Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
I consider pulling my pills out of the trash when I slip away into the bathroom. Just sneaking the plastic case into the pocket of my robe and quietly taking them the rest of the month. Not really changing the plan so much as giving myself an extension. I mull it over while I pee, flushing away every drop of him I can squeeze out into the toilet. Anton checked in with me twice while we made love, asking if I was ready, and I said yes.
Because I am.
I thought it over all day before we went out. I thought about it through dinner. And again, before telling him to push inside me. Yes, I have a thousand reservations about pregnancy. About becoming a mother. I worry how it will change things—how it will change me. Not to mention our entire lives.
And though it was reassuring hearing Anton declare that we don’t need to have a baby, I feel better going into this with intention. I can do this—for our future together. But also for him. Because he is clearly hurting for family, and who am I to deny something he wants so badly?
So, I leave the pills in the trash, and we stay in bed most of Saturday and Sunday, relishing in our reconnection. Not making love the whole time, though we do more than once. But also talking, snuggling, and just being together. Gently erasing those four unpleasant days when we barely spoke while I tell myself hardly anyone gets pregnant on the first try.
Charlotte, my good friend, lawyer, and business mentor, invites me to lunch Monday, so I structure my morning around that, trying to push all thoughts of conception, pregnancy, and babies out of my mind. Ooh La Pooch isn’t open Mondays, so this is my day to catch up, re-center, and refocus, and I am grateful Charlotte is willing to offer me her guidance. She helped facilitate the deal where Henry came on as my partner, and I’m anxious to check in with her about some of the ideas he’s proposed for the Pooches.
Normally, Charlotte makes reservations for the two of us in stylish Cherry Creek North. Hillstone is a favorite of hers, or sometimes Cucina Colore. But today she is bringing along another of her mentees and asked if we could meet at Bread Bowls, a casual soup and sandwich spot. Which is actually fine. This way, I won’t have to change clothes before I head to The Pooch Park.
After I place my order at the counter, Charlotte crosses the room and greets me in her standard suit and heels. She’s a short, elegant Asian woman, with graying chin-length hair and a pink suit that matches her lipstick.
“Thanks for meeting us here, Lydia. I know it’s not our usual fare, but I’m excited to introduce you and Marisol.”
“Of course.” I smile. I’ll admit, I had been hoping for a more intimate conversation with Charlotte today, but she’s so generous with her time and advice I’m not surprised she’s in high demand.
She leads me toward a booth tucked away in the corner where a petite Latina woman about my age is situating a pigtailed toddler in a high chair.
“Marisol, this is my friend, Lydia Richie, who owns the grooming shop and doggie daycares.” Charlotte turns to me. “Marisol just?—”
“ Mama! ” The little girl in the high chair shrieks.
Marisol turns to her immediately. “What’s the matter, bebé? ”
The baby looks up with wide brown eyes, reaching over the side of her chair toward a dropped toy on the floor.
“Uh-oh.” Marisol retrieves the toy, then turns back to Charlotte and me with a tight smile. “Thanks for being flexible today. My ex was supposed to take Paloma, but canceled on me last minute.”
I nod quickly, like I totally get it, but something tightens low in my stomach as I watch her lay a plastic placemat and a selection of cut up fruit in front of her daughter. Charlotte and I slide into the opposite side of the booth, and as Marisol unloads toys from a diaper bag, my hopes for a productive business conversation dwindle.
The little girl smiles shyly at me, and since I’m not sure what else to do, I give her a tentative wave. She grins and hides her face behind a toy, which even I have to admit is pretty cute.
“How old is she?” I ask, trying to make conversation. “She looks just like you.”
“Thanks. She’s almost eighteen months.” Marisol scatters a rainbow of Goldfish crackers on the placemat.
I smile and nod, wondering what Charlotte thinks we have in common. “So, are you looking at starting a business, or?—”
“ Sorry, we were interrupted.” Charlotte jumps in. “Marisol runs a subscription box company, Lydia. They have several concepts, but you’ve probably heard of WoofCrate?”
My mouth forms an oh , and I blush, deeply and immediately. “Yes. I absolutely have. Most of my clients rave about WoofCrate. You guys have some seriously cute toys and treats.”
“Thanks.” Marisol nods. “My company has a variety of subscription products, but the dog boxes have definitely been the most popular.”
“Which is why I had to introduce you two,” Charlotte says with a grin. “Marisol just relocated to Denver, and I’m trying to help introduce her to the business community while she settles in.”
Marisol nods. “What’s the name of your doggie daycare? I’d love somewhere to take our little Biscochito.”
“Bizkit!” the little girl shrieks from the end of the table, startling me.
“That’s right, ‘Bizkit,’” Marisol says with a smile, handing her a sippy cup. “He’s a little mutt I’ve had for years. Paloma is obsessed with him. ”
Our names echo over the loudspeaker, and Charlotte hops up. “You two keep chatting. I’ll grab the food.”
As Charlotte steps away, Paloma stares at me with wide brown eyes, then hands me a red crayon.
“Um... thank you,” I say, reluctantly taking it from her sticky hand. “So, what brings you to Denver?” I ask, refocusing on her mother.
“My ex, unfortunately.” Marisol sniffs, then rolls her eyes. “We split up shortly after I got here. But so far, the weather and lifestyle have been worth staying for.”
“Oh.” Her attitude reminds me a little of Caprice, though I can’t imagine my best friend weighed down with a kid. “Yeah, it’s great here. But I’m sorry about...”
She winks at me. “I’m not.”
“Lydia, I was telling Marisol about your meteoric growth.” Charlotte returns to the table distributing plates of food, then slides in next to me with her sandwich.
Marisol nods. “It sounds impressive. I wish I’d had an investor waiting to swoop in and fund me before I expanded.”
I raise my brows. “Did you go through something similar?”
She passes a few raisins off her salad to Paloma, who dutifully puts them in her mouth. “I’d been running absolutely everything myself, and I was exhausted. But I was also expecting this one.” She nods to Paloma. “So I had to do something.”
My gut feels like a stone as I try to imagine running all my businesses, trying to level them up, and prepare for a baby. It seems wrong, but every time I imagine what pregnancy might be like, I just envision a ticking time bomb.
“Obviously, it’s a little different, since my model isn’t directly client-facing,” she goes on. “But I reached a point where I had to step up my production, which meant securing capital, bringing in more employees, and ceding a lot of control.”
“Yeah.” I glance at Charlotte. “The ah, control thing has been kind of a pain point for me.”
Marisol smiles. “It’s a major adjustment, taking that leap from relative stability into expansion. But it’s imperative if you want to grow.”
I clear my throat, humbled that my expectations about this meeting had been so very wrong. “My business partner, Henry, has suggested we consolidate our daycares and grooming shop for growth.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows shoot up, but then she gets a pensive look. “Actually, I can see why that probably makes sense.”
“Hmm. Are you planning to continue growing organically, or are you considering a franchise?” Marisol asks.
“Oh, definitely—” I’m about to say organic , but I glance at Charlotte and knot my fingers. She’d brought up franchising some months ago, right before Henry bought into the Pooches.
“Lydia is primed for a franchise.” Charlotte nudges my elbow. “I’ve been trying to tell her that for at least six months.”
“Oh, I’m jealous.” Marisol grins. “I’m not set up for it, but I wish I was. A franchise would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” She chuckles. “Just set it and forget it, and watch the income roll in.”
“I—I guess.” I squirm a little. “I do enjoy running my Pooches, though.”
Marisol straightens. “I would love to see your operation sometime.”
I unknot my fingers, pulling out a business card that lists our locations, grateful for a more comfortable subject. “Sure. Bring Bizkit by The Pooch Park sometime and see if he likes it.”
“Thanks.” She takes the card with a smile and glances at her pigtailed toddler, who is now driving raisins like cars around her placemat. “I don’t suppose you have any child daycare recommendations while we’re at it?”
I laugh nervously. “Oh, my husband and I don’t have kids...”
My pelvic muscles clench, my skin going clammy, wondering how true that statement really is. I suppose there might be a little cluster of cells dividing inside me right now. I push my plate away, appetite evaporating.
“Paloma definitely wasn’t in my business plan.” Marisol laughs softly, gazing at her daughter. “But somehow, once she got here, she became my why .”
At these words, the baby starts kicking her legs, making a loud yodeling sound and rubbing her eyes with sticky fists. Marisol sighs, pushing her mostly finished lunch aside, packing up the snacks and placemat .
“That might be about all the meeting time I can ask of her. It’s getting close to naptime.”
I glance at my phone. We’ve barely been here half an hour.
“I can’t believe how well you balance everything,” Charlotte says, watching Marisol wipe Paloma’s hands with practiced efficiency. “You make it look easy.”
Marisol snorts, but as we rise from the booth to say goodbye, I’m dismayed the conversation has to end. It felt like we were just getting started.
“Guess I’ll cave and get my dog that WoofCrate subscription he’s been begging for,” I say with a laugh. “Sorry I’m no help with childcare. But I’m serious—please come by The Pooch Park. I’d love to talk more.”
Marisol lifts her daughter out of the high chair, sets her down, and gives me a warm smile. “Thanks, I’d like that too. Say goodbye, Paloma.”
“Buh-BYE!” the little girl shrieks, waving a fisted napkin.
Charlotte moves across from me to finish her sandwich after they leave, and a Bread Bowls employee comes over to put the high chair away and sweep a huge amount of crumbs off the rug.
“Have you and Anton thought about having kids?” Charlotte asks suddenly.
I nearly choke on my baguette, my hackles immediately raised, just like when my mother asks. I glance at her, wondering if it’s possible I am pregnant already and there’s some way she can tell. But when I meet her eyes, there’s no implication, just mild curiosity.
“Uh, I don’t know. We’ve... talked about it.”
She picks at her fruit salad. “I never found anyone I wanted to settle down with. Sometimes it feels like I might’ve missed out.” She looks pointedly at the mess being swept up under Paloma’s seat and shrugs. “Most of the time it doesn’t.”
I am going to hyperventilate trying to think of how to answer. Instead, I tiptoe to a safer subject. “Thanks for introducing me and Marisol. I’m excited to connect with her.”
She preens. “I enjoy seeing my fellow businesswomen succeed.” We gather up our dishes, placing them in the designated bins as we head for the door. “But next time, we dine in Cherry Creek.”