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When they are seated, I start massaging their shoulders.
Jay lets out an exasperated huff. “Okay, what do you want?”
“Can’t I just be nice to my best friend?”
“You’re hardly nice.”
I smack the side of their head. “Harsh.”
They twist and raise an eyebrow at me.
“Fine, we need to put a proposal together for Pür Innovations. This could be it, Jay. This could be our golden goose.”
Jay narrows their eyes. “And if it isn’t? What are you going to do?”
“It is. I can feel it. I have a meeting with Amala Williams on Friday, and I want you to come with me.”
“No way. I’m the talent. You’re the shark.”
I give them my best Isabel’s puppy-dog expression, lip sticking out and everything. “Pwetty pwease, oh, powerful one.”
Jay purses their lips as their face settles to stone.
I squeeze and bat my lashes, trying to muster up a tear—mostly from eye irritation—but a tear is my friend’s weakness.
They roll their eyes and huff a breath at my antics. “Argh, fine. Keep massaging. I got a kink in my neck. And a pain in my ass, named Miranda Keller.”
“Shush, you love me.”
“You’re lucky I do. Now, let’s put something together that will blow Am’s mind.”
“Am-ala,” I correct.
“Whatever.”
The rest of the day is spent designing the shit out of Pür’s proposal. By the time I sit on the train to go home, I’m confident that we’ll nail this presentation. The brass ring is within reach, and I’m going to take it.
All the nausea and head-throbbing from earlier have dissipated, and it’s like I’m walking on air as I make my way up the sidewalk leading to my brownstone. Stopping in front of it, I raise my palm to the sky as gratitude swells in my chest.
I’ll be able to keep it.
I don’t want Isabel to grow up in a shitty apartment or trailer, like I had to. I want her to have a permanent home. A place she can always come back to, no matter how long she’s gone. Though, if it came down to losing people or my home, an excruciating decision would be to sell the house.
Skipping through the door, I spot Remi and Isabel playing with building blocks on the living room floor. It fills me with a sense of satisfaction knowing I’m giving my daughter everything I never had—stability, quality time, and beautiful memories.
“Very good, Isa-bea.” Remi points to his blocks, then to hers. “You spelled ‘cat’ just like I did.”
“Cat,” she repeats, pride written all over her face. “Adoded cat?”
“Uh…” He busies himself collecting the blocks, fidgeting with the wavy hair at his forehead. I almost laugh at Remi’s hesitation.
She’s hard to say no to, so I save him from it. “Not today, Isabel.” I point to the manny. “And you don’t let her rope you into something that will get you both in trouble.”
“Who, me? Never.” He turns to Isabel. “We are precious angels, aren’t we?”
Isabel looks up at me. “Pre-sus.”
So smart. Walking over, I pick up my daughter and hold her to me, smelling her unique scent. If I could combine her aroma with Remi’s and bottle it, I’d be a billionaire. The opiate effects are potent. “How’s my sweet girl?”
