Chapter 25 Jayne
Jayne
Ididn’t think he’d last a month, but here we are moving into month three of Rhys’s sabbatical, and he’s…well, amazing.
The strangest part of having Rhys home is how calm I feel, once I got past waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to blame me, or death rays from Mars coming and hitting us.
This peace comes from the absence of the constant, invisible hum I’ve lived with for years—the mental scorekeeping, the anticipatory bracing, the thousand tiny tasks waiting to be handled by me and only me.
Now, Rhys is the one loading the dishwasher before I even think about it.
He’s packing lunches.
He’s remembering dentist forms.
He’s driving the kids around.
He’s got that crazy whiteboard of his. It’s cute. He’s cute.
And I feel light and, dare I say, balanced.
At work, I find myself hyper-efficient, perhaps even overperforming, channeling years of being in fifth gear into new briefs, conducting extra research, and volunteering for tasks before anyone asks.
So, when Daniel unexpectedly calls me into his office on Monday morning, my stomach drops. Old insecurities rise.
What did I miss?
Where did I slip?
“Close the door, Jayne.” He’s smiling, so that makes me feel a little better.
When I take a seat across from his desk, he slides a folder toward me.
“Before you open that, I have a few things to say.”
I look warily at the folder, then at him.
“I think you’re amazing. I think you’re the reason this firm is doing so well. I know it’s the lawyers, too, don’t get me wrong, but you…you’re something else.”
My ears warm, and I let the compliment settle, even as I silently scold myself for always expecting the worst. “Thanks, Daniel.”
“So, as you know, Gary Harcourt is retiring.”
Harcourt he’s getting the hang of bicycle acrobatics. Is that a thing?
Rhys hands me a glass of the New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc from last night. He eases in close, lifting his glass toward mine. “Cheers, baby.”
I clink my glass to his.
“You okay?” he asks as he studies my face.
I nod, but I have a terrible poker face, and he can probably see that I’m buzzing…with something.
I am.
I have enormous news.
It’s too big for my body, too bright for my ribcage.
But I’m terrified he’ll flinch, that he’ll tense. That he’ll say, “Are you sure this is a good idea?” or “How will we manage everything once I go back?”
Old fears die hard.
“Jayne, baby, talk to me.”
I inhale slowly. “So, the firm is growing. Harcourt is merging with Cole. We’ll be like over a hundred people.”
“That’s awesome. Congratulations.” He narrows his eyes. “What’s the problem?”
“Daniel…ah…Daniel wants me to be COO of…the whole…new firm and—"
“What?” Rhys explodes. He stands up, wine sloshing out of his glass. “COO? That is so fucking cool. Jayne, this is huge! This is—this is massive!”
He is beaming.
Beaming.
The kids come to the porch, curious. “What’s going on?” Finn asks.
“Your mom is going to be a big shot at the law firm,” Rhys announces, his eyes bright with excitement, almost more than mine.
“Yeah?” Finn grins and perches next to me on the swing. Right where Rhys was a moment ago.
I tell the kids about the merger, and then I tell them my salary.
“Whoa!” Finn goes. “Dad, soon she’s gonna bring in more dough than you.”
Rhys’s chest puffs up, literally. “I have no doubt.”
“Congratulations, Mom.” Mikaela hugs me, settles on my other side.
I look at my babies flanking me and my husband standing in front of me. “You’re not…worried?” I ask carefully. “About the time commitment? Or how we’ll juggle things?”
“Worried?” He barks out a laugh and grabs my hand, stands me up. “Baby, I’m proud.”
He is. I can see it. I can feel it.
My knees nearly give out.
He hugs me then and lifts me off my feet. “My wife, a C-Suite badass.” He sets me down. “We need to celebrate. I think it’s time to break open the Dom.”
He bought a bottle of Dom Perignon five years ago and has been saving it for a special day. The fact that he wants to open it today, because of my promotion, tells me everything I need to know about what I will tell Daniel tomorrow.
In the kitchen, we crowd the counter as Rhys pops the cork with an unnecessarily dramatic flourish that makes all three of us jump. Bubbles spill over the rim.
He pours champagne in three glasses, two half-full and one with just a taste for Finn.
“I get one, too?” Finn’s eyes go big as saucers.
“Son, this is a moment,” Rhys says theatrically. “Your mother is entering the big leagues, and we’re opening the best bottle of champagne ever made in the history of mankind.”
Finn frowns. “That seems a bit…much.”
“No hyperbole, bud. Dom Perignon is the best champagne in the world, and I want this to be your first taste of alcohol, which will ruin you for any of the swill you’ll be able to afford once you turn twenty-one.”
“What about me?” Mikaela asks.
“Orangina for you.” Since Mikaela doesn’t get soda, this is as exciting for her as it is for Finn to have his first sip of alcohol…at home. He’s sixteen, he’s probably tasted a beer here or there. I had by the time I was his age, and so had Rhys.
“To Jayne.” Rhys holds up his glass. “My brilliant, unstoppable wife.”
“Mom is unstoppable?” Mikaela holds up her champagne glass with the orange soda.
“Yes,” Rhys says, kissing my temple. “She absolutely is.”
We clink glasses, and my heart opens.
The last of my doubts about whether we can save our marriage vanish. I know we can. I know we will. The man who is drinking his prized wine to celebrate me is the same Rhys he’s always been—but with different priorities.
After the toast, Rhys wraps an arm around my waist, pulls me close, and murmurs, “You deserve this. All of it. And I’m so sorry that I ever suggested you should quit your job and stay home. You’re too good for that.”
Not once did he hesitate in being happy for me. Not once did he warn me about “when I go back to work.”
I rest my forehead against his. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head. “Baby, no reason for you to thank me. This is all you.”
“Could you”—I cup his cheek—“do what you do without me?”
His eyes fill with emotion. “Baby, I can’t even make it through the day if you’re not waiting for me somewhere.”
“Me neither,” I manage to choke out.
“We’re both more together, Jayne; we can both be more when we take care of each other.”
“Yes, Rhys.”
He kisses me, and he tastes like Dom Perignon and unadulterated joy.