Chapter Eleven
Mindy
“Mommy, Mommy, wake up.”
I jolt awake, my head spinning as the sunlight streams in through the slotted blinds. For a few disoriented seconds, I have no clue where I am or how I got here.
I look up to see Sharon standing over me. “Mommy, I peed in the bed.”
It takes me a moment to register what she said before glancing at the time; it’s already 7:44. We’re both running late for school and work. "Oh, shit!" I blurt. "Sorry, baby. I’m not cross about the bed. Looks like I overslept." I rush to stand up but immediately fall back on my ass as my legs are completely numb from sleeping in a cramped position on the couch.
Dammit!
We’re going to be late. Again. There’s just no way we can make it on time.
Sharon is still standing next to me, looking slightly confused, lips curled down. I pull her into a bear hug. "It’s okay, baby," I console her. "It happens. I'll change the bedding for you."
As I strip the sheets and toss them into the laundry basket, Sharon's face twists in pain. "Mommy, my tummy hurts," she whimpers clutching her belly, looking like she’s trying to hold herself together.
I quickly place my hand on her forehead, check her lymph nodes, but she seems fine. Except for the fact that her stomach hurts.
Shit.
What the hell do I do now? I can’t leave my sick daughter on her own, but I can't afford to skip work either. We’re preparing for an annual meeting with the owners and the Solomons are counting on me. And I’m counting on them to pay my bills. I can’t risk losing my job. Not when my expenses are piling up, and the rent is due next week.
"Don’t worry, sweetie," I soothe Sharon, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "We’ll get you some medicine, and you’ll feel better soon."
Tania.
I grab my phone and dial our precious babysitter’s number, my stomach churning as I wait for her to pick up. She’s my last hope. But as the seconds tick by with no answer, I feel a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.
Finally, on the fifth ring, I hear Tania’s voice. "Hello?" she says, her voice sounding distracted and harried.
"Tania, thank God," I breathe, relief washing over me. "I’m so sorry for calling last minute, but I need your help. Sharon’s sick. Can you come over?"
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. "Mindy, I’m so sorry," Tania says, her tone apologetic. "I’ve got a doctor’s appointment I can’t miss, and then, I promised to help my sister with some errands. If you’d called yesterday, maybe I could have rearranged things, but now…" She trails off, and I close my eyes, fighting back the stress that threatens to overwhelm me.
"It’s okay, Tania, I understand," I say, my voice tight.
"I'm really sorry," Tania says again, and I can hear the genuine regret in her tone. "If there was any way I could make it work, I would. But today, I just can’t."
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "Don’t worry," I lie, my mind racing as I try to come up with another solution. "I’ll figure something out. Thanks, Tania."
I hang up the phone and run my fingers through my hair. What the hell am I supposed to do? It’s one of those days when I just can’t just skip work. This upcoming meeting is important and I need to prepare. If I let the Solomons down, I can say goodbye to this job. Simple as that.
I look down at Sharon, who’s curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. She looks small and tired, her face all pale and scrunched up like she’s hurting. My heart breaks.
Screw it, Mindy.
There’s no way you can leave your sick six-year-old alone.
She’s more important than any job.
I heave a sigh. "Hey, baby," I say softly, crouching down next to her. "Mommy's gonna call the office and see if she can stay home with you today, okay?"
Sharon looks up at me, her eyes getting all teary. "But, Mommy, I have to go to school. We’re practicing for the big Story Night! I can’t miss it." Her voice comes out quiet and sad, and it just breaks my heart even more.
"Oh, honey," I say, giving her a gentle hug and a kiss on the forehead. "I know how much you’re looking forward to Story Night. But right now, the most important thing is for you to rest up and feel better."
Sharon sniffles, hiding her face against my shoulder. "But what if I forget my story?"
I gently stroke my baby girl’s hair. "You won’t forget your story, honey bunny. You’re the best little storyteller I know."
Sharon’s face brightens up a little, a small smile sneaking onto her lips. "You think so?"
I nod, looking her in the eye. "I know so, baby. And until you feel better, you can practice your story with me. How’s that?"
Sharon’s eyes widen with surprise and gratitude. "Really?" she whispers, her voice croaky from crying earlier. "You’re not going to work?"
I smile at her. "Let me call the office first, sweetie, alright? If they let me stay home, we’ll watch movies and snuggle on the couch while you tell me the story for the school event, okay?"
Sharon nods, a weak smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Okay, Mommy," she murmurs, her eyelids already drooping with exhaustion.
I take a deep breath and dial Christine’s number. My heart is thundering against my rib cage as I wait for her to pick up. When she finally answers, I launch into my explanation, my words tumbling out in a rush. "Christine, I’m so sorry to do this, but I need to stay at home. Sharon’s sick, and her babysitter is busy today. I can’t leave her alone."
After a long and uncomfortable silence, Christine’s voice crackles through the phone line. "Mindy… I’m sorry about Sharon, but you know how important this period is," she says with a sharp edge to her tone. "We’re at the end of the quarter and with the annual presentation coming up…"
My stomach drops. I know Christine is right. It’s one of the busiest times of the year, and with the upcoming visit from the company’s owners, I can’t expect to skip office days without consequences.
"I hear you, Christine," I say apologetically. "I promise this won’t become a habit. I’ll make sure to get everything done and return to the office as soon as possible."
Christine lets out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Stay home with Sharon. But you must also understand that as a business, we need someone we can rely on. We’ve got deadlines to meet and clients to keep satisfied. As much as I understand your challenges, I can’t keep covering for you. If this continues, I will have no choice but to consider…," she pauses, "other options."
My heart plummets. "I… I understand, Christine. I won’t let you down again, I promise."
"I really hope so, Mindy. We value your skills and we want to keep you. But if this keeps happening, eventually, there will have to be consequences."
Shit.
I swallow hard. Sure, Christine used to be a single mom herself, and I know she understands my challenges. But she also has a company to run. And what boss wants an employee who keeps skipping workdays?
I hang up the phone and go back to Sharon, who’s now moved from the couch to curl up on her bed. She’s breathing softly, holding on to her favorite bunny, with her blanket pulled up to her chin.
"Hey, baby," I say gently, sitting down beside her. "How about we try to eat a little something? It will help you feel better."
Sharon shakes her head weakly, her voice muted. "I don’t want anything. My tummy hurts."
I stroke her hair gently, my heart aching for her. "I know, honey. What about some soup, huh? Just a little bit?"
She burrows deeper into the cushions, her face half-hidden. "I don’t want soup. I just want to sleep."
"Alright, baby." I sigh, giving up on my efforts. I tuck in the blanket around her, making sure she’s cozy and warm. "You just rest now, honey bunny."
As Sharon closes her eyes, I stroke her hair, humming softly. Her breathing evens out as she drifts off to sleep, and I carefully get up, tucking in the blanket around her once more. I tiptoe out of the room, casting one last glance at my sleeping daughter before gently closing the door behind me.
With a deep sigh, I lean against the wall and allow myself a moment to close my eyes, gathering the strength to face the day. The silence of the apartment feels both comforting and oppressive.
Pushing away from the wall, I make my way to the kitchen. The coffee maker gurgles to life, filling the air with the rich aroma of brewing coffee. As I wait for my liquid lifeline, I boot up my laptop on the kitchen table. The hum of the computer starting up mingles with the soft bubbling of the coffee pot, creating a soundtrack for the impending workday.
Coffee in hand, I settle into my makeshift home office. The to-do list looming on my screen is daunting and I can’t afford to waste another minute. With one ear tuned to any sounds from Sharon’s room, I take a deep breath and dive into my work.
But despite my best efforts, I just can’t seem to get my mind to concentrate. I keep getting distracted and my thoughts are racing. How long can I keep doing this? Sharon is only six. The older she gets, the higher my expenses will be. My daughter is my everything; the center of my universe. Yet, being a single parent living and working in the city often feels like I’m carrying the world on my shoulders. How do other single moms do it? Am I missing something?
Betty’s voice echoes in my head, " Girl, you need to find yourself a man." Maybe she’s right. But what am I supposed to do when I just can’t seem to find anyone decent out there? Not to mention that dating as a single mother is a logistical nightmare. It’s all on me. No doting in-laws or generous relatives to babysit Sharon while I go out. It’s just me and Tania. That is if she’s free to look after Sharon. By the time I arrange everything before going out, I’m already fed up and exhausted.
And then, what if I go on a date things go terribly well? Yeah, that’d be nothing short of a miracle. But let’s say it happens. Let’s say I end up bringing a guy back to our tiny condo. Do I lock Sharon in her room to make sure she doesn’t barge in on her mom and her new friend while they’re going for it? What would I tell her if that happened? "Oh, hey, baby! This is Jack/Peter/Harry, Mommy’s new friend… who may or may not be here next weekend. Don’t mind us, nothing to see here!"
No, thank you.
Sipping the last drops of my coffee, I sit back in my desk chair and stare at my laptop. A daunting stack of Excel spreadsheets looms on the screen, a stark reminder of the challenges we’ve faced this year with the company.
My fingers fly across the keyboard as I enter data into the spreadsheets, meticulously checking each figure for accuracy. As the numbers stare back at me, one thing becomes clear: this year has been far from successful. Our print advertising revenue has plummeted by 30%, digital subscriptions are growing at half the rate we projected, and our new app launch was a complete disaster, with user retention dropping off a cliff after the first month.
Not good.
I scratch my head. I don’t even want to imagine what the Solomons would do when they see these numbers. I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to shut down entire departments in an attempt to cut costs. If I were them, I would probably do that. Sales are down, operating expenses have ballooned due to our failed expansion into the Asian market, and profits have taken a major hit; we’re looking at almost a 40% decrease.
Shit, shit.
And more shit.
I can’t leave this report the way it is. I need to find a way to convince the Solomons, the owners, and the rest of the boardroom that our current struggles are just a temporary setback.
With some creative manipulation of charts and graphs, I lunge into my financial alchemy. I group our failing print division with our moderately successful digital arm, making the overall decline look less severe. I adjust the y-axis on our revenue charts to make the downturn appear less dramatic. For our app statistics, I focus on the initial download numbers rather than the abysmal retention rate. I highlight our cost-cutting measures, conveniently leaving out the fact that they haven’t made a huge dent in our bloated expenses.
It’s a delicate balancing act that requires a sharp eye and strategic thinking. I’m not lying, per se; just presenting the truth in the most favorable light possible. Still, guilt gnaws at me as I work. But it’s better than worrying about life. Focusing on a task is a welcome distraction from the treacherous thoughts that usually plague my mind.
Gradually, as I continue working, the tension in my body eases, and my mind quiets down. I lose myself in the world of pivot tables and conditional formatting, crafting a narrative of a company facing challenges but poised for a comeback.
That looks a lot better .
I sit back and survey my handiwork of what I like to call "financial plastic surgery". Sure, the downward trends are still visible, but they no longer look like a dramatic nosedive. I’ve managed to paint a picture of a company weathering a storm rather than one on the brink of collapse. With a sense of accomplishment, I transfer the file onto a USB drive.
I take a deep breath before unplugging it from my computer. I feel my muscles relax and I close my eyes for a moment, visualizing how I’ll confidently present these improved charts and flash cool smiles at the people in the boardroom. I’ll talk about "market challenges" and "repositioning for future growth," hoping they won’t see through my carefully constructed illusion. While it’s not ideal, it might just buy us enough time to turn things around.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself to quiet the voice of conscience in the back of my mind. Because what I’m really doing is putting together a whole lot of smoke and mirrors to hide the fact that the company is on the brink of disaster.
But then again, this is not the first time I have to do this. And I’m not the only accountant that does such things. It’s common industry practice. I’m not lying about anything, just presenting the truth in the most favorable way. Isn’t that what we all do in the corporate world?
Suddenly, Maron Korolev comes to mind. What would he think of this little financial witchcraft?
"Miss Williams, this is unacceptable," he’d say.
"But Mr. Korolev, this is just…" I’d try to reason with him, even though I’d know it’s as useless as arguing with a brick wall.
"Save it, Miss Williams." he’d bark, rudely interrupting me. "It looks like you need a lesson in obedience. I need you on my office table without your panties, right now."
I shake myself, snapping my mind back into reality.
Jesus, Mindy, where did that come from?
I think of my little girl sleeping quietly in her room, in an attempt to muffle that tiny voice in my head. Too bad that tiny voice isn’t having any of it. It just keeps growing louder and louder.
What if Sharon’s dad is alive?
What if he’s still out there, somewhere?
I shake myself once again. I really don’t know what’s happening with me or why these thoughts keep plaguing me. Even if by some miracle Maron Korolev is alive, it’s pointless to think about him. He’d contact me if he had any interest in reconnecting. I have to get him out of my head, and fast. I can’t let myself be distracted like this. I have a job to keep and a daughter to raise. A daughter who is ill and sleeping in her room as we speak.
I smile as I think of my baby girl and I can feel the tension seep from my body. Sharon is everything to me and always will be. I’ll do anything to protect her and I’ll give her anything she needs. The only thing I can’t give to her is her father.
Maron Korolev, the man I once loved.