11. Emzee
EMZEECHAPTER 11
M orning sickness was the absolute worst.
I had spent the last hour on my knees in front of my toilet, head in my hands, a cold washcloth wrapped around my neck.
The waves of nausea and vomiting didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.
I wasn’t even sure what I had left to throw up, but every time I thought I was done, another wave had me clinging to the porcelain all over again.
Munchkin let out a whimper of sympathy from the doorway and I told him everything was fine as I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering how I was going to get myself off the floor long enough to get dressed and ready for work, let alone make it into the office at all.
I had been puking almost nonstop from these stupid hormones, but it still couldn’t purge all the awful feelings I had about last night and how I’d given Ford false hope that we could make it work.
I’d had a weak moment.
I’d let him in when I should have stayed firm, should have turned him away.
The sex had been explosive, the bond between us undeniable…
but it never should have happened in the first place.
Not only had I ripped Ford’s heart out and thrown it on the floor, but I had given myself a raging case of the Feels as well.
I thought I had been getting over him—okay fine, I hadn’t really thought that, but I thought that I’d been getting close to getting ready to get over him—and I’d just completely undermined all that hard work and the distance I’d put between us.
Which was frustrating as all hell.
The situation we were in was his fault.
Mine too, but I’d gone into it with open eyes…
or so I had thought.
Ford had been the one keeping information from me all along.
I felt a twinge of guilt knowing I was being a hypocrite now, not telling him about the baby.
But he had given me no choice.
Or, his family had given me no choice.
Why couldn’t I just rip the damn Band-Aid off?
And why couldn’t I stop puking?
I needed to get it together.
I was going to be late for work, and the deadline for everything related to lookingglass ’s very first printed issue was tonight.
It would be amazing to hold the magazine in my hands, printed on real paper, the photographs in full color.
Not that electronic copies weren’t legit, but there was something extra special about having a physical copy to hold on to, to mail to our subscribers, to appear in newsstands and on bookstore shelves.
But I was nowhere near ready.
And a sick day was out of the question.
Andrew and the whole team were counting on me.
As evidenced by the fact that the entire time I’d been throwing up and clinging to the toilet like a lifesaver, my phone had been going nuts, buzzing frantically on the edge of the sink.
I was certain when I looked at it, I’d see a stream of texts and emails and calls from my coworkers detailing all the urgent tasks I still had to complete, and wondering where the hell I was.
My phone buzzed again.
And again, until it literally fell off the sink and landed on the bathmat beside me.
I had a million things to do, and none of them were leaning my forehead against the porcelain and wondering if there were any more saltines in the kitchen as Munchkin came over to lick my elbow.
“I know,” I told him.
“You’re ready for your walk. Just a few more minutes. And then you’re going to the doggie spa. I’ve got a brutal day ahead of me, and I need you out of my hair.”
I gave him a scritch and hoisted myself to my feet, all but tossing myself into the shower, letting the cool water refresh me.
After I got dressed, I put Munchkin in his harness and we took a brisk walk to the subway.
By the time we got off in Manhattan, I felt a lot better.
After I dropped him off at the pet spa a few blocks from work, I arrived at the lookingglass offices just in time for the start of the day.
Out of breath, I settled myself at my desk, relieved that I’d managed to pull it together.
I booted up my computer to get started, feeling energized and ready to rock.
My productivity lasted all of five minutes before my cell phone rang.
I glanced at the screen, intending to send it to voicemail, but my stomach dropped when I saw that it was Emma.
Dammit, I had to pick up.
I’d been ducking her calls for weeks now, but I knew that See Yourself couldn’t function without its executive director, and that the executive director couldn’t run the non-profit when she had no clue what was going on.
“I’m so sorry,” I said when I picked up.
“Everything’s been crazy here.”
“I’m just glad I finally got ahold of you,” she said, but there was tension in her voice.
I couldn’t blame her.
I’d been avoiding her ever since I’d skipped town, leaving her in charge of See Yourself while I tried to escape into my new life in New York.
She deserved an explanation, but I didn’t want to involve her in my personal drama, and I couldn’t bear the thought of talking about my divorce—or my pregnancy—to anyone.
At the same time, it was no excuse.
I’d left her high and dry right after the charity’s hugely successful fundraiser at the Four Seasons.
My timing had been shit.
With all the good PR we’d gotten and all the donations we’d raised, it was exactly when See Yourself needed a strong leader the most. I’d messed up badly, and now I was going to have to fix it.
Somehow.
“Am I to assume that I’m cancelling all your photography classes and one-on-ones with your mentees?” Emma asked dryly.
“Or that the fundraiser was such a wild success that we can just fly the women out to New York now?”
There was a tart sarcasm in her voice, but I had earned it.
“No,” I said quietly, leaving my cubicle to go hide in a more private corner of the office.
“That’s not the plan.”
“Then did you have a replacement in mind?” she asked.
“What do you want me to do? I’m getting calls and emails daily, and all I can tell anyone is that there’s been a family emergency that’s come up with you, because I can’t very well admit that you’ve ghosted the entire charity.”
“You’re right. I put you in a terrible position. You have every right to be frustrated and upset with me,” I said, trying to keep my voice from wobbling.
I could hardly hold back my guilty tears.
I was beyond overwhelmed with everything that had happened in the last month, from leaving my family and moving to New York, to the pregnancy and the surging hormones and nausea, to Ford’s now-constant presence and last night’s ill-advised fuck session.
I could barely keep it together as I tried to soothe Emma.
“I’m not upset with you,” she said, sighing.
“I’m just worried, and stressed. And yeah, frustrated. This isn’t like you. Plus I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’m panicking.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again, grateful for the note of understanding in her tone.
“I promise I haven’t ghosted. I actually am dealing with some family issues, but I haven’t abandoned you or my principles or anything like that.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Because I heard that you started a fancy new job out there, so it’s hard not to think you’re just focusing all your time and attention on that now. The organization can’t run itself. I wish it could, but it doesn’t work like that.”
“I know. And yes, I do have a new job,” I told her.
“But I assure you, that’s not the reason I’ve been unavailable. Why don’t we go over everything that’s on your plate? That way I can have a full plan of action ready to email you by tomorrow.”
Even though the thought of “tomorrow” made my stomach clench with dry heaves all over again, because I still hadn’t gotten any headway on my to-do list for the magazine.
Meaning I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, since I’d have to write up the document for Emma after I clocked out of work, and then it’d be morning and I’d be taking up residence next to the toilet.
After going over everything that See Yourself needed, I was in the process of trying to get Emma off the phone when I got another call.
Using it as an excuse to say goodbye, I clicked over—but God, I really, really should have let it go to voicemail, because I suddenly had to deal with Mrs. Malone.
Someone I had absolutely no time or energy to speak to, even on a good day.
“Why is my son living in New York?” she practically screeched in my ear.
“And why the hell hasn’t he signed those divorce papers yet?”
For a moment I debated just hanging up on her and hitting decline when she called back…
but I knew I couldn’t.
The next thing I knew, she’d probably show up at my door, or worse—at my job.
I might as well just talk to her now and get it over with.
“I can’t answer that for him,” I told her, exasperated.
“I’m just as confused as you are.”
“You’re responsible for this somehow. I know you are. We had a deal, Mara.”
“I know,” I said.
“And believe me, I’m doing everything I can to follow through with that deal. But I can’t control Ford. He found me on his own and moved here on his own. I didn’t tell him where I was—I was just as surprised as you were to find out he moved here.”
“You always were a sneaky little girl, getting your talons in our boy.”
I was glad she couldn’t see my eye roll.
“Regardless of what you think is going on, this is all Ford ,” I said.
“I’ve told him in as many ways as I can that we’re over, that the marriage is done.”
“We’re not convinced,” Mrs. Malone said.
“I don’t know what else to do,” I insisted.
“I’m trying my best to make this happen.”
“Try harder,” she said, and then hung up on me.
Using all my willpower to not scream and hurl my phone across the office, I went back to my desk and dropped into my chair, putting my head in my hands.
Not even ten a.m., and my entire day had gone to hell.
Speaking of which, I had no time to sit here and stew.
When I looked up, I saw Andrew heading toward me.
Probably to check on my nonexistent progress.
But before I could say anything, the speaker on my desk phone chirped as one of the security guys in the lobby told me that my lunch delivery was on its way up.
Dammit, Ford.
I dropped my head onto my desk with a thump.
This was too much.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asked from behind me, sounding worried.
“What’s up? How can I help?
I felt his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, rubbing gently. It felt so nice that I let out a soft little moan.
“It’s nothing, I just—” Lifting my head, I turned in my chair and looked up at him.
“Honestly, I’m feeling really overwhelmed. And I didn’t even order delivery, but I think maybe someone just asking me if they can help for a change…it kind of helps.”
He smiled, and something inside me finally relaxed a little.