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I waved my hand. “Nah. I needed to hear that stuff.”
“I could have been nicer. I swear to god, pregnancy brain is real.”
“It so is. When Holli’s friend Alexis was pregnant, she totally forgot about getting fu—” Wait, what?
Deja’s eyes widened. “Uh.”
“You’re not…” I gestured at her midsection.
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “Yes.”
“Yes, you’re pregnant?” I clarified.
Still shaking her head, she said, “I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Holli was going to tell you.”
“You didn’t mean to. You have preg—” My throat dried shut. I cleared it. “Pregnancy brain.”
Oh, my god. My best friend’s wife was pregnant? Their whole lives would change. Everything would change. God, we hardly saw each other as it was. Holli wouldn’t be able to just run over to my mom’s hot tub whenever she wanted.
“Sophie, are you okay? Because you look really pale.” Deja asked with a concerned frown.
“I’m fine,” I squeaked. “I’m just going to go call Holli.”
I hurried back to my office before Deja could demand I keep my knowledge secret. Snatching up my phone, I tapped her contact and fell back on the sofa.
She answered, “Get back to work, bitch.”
“What are you doing, right now?” I asked. I wasn’t sure “I know your wife is pregnant” was the kind of thing you blurted out over the phone.
Well, between Holli and I, it might have been a thing to blurt out over the phone. But I wasn’t taking chances.
“I’m really busy. I went to the dentist today, and I’m wiped out.” She groaned.
“What did you have done at the dentist?” I couldn’t remember her mentioning having anything serious coming up.
“Oh, just a cleaning,” she said. “It’s all that green I smoked after, what what!”
Yup, that sounded about right.
“Get your worthless stoner ass up and meet me at—” I would have normally told her to meet me at our old standby diner, DiNicio’s. But I wasn’t trying to live in the past, anymore. “You know what, meet me at my house. Bring your suit, we’ll crash Mom’s hot tub.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work today?” she asked.
I would tell her that part later. “Just get ready, I’m sending a car.”
So. I didn’t work at Mode, anymore. I had yet another fashion magazine office I needed to clean out. And a whole bunch of employees just beyond the door who’d listened to my shouting match with Deja. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I knew exactly what I was getting into.
****
I could have waited in the city and shared the ride with Holli, but I wanted to be able to talk to Neil first. I found him in his study, “not working”.
He glanced at me briefly when I entered. “Rough two hours at the office, dear?”
“Yeah, about that.” I went to one of the red leather wing chairs by the windows. I didn’t even know why we had them. It wasn’t like Neil entertained company in this room. “We need to talk. Where’s Olivia?”
“Mariposa just took her for her nap.” Neil looked up from the screen for just a second. “One moment.”
Waiting for him to finish what he was “not working” on was like waiting for the principal to read your teacher’s report right in front of you. Which was silly of me; Neil was my husband, not an authority figure. He wasn’t going to scold me, and he couldn’t punish me. The worst thing he could be was disappointed. Or miffed that I hadn’t consulted him. I hated those possibilities, but sometimes, they were unavoidable in relationships. This wasn’t something we wouldn’t be able to get over, but I didn’t look forward to a strongly negative reaction or a possible argument.
He clicked the trackpad and swiveled his chair to face me. “Sorry. Something came up at North Star, and I had to email Geir.”
Though Neil’s brother was running their Icelandic media company and Neil was technically retired, they all still consulted each other on the running of things. “You know, for some who’s retired—”
“Yes, yes, all right,” he shushed me. “What brings you home in the middle of the day?”
“So, super weird thing.” I got to my feet and paced in front of the window. “I don’t have a job, anymore.”
“Oh?” Neil’s eyebrows rose. “As in…”
“As in I’m no longer co-editor-in-chief of Mode magazine. And after I meet with my lawyers, I won’t own it as a partnership with Deja.” I bit my thumbnail. “I’m giving it to her.”
“Giving it?” he repeated, as though I’d just spoken a foreign language. “She’s not buying you out?”
“How is she going to buy me out when I bought everything to begin with?” I stopped pacing and faced him. “I’m going to maintain some financial interest here. I’m not just throwing the money away. If Mode continues on its upward trend, it might not stay independent for long. Obviously, if a larger publication bought it, I would stand to make some pretty good money, unless I walked away entirely.”
