back and walked over to the door, opening it for me. “Until we meet again.”

  I nodded at him and exited the room, now nervous about Saturday. I had wanted Tom to be there, but since he hated my writing career it was probably for the best that he didn’t come. Although being alone with Eric wasn’t a good idea either. No, I wouldn’t be alone, there would be other people, and it was business, NOT pleasure.

  Needing to hear Tom’s voice, I pulled out my phone. I stepped outside and dialled his number, but it went straight to voice-mail. I hung up, knowing I would tell him about it later.

  ***

  “He’s just after sex,” Tom snapped, looking angry.

  We were sitting on our bed, about to go to sleep when I had brought up the party.