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I was Zoe Valentine—party of one, expert third wheel to my best friend and her husband, with all the time in the world to do whatever I damn well felt like.
But the second kind of change—the asshole hose to the face—was the only way I could describe the last two weeks of my life.
It would’ve been hard enough if it were just me.
But it wasn’t just me anymore.
Hell, I hardly recognized myself in the mirror most days. Speaking of mirrors, there was one across the lushly decorated room, so perfectly clean that I was doing my absolute best to avoid looking in that direction, because it showed everything.
The lawyer’s office—home to the spotless mirror and the nice decor—was shiny and immaculate.
I was not.
Sure, I’d swiped on a coat of mascara and some passably clean clothes for this last-minute meeting, but my already wild hair was pushing the limit of what dry shampoo could do for it, and from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a macaroni noodle buried in some messy waves.
I batted at it, sighing in defeat when my fingers got tangled.
When I finally plucked the noodle out and didn’t immediately spy a trash can, I had no choice but to tuck that sucker into the pocket of my jeans.
Apparently, this was something I’d have to get used to. And I’d gotten used to having alotthrown at me the last couple of weeks.
When a rotating list of those things started spinning on a carousel in my head, I rubbed at my chest, which had begun to feel tight and heavy with worry. That drowning, sputtering sensation came back with a screaming vengeance.
No.No one was going to take her away from me.
There was no stifling the loaded sigh that came in the wake of that singular thought. I needed a nap. And a shower. And something signed in blood that would allow me to keep her.
This time, my sigh was heavier, slower, and weighted down with all the worries that crept into my brain when I tried to get to sleep.
Those two sighs were deafening in the hushed space.
It was different from the pockets of quiet I’d gotten at my house the last two weeks, and those had been strictly confined to the spotty naptimes she’d allowed, and the very limited window of time in which I managed to stay awake after I got her into bed.
Most nights, I face-planted onto my pillow less than twenty minutes after she was lights out, which was hardly enough time to fully appreciate the lack of noise.
Mira Grace Spencer was particularly talented at decimating any quiet that existed.
And, really, I was thankful for that, because if I’d had to sit in my house alone, next door to Chris and Amie’s empty, quiet one, I’d probably lose my frickin’ mind.
Mira was the best distraction in the entire world, even with the lack of sleep and the mountain of worry that now came with every single decision I made.
Wasn’t that funny?
You could want something fordecades, think about what it would be like, think that you’d fully prepared, but when someone actually plops a child into your lap and says,Here you go—she’s your responsibility now, all that want and thinking and preparation is absolutely fucking worthless.
And on that desolate thought, the missing office manager entered the room through a door disguised as a bookshelf.
She didn’t notice me at first. I studied her tailored suit, a pretty shade of purple, and vaguely remembered the days when I also looked like a functioning human being when I walked out the door.
When I didn’t have bags the size of Samsonites under my eyes.
When I had clean hair, free of orange-coated pasta.
When I didn’t occasionally eat ice cream for dinner because it was easier that way.
Oh yes, the Zoe of old was a bit more on top of things when she faced the world. Not that I’d left my house in the last two weeks, but still ...
The office manager’s eyes lit up. “You’re a bit early. I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.”
