Chapter Twelve
Mind y
The next day, I get to work five minutes later than usual.
Thankfully, Sharon had a restful night and she’s feeling much better. Tania joined us in the morning, and after consulting with a doctor, my worries eased. It seemed that Sharon had just eaten something that didn’t sit well with her stomach.
I rush into the office feeling out of breath and guilty for skipping the previous day. Christine is sitting at her desk, staring at the screen, seemingly ignoring me.
"I apologize for yesterday, Christine," I wheeze, trying to get my breath back. "It was an emergency. Won’t happen again. And I’ve made progress on the Asian market expansion report you asked for."
She coolly nods at me, her eyes glued to her laptop screen. "Emergencies will always happen, Mindy," she says without bothering to look up. "What about those Asian market figures?"
Really? No "is Sharon feeling better?" or something along those lines? Christine doesn’t ask a single question about what happened yesterday. On the contrary. The tone in her voice suggests that her words translate to “you’re fired if those numbers aren’t perfect.”
I swallow hard, keeping my voice professional. "Well, we’re still waiting for the final numbers from our Chinese partners," I explain, "but I’ve double-checked the Singaporean figures, and they look promising. I’m also following up with our team in Malaysia for additional insights. I should have the full report for you by the end of the week."
Christine finally looks up from her screen, but her expression is unreadable. "Make sure those numbers are accurate, Mindy. We can’t afford any mistakes at the end-of-year presentation."
I nod, feeling the weight of her expectations pressing down on me. "Don’t worry, Christine. I'll make sure everything is perfect."
As I head to my desk, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking on very thin ice. One wrong move, one missed deadline, one more unplanned home office day, and I could lose the job that puts bread on the table for Sharon and me.
I dive into my daily work, but despite my diligent efforts, I find it difficult to focus on the zillions of tasks at hand. The numbers on my screen blur together, and I’m starting to worry that I might make mistakes. After an intense hour of forced focus, I make a quick escape to the restroom and call Tania for an update on Sharon’s condition.
"How is she doing?" I whisper urgently into the phone.
"Much better," Tania reassures me. "She had a nutritious lunch and even got to enjoy some strawberry ice cream afterward. We’re playing cards right now, and I’m fighting for my life!" Tania chuckles.
"Oh, good," I say, relieved. "Thanks so much, Tania. You’re a godsend."
"Don't worry, Mindy," Tania replies with her trademark mischievous tone. "Everything is fine."
"Mommy, Mommy!" Sharon’s lively voice can be heard in the background. "I’m five points ahead of Tania! I’m going to win!"
"Keep it up, sweetie," I respond. "We’ll celebrate when I get home."
As I head back to my desk, I feel the previous tension easing. Sharon is feeling better. I pause for a moment, realizing how much I rely on Tania. It’s strange, but the thought of her not being in our lives suddenly hits me. Maybe it’s because she’s so good with Sharon, or maybe it’s just the stress talking.
Tania is more than just our babysitter. She’s become a part of our little family. Sharon’s face lights up when she walks through the door, and honestly, mine does too. She is one of the few people Sharon talks to without any problems. Her selective mutism just disappears around Tania.
I know Tania is young, with her whole life ahead of her. Sometimes, I worry she’ll decide to go off traveling or head to university. She’d have every right to. But where would that leave us? Especially Sharon? I mean, I could always look for another babysitter, but it wouldn’t be the same. The thought of finding someone new, someone Sharon might struggle to open up to, honestly frightens me. Tania just gets us, gets Sharon. She’s special.
Then again, I’m just getting all sappy over our babysitter when I should be focusing on my job. I don’t even know why I’m having these thoughts right now. Tania is taking care of Sharon, and that’s what matters. And me? I have work.
As I make my way back to my desk, I notice Albert Solomon chatting with a group of colleagues near the water cooler. His eyes meet mine, and I feel a knot form in my stomach. He excuses himself from the group and makes his way over to me, with that smile on his face that never quite reaches his eyes.
"Miss Williams," he says. His voice is friendly but it has an undercurrent that I’m starting to dread. "I heard you had some trouble with the Asian market expansion numbers."
I force a polite smile, acutely aware of the other employees milling about. "Nothing I can’t handle, Mr. Solomon. Just waiting for some data to come in."
He steps closer, invading my personal space just enough to make me uncomfortable. "You know, I have some connections in Asia that could be… beneficial. Perhaps we could discuss strategies over lunch sometime? Purely professional, of course."
Yuck.
The invitation seems innocent on the surface, but I know he’s onto something. The way his eyes linger, the slight emphasis on ‘beneficial’. It all sets off alarm bells. A woman’s instincts are rarely wrong.
"Maybe another time, Mr. Solomon," I say, taking a small step back. "I’m afraid I’m at capacity with the upcoming presentation."
Albert’s smile tightens almost imperceptibly. "Of course. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me." He leans in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I’m sorry about Christine being harsh on you. Sometimes she can be… well, she is under a lot of pressure, you know."
Before I can respond, he straightens up, his public persona back in place. "Good luck with that report, Miss Williams," he says loudly, for the benefit of anyone listening.
As he walks away, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking on a minefield. I glance toward Christine’s office, wondering if she has any idea what her husband is up to.
I return to my desk, trying to push the encounter out of my mind and focus on getting through my daily to-do list. But as I pull up the spreadsheets, I wonder how many more of these subtle, uncomfortable moments I’ll have to endure to keep this job. And, at what point will the cost become too high?
Slightly annoyed, I sit back in my chair and start pulling up an Excel table, when an email pops up on my screen.
Subject: Important Presentation on Extended Workday and Fiscal Year Review
Dear Team,
I am reaching out to inform you of a significant event happening on October 23rd from 2:00 pm to 7:00 pm. Our esteemed company owners, James and Emily Thompson, will be visiting us from London to receive a thorough update on our fiscal year’s performance.
The planned agenda is as follows:
2:00-2:30 PM: Presenter 1 - John Upton, Head of Human Resources
3:00-4:00 PM: Presenter 2 - Christine Solomon, General Performance of the Company
4:30-5:30 PM: Discussion with James and Emily about planned changes and future plans
6:00-7:00 PM: Presenter 3 - Mindy Williams, Summary of Fiscal Year
If you have any relevant updates or data that you believe should be included in the presentation, please send them to me at your earliest convenience.
Thank you for your attention to this matter.
Best regards,
Christine Solomon
I stare at the email in dismay. Why do I always have to be the last one on the presentation schedule? From 6 - 7 PM? Maybe I should talk to Christine about it. But then again, I can’t expect her to change everything just for me. Especially not after skipping office yesterday.
I heave a big sigh. Just another day when I can't pick up Sharon from school. But on the bright side, the presentation is over a week from now. I have plenty of time to figure out arrangements for Tania to take care of Sharon.
***
I spend the rest of the day buried in spreadsheets and reports. By the time 5 PM rolls around, my eyes are burning, and my head is ready to explode. I gather my things, bid a hasty goodbye to my coworkers, and practically sprint to my car.
After the long workday, I collapse into the driver’s seat, totally drained. I decide to give Betty a call, the one thing that always brightens my day.
"Hey, girl!" Betty’s cheerful voice answers.
"Hey, Bets," I say, already feeling some of the stress melt away. "Thanks again for saving my ass from that terrible date the other day."
"Hey, that’s what friends are for," she giggles. "But listen up. You won’t believe what I’ve got lined up for you," Betty gushes. "Another potential match! This guy is absolutely perfect-"
"Bets," I cut her off. "I’m sorry, but I can’t… that Nesbit guy was traumatizing enough for me. Plus, I’ve got enough numbers to crunch at work right now; I don’t need them in my love life, too."
Betty cracks up. "Okay, okay. I hear you. But don’t lose hope, babe. Your Prince Charming is out there somewhere."
"Prince Charming will have to wait." I stifle a laugh. "I’ve got a lot going on right now. Sharon was sick just yesterday and I had to rearrange everything last minute. And then, there’s this annual report coming up. The company owners are coming from England and Christine will have my head if I don’t perform."
There’s a short pause on the other end of the line before Betty’s voice comes through, tinged with concern. "You know, you should really find someone, Mindy. You’re going to drive yourself crazy like this and, one day, just collapse. Who’s going to look after Sharon then?"
I let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm not going to collapse, Bets. I’m fine. And if you start with the 'you need a man' speech again, I’m hanging up."
"Alright, alright," Betty concedes; her voice is both amused and concerned. "Take a chill pill, girl. You can’t blame your bestie for worrying about you."
I’m silent for a moment, considering my next words carefully. "Listen, Bets. There’s something I wanted to tell you."
"Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Spit it out, girl," Betty says, her curiosity piqued.
I take a deep breath. "You might want to sit down for this. Maron… I think he might be alive."
There’s a beat of silence, then Betty’s voice explodes through the phone. "Wait, are you talking about Maron Korolev? Because it really sounded like you said he’s alive and…"
"I’m not sure, Bets," I interrupt her. "But I think I saw him in town a few days ago. Sharon and I were having ice cream and his old car was in the parking lot. And the man sitting inside really looked like…" I swallow hard. "...him."
Betty lets out a low whistle. "Maron Korolev, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Dangerous, hanging out at an ice cream joint? What, was he in line for, a Unicorn Sparkle Swirl? Or Lila Vanilla?”
I can’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of it. “Stop it, Betty. It was definitely his old car. I’d recognize it anywhere. And although the windows are tinted, the guy inside really looked like Maron. Except a seven years’ older version of him. It’s not like there are many guys his size in NYC..."
"Oh my God, Mindy," Betty says, her tone suddenly serious. "So… did you go talk to him?"
I bark out another laugh, but it’s hollow. "Oh yeah, sure. I just skipped right up with Sharon and said, ‘Hey, Maron! Long time no see. By the way, this is your daughter. Don’t mind her silence; she’s selective about who she talks to. Oh, and here’s my account number for those pesky child support payments.’" I snort. "Besides, I’m not even sure it was him. I don’t even know what to think of all this. Maybe I’m just going nuts."
"Okay, okay, relax," Betty interjects. "But, Min, seriously… if it was really him, don’t you think you should look into it? After all, he’s Sharon’s father. Don’t you think she deserves to know him? And let’s be real, couldn’t you use the financial help?"
I fall silent, Betty’s words hitting a nerve. When I speak again, my voice is muted. "We’ve been over this, Bets. You know about Maron’s… connections. I can’t expose Sharon to that world. Besides, I’m not even sure it was him I saw."
"So, you’d rather struggle alone than give your daughter a chance to know her father?" Betty pushes, clearly not having any of my whining.
"It’s better than dragging her into the dangers of that life," I say firmly, even as my heart aches.
There’s a heavy pause on the line. Finally, Betty speaks, her voice gentle. "She’s going to ask about him someday, you know."
"She already has," I admit, my throat tightening.
"And?"
"I told her he’s with the angels." My voice cracks slightly.
Betty’s sharp intake of breath is like a knife to my chest. "Oh, Mindy…" she whispers.
"Don’t ‘Oh, Mindy’ me," I snap, suddenly defensive. "It’s the only safe answer. For all of us. You don’t know what it’s like having to look into those big, innocent eyes and try to explain why Daddy isn’t around. Why he can’t come to her school plays or tuck her in at night."
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. When Betty speaks again, her voice is soft. "I know, hun. I can’t even imagine how hard it must be. I just… I worry about you both."
"I’m… sorry, Bets," I tell her, feeling guilty for my tone. "I didn’t mean to be harsh… it’s just… hard, you know?"
We chat for a few more minutes with the conversation drifting to lighter topics, but Maron’s ghost lingers between every word. Even as I hang up, I feel the familiar ache in my chest, the one I’ve been trying to ignore all these years.
I catch my reflection in the mirror: tired eyes, worry lines etched a little deeper than yesterday. "Alright, Mindy, that’s enough bitching," I mutter to myself. "It’s been seven years. Let the man go."
But even as I say the words, memories flood my mind: Maron’s rare smirk, the safety I felt in his arms, the way he could make the world disappear with just a look. After seven long years, I still miss him.
Which is absolutely, certifiably insane.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. But it’s like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon. Some things, it seems, are just too stubborn to let go. And Maron Korolev, for better or worse, has always been one of those things.
I place the phone on the seat next to me and lean back, not feeling motivated enough to turn on the car. I sit there for a few moments, frozen in place, before finally mustering up the energy to start the engine.
As I drive through the bustling city, Betty’s suggestion swirls in my mind. Maybe I should investigate and find out if he’s really alive. But just the thought of it makes me feel weird and uncomfortable. What if it’s dangerous? And what if I find out he’s alive? Then what? How would he react if he found out about Sharon? He always had a possessive and controlling side to him.
Okay, Mindy. Let’s say he’s alive and learns that he has a daughter. That means I will have to be in touch with him for the rest of my life. And I don’t know if I want that.
Yes, you do.
Sharon would have a Bratva heritage. Now that, I definitely don’t want.
And if that’s not enough, Sharon has selective mutism. Would she speak to her father? She probably wouldn’t. She’s only ever been around women - me, Tania, and her teachers. Almost zero male influence. Which is pathetic. She needs a father figure. All kids do.
Perhaps that would even help with her selective mutism. But then again, maybe I’m just delusional. I’m still not sure if Maron is alive. I’m not even sure I want to find out if he is. But even if Maron comes back from the dead, magically becomes the perfect father to Sharon, her speech improves… could we ever become a happy family?
No, Mindy.
You need to stop these thoughts right now.
They’re nothing but wishful thinking.