38. Sloane
Sloane
Me: I think we should throw a party.
Lo: Oh, a baby shower! Yes! You’ve finally agreed!
Cal: I’ve already got the perfect theme.
Me: NO! I meant like a real party. A fun one. Maybe invite some women.
Lo: Sounds like a baby shower.
Cal: Balloon animals! Think about it. Fuzzy could be the model for it. A million giant cats floating through the air.
Lo: I’ve literally got chills.
Cal: It’s awesome, right?
Lo: No, baby. No, it is not.
Me: Could the two of you focus? I’m talking about a cocktail party. Brian won’t go out to meet women, so let’s bring the women to him.
Lo: Oh my god. She’s in love.
Cal: Who?
Lo: Sloane! She’s in love, and now she wants Brian to be in love too.
Me: You are so annoying.
Cal: Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with us. We won’t tell him.
Sully: I’m literally in this chat.
S norting, I shake my head and smile down at the phone. Just the sight of Sully’s name on the screen makes me damn giddy. What is that?
Maybe it’s love. Because Lo is right. I’m in love with my husband.
I try to cover my face so no one walking by my office sees my dopey smile, but really, why should I hide it? So what if I’m happy? Isn’t that a good thing?
And I am. God, am I happy. The past month has been a fever dream.
Despite my nerves surrounding the potential of ending up on bed rest, I wasn’t lying when I told Sully I knew we’d be okay.
My doctor has been keeping a close eye on my labs and insisting I come in weekly, and I’m doing everything I can to keep my blood pressure down—including heading home at a normal hour, putting my feet up, and focusing on the good in my life and not the stressors—and Sully’s gone above and beyond to help with all of it.
Now that I’ve passed 34 weeks, I can breathe even easier. Going into labor soon wouldn’t be ideal, and the idea of her ending up in the NICU is scary, but I have faith that we’ll all be okay. Now if I can make it to nine months, that’d be stellar.
No matter when I deliver, we don’t need a baby shower. Our room is barely big enough for Sully and me, and besides a bassinet and changing table, the baby doesn’t need much for the first few months anyway. By the time she’s old enough to sleep in a crib, we’ll be back in New York City .
God, just the thought of moving back home with Sully, of returning to our home as a family of four, has my smile growing again.
Because I can see it. And I can see us being happy there.
Though I refuse to rush this time we have in Jersey. Surprisingly, I kind of enjoy it. I’ll even go so far as to say that I’ll miss it when we leave. Or maybe it’s just my friends that I’ll miss.
“What did baby daddy do now?” Julius asks as he saunters into my office, a wicked grin on his face.
I try to school my expression. “What are you talking about?”
He leans against my desk, studying me. “You’re all smiley. Why are you all smiley?”
I roll my eyes and tap at my keyboard, ignoring him. “What’s in your hand?” I point to the piece of paper he’s holding tight between his fingers.
“I’ll share mine if you share yours.” This level of excitement from him makes me suspicious. Maybe it’s dirt on Will. Maybe he’s fumbled a case. It would serve him right after the stunt he pulled two months ago.
In the end, the Simpson matter resolved in our favor. Apparently, he’d done the mediation statement long before he assigned it to me. While I used to tolerate him, now I see him for what he really is: a weasel.
I’ve stayed away from him since then, and fortunately, since I was assigned to the estates division, he’s stayed away as well.
I snatch the paper out of Julius’s hand while he’s distracted, still gloating, like he thinks he’s getting one over on me. As I read the court order, though, my eyes narrow. “I’ve been appointed by the court to represent a child,” I murmur.
It’s a domestic violence matter. One that’s arisen during a divorce. The child is developmentally disabled, so a special-needs trust will be required. That’s where I come in.
This isn’t how I typically find myself involved in these cases, so I’m immediately suspicious. “Where did this come from? ”
“Your mother dropped it off on her way into Higgins’s office ten minutes ago.”
I groan. I should have known. This has my mother written all over it. What is she doing now?
Squinting, I look past him. “What are the chances I can make it to the elevator and out of the building without her knowing?”
Julius tilts his head. “Considering I told Higgins I’d send you in at ten, I’d say slim to none.”
I pout. “Come on. You like me more than you like him.”
“Until you take me away from this sad existence, baby mama, we’re relying on his paychecks, so I assure you, I like him more.”
I snort. “Et tu Brute.”
He rolls his eyes. “Your husband says it better.”
I wish I could laugh at his snark, but my mind is racing, working through scenarios that would get me out of this impromptu meeting with my mother and my boss.
I feel like I’m sixteen again. Which is ridiculous. I’m forty years old. My mother doesn’t control me.
Though she does control half the district. And she garners the respect of every single person who does control me.
God, this is annoying.
My phone buzzes on my desk, and the sight of my husband’s name momentarily lightens my mood.
Sully: Lunch? I had a meeting in the New York office and don’t feel like driving to Jersey, then coming back again.
I smile. The only reason he would have to come back again is to pick me up, which is completely unnecessary. But I know better than to argue.
Me: It’s only ten. I can’t meet for a couple of hours. I can take a car service home tonight if you don’t want to hang around.
Sully: I don’t mind. I can get work done here while I wait. I’ll pick you up for lunch at 12.
Just knowing that I’ll see him in two hours makes the idea of dealing with my mother a little less dreadful.
Though that dread is back in full force when I hear the familiar clickity clack of her heels. Her walk is distinct. She doesn’t cower. No, she wants her victims to know that she’s coming. I think making people nervous gives her a thrill.
But I refuse to give her that. Instead, I motion for Julius to go and turn my attention to my computer. When Julius announces over the intercom that she’s here, I continue keeping my head down. “You can send her in.”
Despite all my posturing, the moment my mother steps into my space, my head snaps up and my back straightens. My body is trained to peacock for this woman. “Hi, Mother.”
It takes everything in me not to stand up. But if I have any hope of not discussing my pregnancy—a pregnancy I have yet to disclose because I’m not ready for her commentary—then I need to remain behind this desk. Hidden.
This is ridiculous. I’m forty , not sixteen. So what if I’m pregnant? So what if she’s judgy about it? Her opinion shouldn’t matter.
But I should have told her earlier. Shit. I should have dealt with this months ago. Though there’s no time like the present, I suppose. I stand and cradle my stomach, making the bump, which is now well and popped, even more apparent.
My mother, whose middle name should be unflappable, registers my movement with nothing more than a raised brow.
The reaction is so quick that if I weren’t looking for it, I’d have missed it.
But I didn’t, and I take great satisfaction in the surprise.
After the stunt she pulled with this job, I’m happy to return the favor.
Also, I’m still trying to figure out what her angle is with this appointment in the domestic violence case.
“You look well.” She doesn’t even attempt to round the desk to greet me with a hug, and she doesn’t make any mention of my obvious pregnancy.
I’d be disappointed if it weren’t exactly what I expected.
When I was a little girl, there were no cuddles or bedtime stories.
When she sent me to camps for the summer, educational ones, she didn’t hold me tight and tell me she’d miss me.
I’m not even sure she was home the day I left for college, and when I graduated, I received a perfunctory nod and a new car to take with me to law school.
My parents met all my needs physically, but they gave me little attention. Their way of parenting is the antithesis of mine, and I hope like hell Sully and I are doing a decent job with T.J.
“Thank you, Mother. You do too.” And she does.
Her hair—which is mostly gray since she’d never do something so frivolous as spend hours in a salon each month to keep up with coloring it—is pulled back in a low bun today.
Her blue eyes, the same shade as mine, are still vibrant, and her skin, though aged, is still smooth because she rarely spends time in the sun.
Her blue suit is simple, understated, and the large diamond on her left finger is the only outward sign of her wealth.
“My assistant just gave this to me. What’s going on?” I hold up the paper, figuring I might as well dive right in.
She sits across from me, perching on the edge of the chair. “Will told me you’ve been taken off litigation.”
Her tone is flat and unimpressed, which is not surprising in the least.
For once, I go with the God’s honest truth. “I like estates, and now that I’m pregnant, keeping up with litigation files is a challenge.”
My mother nods. “This case should help with that.”
Confused, I stare at her. “How?”
“This will prove that you can do it all,” she says like it should be obvious. “You’ll be in court. You’ll make a good impression. It’s a win-win.”
I grind my teeth together, though I can’t exactly shoot down her theory. And I do like being in court .
She isn’t wrong; the situation is pretty damn ideal, really. I just hate that she’s the one giving it to me. Again.
“Why didn’t you tell me you got me this job?” I ask pointedly.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d dismissed the divorce?”
My jaw ticks. She’s too smart not to know the answer to that.
She’s already looked at the file. She knows it’s still pending.
A couple of months ago, Sully and I agreed to wait until after the baby is born to make any final decisions.
Yes, we’re both in this one hundred percent, but we’ve had plenty of other things on our minds, so we’ve stuck to the plan and haven’t talked about the divorce proceedings at all.
But none of that is her business.
My mom huffs when she realizes I’m not going to give her a response.
“I can only ask for so many favors, Sloane. You won’t make partner here if you don’t think outside the box.
If you simply want to raise your babies and work on trusts, then it’s probably best you go back to your husband’s firm.
It’s bad enough that you’ve stopped litigating. At least there you were a partner.”
Her words land, hitting me in a spot I don’t think she even knew existed. One I was wholly unprepared for. “I was never actually a partner,” I admit.
For the first time in my entire life, I think I actually shock my mother. She jolts backward. “What?”
I avert my gaze, peering out the window. “I wasn’t a partner.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug, going for aloof, despite the way that fact has always bothered me. “The guys are full partners. I worked mostly from home after T.J. was born. I hoped that after he was in school…”
I don’t finish my sentence. My mother isn’t an idiot.
She doesn’t need me to explain how I na?vely believed that when T.J.
went to kindergarten, I’d have time to focus on myself and my own goals again.
I was the one at the top of our class in Columbia.
I aced all the tests. When I joined Sully at his father’s law firm, I had offers from just about every other large law firm in New York that was worth talking about.
I had fast-track to partner written all over me. I was the prize.
Until I had a baby.
He wasn’t an easy baby. He took more of my time and energy than I expected. Even after he went to kindergarten, someone had to do school drop-offs and pickups, and Sully never had time.
I was drowning, with a child who fought me every time I dropped him off, who would cry until I took him home with me.
And on the days I could bribe him into going, I’d head to the office, only to be treated like I was there to catch up instead of work.
Like I wasn’t a lawyer there too. Not one of them saw me, least of all my husband.
I blink, forcing the thoughts from my head. I don’t have it in me to go back to that time. Sully and I have worked through so much. Maybe we haven’t touched on these parts yet, but that’s probably because I’ve never mentioned how I felt about not being partner.
But we’re good now. We’re communicating. Every day, he goes above and beyond to show me that my career matters just as much as his. I’m not going to go borrowing trouble.
“I’m happy mother. I know this isn’t the career you pictured for me—” My mother scoffs, but I hold up my hand, forcing her to hear me. “My child is happy. My life is full. And Sully and I will figure out how to move forward, together.”
With a shake of her head, my mother stands. “I hope for your sake, you’re right.”
I hate that even after she leaves my office, her words stay with me.