by Kat T. Masen
She continues to give me information on what I need to do, but most importantly, to take it easy and enjoy the pregnancy.
On the way home, I crank up the stereo playing Alanis Morissette. Angry-girl music is just what I need to prepare myself mentally for a night with friends and forget, even for a few hours, that inside me, I’m carrying a baby.
Masen’s a terror when I pick him up from pre-school. According to the teacher, he tried to shove another kid in the sandpit, then ran off with his toy. When the teachers tried to discipline him, he told them his dad would send them to jail. It was very out of character for him which prompted a meeting about his behavior.
In the car, I try my best to explain to him why his actions were uncalled for.
“You don’t push other children.”
“Daddy pushes you,” he argues back, folding his arms as I watch him for a brief moment in the rearview mirror.
“Daddy has never pushed me,” I correct him.
He nods his head. “Yes, he did. He pushed you onto the bed and then he wrestled you. Your pants fell off and you told him to stop, but he didn’t, then you thought it was funny but then you made a crying sound.”
I slam my foot hard on the brake, only noticing the red light at the last minute. Behind me, a car beeps its horn at my erratic driving. I start to hyperventilate, gasping for air as the temperature rises. My finger fumbles for the button to open the window, welcoming the fresh air.
Clearing my throat, I turn around to look at Masen. “That was play wrestling. We both agreed to wrestle. It’s different, okay? Please don’t push anyone.”
Turning back around, the traffic light turns green prompting me to accelerate.
When we pull into the driveway, I tell Masen to get changed so we can head over to Charlie’s house when Haden gets home. He disappears into his room, and the second Haden walks through the door, I pull him aside.
“Masen saw us.”
“Doing what?” he asks, removing his shirt and dumping it on the floor. I pick it up, annoyed, throwing it into the dirty-clothes basket.
“Having sex.”
He stops mid-search for his polo shirt. “How do you know?”
I explained what happened at pre-school, then what Masen told me in the car. I expected Haden to be mortified like me but instead, he breaks into a fit of laughter.
“So, he saw us… he’s four. He’s not going to remember.”
“We need to be more careful,” I warn him.
“C’mon, we barely fuck as it is. Stop sweating the small stuff. The kid is fine.” He shakes his head in amusement. “Honestly, woman, you need to chill the fuck out.”
Frustrated with his lack of paternal concern for his son, I throw my hands in the air and demand he be ready in five minutes. With Masen dressed, I grab a pasta salad I had prepared early this morning and take the dish to the car.
Lex and Charlie’s house never ceases to amaze me. I have been here so many times yet every time we pass the iron gates and drive up the long driveway, my jaw drops at its sheer beauty.
It’s a classic French chateau with panoramic views of Malibu. When they bought the house a few years back, the previous owners had spent a fortune making the house luxurious with quality craftsmanship throughout the entire property.
The house itself boasts seven bedrooms and ten bathrooms. Some of the highlights are the gorgeous chef’s kitchen with a Groin vault ceiling and attached formal dining room with a stone fireplace.
There is a temperature-controlled wine room because the previous owners owned a winery in Napa Valley. Aside from the large home theater with adjoining wet bar, game room with mirrored glass ceiling, my favorite place in the whole house is the library. Much like myself and Haden, Charlie and Lex enjoy reading and collecting books. The room itself has a built-in fireplace and plush sofas to sink into and immerse yourself in a good book.
We circle the driveway, stopping at the front door. The luscious landscaped grounds surround us as we exit the car and wait at the door.
“This house is something,” Haden comments, admiring the woodwork of the door.
I nod in agreement as the door opens, and Charlie greets us.
Lex is one of our shareholders and husband to one of my best friends, Charlie. Together, they have three daughters. I don’t know how Charlie juggles it all. Much like Haden, Lex works a fair bit plus Charlie runs her own law firm. She often tells us she chases her tail, barely sleeps, and the key to pulling it off is a routine. Lex, unless traveling, always drops the girls off to school so Charlie starts early those days. She works from home twice a week, plus hired two senior lawyers to take the workload off so she can focus on the more urgent cases.
They seem to have it all together, despite Charlie arguing they don’t. However, they have a strict rule in their family—no work on the weekends. It seems to work. They have a strong marriage and three beautiful and well-rounded children.
“Lex is grilling some chicken. He’s been watching some cooking show trying to become the next Gordon Ramsay.” She laughs, tossing her hair to the side as she ushers us in. “Who am I to complain? A husband who cooks is every woman’s dream.”
Haden kisses Charlie on the cheek and heads to the back to join Lex. Masen has already run off, finding Charlie’s youngest daughter, Addison, on the trampoline out back.
“Where are the rest of the girls?”
“Mia is in her room, sulking. You know, pre-teen drama.”
“Already? She’s only twelve.”
“Yes, and Lex said she isn’t allowed to go to a boy’s party.”
“Oh,” I mouth. “Boys…”
“Not boys… a boy.”
I cringe. “That’s even worse.”
“You’re telling me. So that’s her, and Ava is probably out back practicing for her game this weekend.”
I can’t imagine raising three girls. Lex, an overprotective husband and father, often expresses his anxiety over the girls reaching puberty. Mia is one beautiful twelve-year-old. She is the spitting image of Lex with her mousy brown hair and deep green eyes. Ava, on the other hand, is all Charlie. Same shaped eyes, even the cheekbones mirror her. The only difference is that she loves sports, a true tomboy, unlike Charlie who does not care for anything involving a ball.
Addison, their youngest, is a mix of both. She is outgoing, enjoys running around, and according to Charlie, has found her calling in gymnastics. For a six-year-old, her competitive nature is beyond her years. Something she’s acquired from Lex.
Charlie leads me to the kitchen. I place the dish down on the countertop, taking in the delicious aromas.
“So, I heard about Indie Press,” she says, tossing the lettuce in the salad bowl. “Good news, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You’re not happy?”
“I am, it’s just a lot of work,” I tell her, not wanting to the share the real reason why I am not happy.
“Since when are you afraid of work?” She stops mid-laugh, watching me with concern. “What’s wrong? Something is wrong. Is everything okay between you and Haden?”
Charlie knows me well. After all, she is one of my best friends. Normally, I would confide in her, and lying to her isn’t something I feel comfortable with, but I still haven’t come to terms with all of this. Until I do, I want to keep it to myself.
Lex and Haden walk in, breaking the conversation. I leap off the stool to kiss Lex hello on the cheek before grabbing a bowl and helping Charlie to the main table.
Throughout dinner, Lex, Haden, and myself talk about Indie Press while the kids surprisingly eat quietly beside us.
When it comes to business, Lex is a shark. Nobody messes with him, and it shows in his success. His only soft spot is his family. Charlie has that man wrapped around her little finger. High school sweethearts turned ex’s turned forbidden lovers turned happily ever after. At least—that’s how she described them.
Charlie’s law firm is handling all the legalities, so
she had a keen interest in the matter, voicing her opinion where it matters.
“Are you reducing headcount or are we keeping their staff on?” Charlie asks.
Haden wipes his mouth then takes a sip of his beer.
“Still determining who is worth retaining. The Chief Editor is nice, a bit headstrong and opinionated. Don’t think she thinks highly of me. However, Presley can be the judge of that since she’ll be working closely with her.”
“As long as she doesn’t want in your pants, I think I can handle her.”
Haden and Lex snicker at the same time, a personal joke I’m yet to unravel.
“She’s coming down in a few weeks once it all goes through, but I’m not worried about that. She’s um… prefers her own kind.”
“A vagetarian?” Charlie blurts out, shrugging her shoulders as Lex shakes his head in amusement.
Haden hides his laugh behind his bottle. “To that effect, I guess so.”
Lex holds a bottle of wine in his hands, offering to fill my glass.
I go to thank him, watching him pour the Penfolds Grange. Bringing the glass to my lips, I stop just shy of drinking, realizing I shouldn’t be consuming any alcohol. Another reason why pregnancy is no walk in the park.
The second I put the wine down, Charlie’s mouth falls open. She knows me too well. I scratch the back of my neck, warning her with my eyes not to say anything as they direct themselves to Haden.
“Will you excuse Presley and me, I really want to show her a dress in my closet?”
The boys say nothing, still deep in heavy conversation about the business. The kids, desperate to leave the table, use the opportunity to run back to whatever they were previously doing.
I smile, careful not to let my emotions slip, and place my napkin on the table as I follow Charlie toward the bedroom. She pulls me into the den instead, shutting the door quickly behind her.
Throwing her arms around me, she brings me into a tight embrace.
“Congratulations!”
She squeezes me tight, again, before distancing herself with a grin she’s unable to contain. I always envy Charlie’s stunning good looks. Not once have I seen a wrinkle, or God forbid, a blemish. Absolutely flawless skin. Even when she’s tired, she still looks amazing. When I’m tired, my whole face sags like a weathered peach.
“Tell me everything.”
“There’s nothing to tell besides Haden not knowing.”
Charlie narrows her eyes in confusion. “I don’t understand, why haven’t you told him? He wants another kid. He tells Lex that all the time.”
“Because… I haven’t, okay?”
“Pres, what’s wrong? You should be happy. Masen is four, and it’s time to give him a sibling.”
Right, I should be happy. I should be over the fucking moon because that’s what everyone will want me to be. Yet inside, I beg for it to all go away. I want things back to the way they were before this nightmare began.
“You’re right.” I press my lips, forcing a smile. “It must be the hormones. Listen, we should get back.”
Charlie eyes me dubiously. She’d been a close friend for years, a person I can always rely on. But she is also a mother, a woman who has strong beliefs when it comes to family. I don’t need her judgment. I don’t need any one’s judgment because I have my own personal prison which I so desperately want to escape from.
Back at the table, Charlie serves dessert before we call it a night and say goodbye. She suggests we catch up for lunch this Friday, which I agree, not to raise any more concerns on her behalf.
It’s late when we get back home, and assuming Masen’s exhaustion from running around will have him easily settled in his own bed, I am very wrong.
He cries, overtired and irrational with his pleas. Haden grows impatient, allowing him in our bed. I would normally step in, encourage Masen to return to his bed because he is a big boy, but not tonight.
I welcome the solitude.
In fact, I crave it.
Alone, on the couch, I lay awake for the second night in a row. My hands carelessly wander to my stomach. It will only be a matter of time until the charade is up and everyone, including Haden, will find out.
And that will soon become a cold, harsh reality.
#JERK
I have spent a good part of the last two weeks in San Fran.
The flying has become tedious, so I find myself staying days on end to fast track the transition of Indie Press.
The Fairmont is a nice place to crash at night, everything you could ask for from a five-star hotel, but I miss Presley and Masen. It isn’t the same, and it only pushes me to work harder so I won’t need to fly up anymore.
“I apologize for the delay in your travels down to LA,” I tell Cassandra, the Chief Editor, as we sit in her small office. My eyes wander around the room taking note of what appears to be expensive furnishings. The rent on this place is well over budget. I make a mental note to review this immediately.
“Our Editor-in-Chief, Presley, is inundated with work since we had a team member resign, and she is working on a new project with an extremely tight deadline.”
Cassandra’s stern gaze shifts toward her computer. For a chick digging chicks, she’s quite attractive, dressed rather feminine in a burgundy blazer and matching pants. Not like Presley’s sister, Gem, who thinks skater clothes are back in fashion.
“Just notify my assistant, and she can rearrange my schedule.”
“About your assistant,” I begin, stalling as I try to articulate the correct words. “Quite a high salary for someone out of college.”
She bunches her hands into her fist, pressing them on the table.
“Mr. Cooper, with all due respect, my staff has been carefully chosen amongst many who have applied for positions at Indie Press. Liesel had been with our company for over twelve months and has proven herself to be an asset. It would be a great loss to lose such talent.”
I’m bored by her undermining tone. Who the fuck does she think she is to question my judgment? Lucky for me, I call the shots, and Liesel will soon be out. Not even Presley or I have a personal assistant. Our structure is to create a solid team, everyone knows their responsibilities and no one, and I mean no one, slacks off under my watch.
“She’s a personal assistant. Not much to it, if you ask me. You either find her a role with less pay or she’s out.”
“Are you seriously asking me to create a role with less salary?”
“Well, you’re the one who wants to keep her. It would be naïve of you to think we can retain all the staff. We may be growing, but with that comes careful budgeting. We must spend money where it’s most profitable. Your assistant fetching your coffee and scheduling appointments is hardly worth the dollars.” I stand up, grabbing my phone. “Are we clear?”
She takes a deep breath, then meets my gaze. “Yes, Mr. Cooper.”
I am beyond ready to head home, checking my watch to make sure I can make my flight.
By the time I land back at LAX, it is just after eight. The traffic will have eased slightly, but it will still be another hour before I step foot inside my house.
Presley doesn’t complain, nor say a word about my traveling. She has been quiet of late, unopinionated, and not her usual feisty self. When I try to ask her what’s wrong, she simply tells me she is busy with work, and that’s it.
I don’t blame her as I feel the same way. We are growing too fast but can’t swing extra headcount in our budget. Marshall is relentless in his pursuit of making us the number one publishing house on the West Coast. Between him and Lex, the two of them are pushing me beyond my limits.
My Bluetooth lights up, prompting me of an incoming call.
“Cooper here,” I answer, exhausted.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Cooper.”
The voice, while familiar, comes from an unknown number.
“Who is this?”
A shrill of laughter follows. “I’m offended you don’t remember your ex-wife.”<
br />
Eloise. Shit.
It’s been years since I last spoke to her. Once our divorce finalized, there was no real reason to stay in contact with her. The last I heard, she had married some politician and ran an online magazine publication for women. Kudos to her, she was into all that feminist shit.
“Eloise, long time no speak.”
“Well, you’ve been busy as have I. How is Masen?”
“He’s good. Four years old already.”
“Nice,” she says, clearing her throat. “And Presley?”
I sense the bitter resentment toward Presley. After all, she is the reason why my marriage to Eloise didn’t make it past the reception.
“She’s doing well.” I cut the small talk short. “So, I assume you’re not calling to discuss my family?”
“No. Actually, I’m calling you because I have a proposition.”
I pull up at the lights, stopping at the red. “Go on.”
“You may or may not know, my company has grown over the last two years thanks to our online platforms gaining substantial followers. Our advertising revenue has tripled, and we’ll be adding a section dedicated to books written by female authors. We’re open to different genres as long as we can guest spot the author.”
Social media platforms with large followers have been our best advertising revenue. Noah, the expert in that area, has shown me trends and figures from each social media platform. There is no doubt that readers gravitate toward online versus retail.
“It sounds like quite some plan. So why do you need me?”
“Well, you run Lantern Publishing. You have key contacts I’d love to feature. Grace Harper alone has over two-hundred thousand followers on her fan pages.”
“So that’s it, you want Grace to feature?”
“I’d like her and many others. It’ll be a bi-weekly feature. What do you think?”
I pull into the driveway, turning the engine off. “Listen, it sounds great, but you need to run everything by Noah. He’s our marketing director. Pitch something to him, and if he thinks we can work with it, he’ll organize a meeting.”
She squeals, girly, but very Eloise. “Thank you, Haden. We’ll chat soon.”