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We sit in the game room at opposite ends of the couch. Him with his thriller, and me reading on my tablet. I tuck my toes under his leg to keep them warm. But really to feel his leg flex.
We take Emilie on a whale watching tour on the weekend, and she stands between us, each of her hands holding one of ours. It feels like family.
But James always makes the decision to head to bed first. He disappears quickly, not leaving an opening for anything additional. I’m becoming frustrated by his refusal to acknowledge the conflicting ease and tension between us.
By the end of the second week, my nerves are a little frayed. I’m still waiting for an answer on my offer to buy the preschool. I’m expecting Bray to jump out at every turn. My body is ultra-sensitive from the constant state of arousal I’m in from watching James’s tenderness and teasing with Emilie, his smooth movements in the kitchen, and the drips from the pool following the lines of his tattoos.
Late Thursday afternoon, I’ve just hit the Send button to email this week’s invoices. I’m alone in my shared office since it’s Ana’s turn to man the dismissal crowd. Mrs. Corbyn stalks up to my desk. She has her bag on her shoulder and her keys in her hand.
I wonder what fault she will point out this time. Monday, the milk delivery had been left on the counter for seven whole minutes before I managed to sign off and put the tray in the refrigerator. I got a lecture on e. coli, salmonella, and listeria that lasted longer than the span of the assumed contamination time.
Yesterday, the coloring pages for this morning’s arrival activity weren’t waiting in the correct basket in the main room. Rather than moving the stack to the next basket herself, she’d made sure I knew they were misplaced. She’d made me reprimand Ana in front of her.
My phone has just announced a text from James, and I peek at the preview as Mrs. Corbyn taps her foot, waiting for acknowledgement.
“Have a last minute 911, do you mind brin—”
I know at least one of our spare car seats remains not checked out, so it isn’t a problem for me to bring Emilie home with me. I’ve offered many times.
“Miss Mills.” Oh, she's pulled out the Brigadier General tone. I must really be in trouble. She sniffs.
“Yes, Mrs. Corbyn?”
“I’ve decided to accept your proposal.”
“I’m s—” The automatic apology is almost out of my mouth. “Wait. What?”
“I’ve decided to accept your proposal.” It’s the same words but the delivery even icier. I almost fall out of my chair.
“I’ve already sent the signed documents to your attorney. Today will be my last day.” She strides out before I can make another sound.
I sit unblinking for a moment with my mouth open while it sinks in. Then I let out a scream and kick my feet under my desk. Oh. My. God. It’s mine!
There’s so much to do! I’m pulling out the binder I carry around with me, re-reading the steps I need to take next, when Ana pokes her head into the office. “You okay, Lai?”
“How would you like a promotion?”
Her face looks as surprised as I felt a second ago. “Well, yes!” She finally says.
The bell rings at the front with another parent picking up. “We’ll talk about it on Monday,” I tell her with a smile.
I call Emilie into the office and let her know she’ll be riding home with me. “In the race car?” she asks with a hopeful grin.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her.
She jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “Yay!” She stops on her way out the door and looks back at me. “Can we get ice cream for dinner, too?” She’s been asking for that since she was last at Trevor’s and James was video chatting with the girls before bedtime. She’d asked what we had for dinner. James had grabbed sandwiches, but I was walking behind him just then and announced, “Strawberry Ice Cream!”
James had pretended to be super grouchy about it, but the piles of giggles on the other end made it worth it.
“Absolutely!” I say with a wink.
I send an email off to my attorney to confirm receipt of the paperwork, and he comes back right away with a digital copy of the documents that had just arrived in an overnight package. I’m practically jumping up and down like Emilie over ice cream.
She got a double chocolate scoop, and I got a lemon cheesecake concoction, and she’s very solemn when she promises not to spill a drip on my car seat. We get home and carry our cups and bags carefully balanced into the front door and I punch in the code to disarm the alarm.
The door slams open all the way, and Emilie drops her cup, chocolate pooling on the tile. I turn and Bray is standing there with a vicious look on his face. “Thought you could hide from me in this Richey Rich house, Lai?”
“Emilie. Red.” I say quietly, and I sense her backing toward the stairs. She taught me this exercise that James has made a point of practicing with her. Suddenly, I’m not afraid.
