Chapter 15 Jayne
Jayne
By the time everyone filters into the conference room for our weekly staff meeting at Cole it’s another to have someone else believe it, too.
“I know you’re busy,” he goes on. “And he’s busier. But are you okay? Do you need time off?”
My throat tightens. “Am I…doing something wrong?”
He groans. “No, God, Jayne. Of course, not. I knew you’d jump straight there.” He smiles, exasperated. “You’re great. You keep this place running. I just don’t want you burning out while you do it.”
I laugh softly. “So, you’re telling me to take a break?”
“I’m telling you that you’re Superwoman.” He lifts his mug as if toasting. “You hold up the sky all day and still make dinner at six.”
“I don’t make dinner at six,” I joke. “Sometimes it’s takeout at eight.”
“You can do anything, Jayne. But you can’t do everything.” He leans forward. “Like I said earlier, I’d be lost without you. But I’d rather be lost than watch you break.”
“I’m not breaking,” I protest, though my voice isn’t as firm as I want it to be.
“Good.” He stands and finishes his coffee. “Because I need you whole.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
“Absolutely.” He pauses at the door. “And Jayne?”
“Yeah?”
“You can always reach out to me if you need help, support, or anything. I’m your person. Okay?”
I watch his back, puzzled at his words.
“He’s always had a crush on you,” Iris declares when I tell her about my conversation with Daniel.
Since Rhys said he’ll take Sundays, I finally keep a drinks and dinner appointment with Iris at The Bygone, the sleek, dimly lit rooftop restaurant perched above the Four Seasons in Harbor East.
From up here, Baltimore stretches out beneath us—copper rooftops, the shimmer of the Inner Harbor, the steady blink of the Domino Sugar sign cutting through the dark. The view is extravagant and a favorite of mine.
The first week after our “come to God” conversation, as I like to call it, passed without a single incident. No slammed doors, no clipped silences.
Rhys picked up Finn twice. He forgot the snacks the first time but remembered them the second. Mikaela’s gymnastics schedule didn’t get lost in the shuffle. We even had dinner as a family three nights in a row, and no one raised their voice or left the table early.
It’s nice.
I don’t trust it.
Still, I’m grateful. Rhys is trying, and I need to let him.
“Daniel does not have a crush on me,” I protest. “That’s an insane thing to say.”
Iris takes a slow sip of her martini. She looks as if she’s stepped straight out of a magazine—sharp bob, bold red lips, earrings large enough to have their own gravitational pull.
Next to her, I usually blend into the background, all neutrals and practicality.
But tonight, I’ve made an effort with my appearance.
I’m in a navy DVF wrap dress, knee-high boots, and just enough makeup to prove I remember how to put it on. Not Iris’s trademark red lip, but I managed a decent smoky eye. All in all, I don’t look like someone’s tired mom sneaking out after bedtime.
“I think you’re the MILF of his fantasies.”
I arch a brow, amused. “I have never thought of myself as a MILF.”
“If you let yourself, babe, you could even be a cougar.”
I laugh at that and swirl the pinot in my glass. “Thank you for asking me to talk to Rhys. It worked. I think.”
“Another one for me, please.” She gestures for the bartender. “And if I’m gonna be drinking like this, we should get something to eat.”
“We should,” I agree.
We decide to share a variety of appetizers, as neither of us feels like a full meal, and order the crab dip, which is legendary, the foie gras mousse, as well as the gnocchi.
“If we’re still hungry, we can order more,” she tells the bartender as she hands the menu back to him.
I tell her how my conversation with Rhys went and that things seem to be moving in the right direction.
“He’s trying.”
“You’re both trying,” she corrects. “And how’s work, besides Daniel hitting on you?”
“He’s not hitting on me.” I smirk and add, “But he did say I am the engine of the firm.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Did he now? The engine, huh?”
“Stop.” I laugh, shaking my head. “He’s my boss. And my friend.”
The waiter sets down our drinks and two small plates, one with the crab dip and the other with the mousse.
“How was the date with the tech guy?” I ask.
She makes a face. “Not good. He was boring. And bad in bed.”
“That’s a bad combination.”
“Tell me about it. Remember that accountant? He was boring, but he had moves!”
I spread some mousse over a slice of toasted baguette. “You put up with the boring for six weeks for those moves.”
“The sex was off the charts.” She scoops up some of the crab dip on a toast point. “But eventually, the sex just couldn’t compensate for his inability to speak. And he didn’t want to be a booty call…so….”
We talk about her work and mine.
Her clients and mine.
The kids. She’s taking Finn to a creative tech seminar at Johns Hopkins.
“My son is such a nerd,” I say it with pride. Finn does the usual teenage stuff: video games, soccer, and YouTube, but he’s also into tech and science.
“Hey, teenage boys who code are teenage boys who can afford therapy later,” Iris jokes.
“Who said that?”
“The boring tech guy who was bad in bed,” she deadpans.
When the plates are empty, we move to a table by the window.
The skyline glows outside, the city alive with possibility.
“You know.” Iris swirls the last of her martini. “I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Content.”
“I am.” I look down at the mahogany grain of the table. “But….”
She arches a brow, amusement flickering in her gaze. “There’s always a but with you.”
“But,” I continue, sheepishly, “I worry that it’s a bubble that will burst soon enough, and we’ll be back in the bad place.”
She looks at me with fondness and exasperation. “If you’re gonna wait for things to go south, they will.”
I glance out of the window. “It’s a feeling I can’t shake.”
“So, you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
I glance at her, a flush of guilt creeping up my neck. “It sounds terrible when you say it out loud.”
She narrows her eyes. “You ever heard about a self-fulfilling prophecy?”
I make a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl.
“Jayne, babe,” she continues sharply, “If you keep waiting for Rhys to fail, he will.”
I send her a flat, unimpressed stare. “I’m not waiting for him to fail.” As soon as the words are out, I wince at how defensive I sound.
Iris gives me a look that slices clean through my self-delusion.
I huff out a breath as I trace the rim of my wineglass. “Okay. Maybe I am. A little. But if this is all it takes to fix us, then the problem’s me, isn’t it? Why didn’t I say something sooner?”
“You weren’t ready.” Her gaze softens with understanding. “It’s not easy to hold up a mirror like that, Jayne. Which is why I’m proud of you.”
I let out a jagged laugh. “Feels like Rhys and I have had this same conversation a dozen times. Things get better for five minutes and then, boom, back to me being everyone’s doormat.”
The venom in my voice surprises me.
“You’ve never said it out loud like this before,” Iris soothes. “And as many flaws as Dr. Prescott has, he’s not the enemy.”
“I know.” I lift my glass and drain it in one go. “I love that stupid moron.”
She puts her hand on mine, her eyes twinkling with humor. “You two are on the same team, you just forgot which direction you were both running.”
Is she right? Have we been so busy surviving—working, parenting, managing—that we’ve forgotten how to be on the same side?
The check comes, and Iris waves off my card before I can protest. “Consider it a celebration.”
I give a dry look, not hiding my irritation. “For what?”
“For the return of you.” She pinches my cheeks like I’m a child. “I missed her.”
“Ouch,” I complain in good humor.
My mood stays high during the Uber ride home. The city blurs past. Neon signs, quiet row houses, the hum of Sunday night easing into Monday.
But even as I bask in the afterglow of an evening with Iris, a thought starts to take shape. A small, familiar voice, buried somewhere deep inside, whispers: How long will this last?
How long before the rhythm breaks again? Before Sundays go back to being lists and errands and meals I don’t get to taste?
How long before I’m right back where I always am, catering to everyone but myself?
I push the negativity aside. For now, I want to stay in this moment, remembering laughing with my best friend, watching the city glow beneath us, pretending that balance isn’t a fragile thing.