31
THE MIDDLE
(About five years ago)
“So remember I have his six week appointment this afternoon, I won’t be able to pick Eli up from t-ball.” I call to Adam as I clip the diaper bag onto the stroller in the mudroom. I think he hums in acknowledgment but I’m not sure.
I go back into the kitchen. “Adam? Did you hear what I said, I—”
“Yes, six weeks.” He smirks. Why is he smirking?
“Right but you aren’t going to the six week appointment. You have your presentation to the joint boards at the same time.” His smirk disappears. “You’re doing the t-ball pickup. It was on the shared calendar.” I explain, starting to panic. “Sally has orchestra rehearsal. I mean, I can ask Loretta to do it but it wasn’t scheduled for her because I thought you were doing it. She’ll charge us overtime and rightfully so, I mean we can’t keep changing her—”
“I got it.” He cuts me off. “I’m on T-Ball. I’ll be there.”
“You won’t be late?”
“For the fiftieth time, I got a flat tire! It wasn’t like I forgot!”
But you would have.
If I hadn’t told you.
If I didn’t stay on top of everything.
“Sorry.” I sigh. “You’re right. Have a good day. See you at dinner.”
“K,” He reaches for me but I pull back.
“I have coffee breath and you just brushed your teeth.”
He scoffs, “I don’t care.”
“I do.” I turn away, “It’s gross.”
I’m gross.
I can feel one boob leaking into the jumbo sized nursing pads. Only one? Oh…nope, there it goes.
Both.
And I’m sweating. Always. I check the thermostat by the kitchen. 72. It’s not the house, or my car, or the office. It’s me. Ugh. I don’t remember this after the first two?
For the billionth time, I wish I could text Mom and ask about it. A little stab of grief gets me right in the jugular. I swallow and take a deep breath to steady myself.
And even though I put on perfume, all I smell is bodily fluids. I’m pretty sure this suit jacket has spit up on it somewhere but I couldn’t find the spot. Which means it’ll probably present itself right as I sit down for the big zoom with Japan this morning.
Got that to look forward to!
I shoot a quick slack message to my new assistant, Bobby about a possible back up jacket in my office. Or maybe Jenn will have one. She’s got everything.
Except children. Which is why she always looks rested, and put together and smells divine. I would hate her if she weren’t my best friend.
I send a reminder text to Sally to eat breakfast. She has a test today which means she’s re-reading the material even though she doesn’t need to. When she does that she forgets to eat and then the nurse calls me, irritated like I don’t feed her. She doesn’t even live with me!
Sally only sends back an eye roll emoji.
Just like her last five replies to me.
Fine, be annoyed, just thank me hours later when you don’t pass out.
I sigh and push the stroller out into the garage.
Thank the Lord that at least the baby is sleeping peacefully for my commute.
_____
Holy freaking smokes, I’m tired. I pull back the sheets on my side of the bed and pause.
“Crap, I forgot to start the dishwasher.” I mutter.
“Loretta’ll get it.” Adam says to me from his side of the bed. He looks up from whatever he’s reading on his phone and opens the sheets further. “You hired her to help, let her help.” He says simply.
“Okay,” I concede, because he has a point. But he doesn’t quite understand how weird it is to have help. Everyone in my life is so supportive of my Boss Mom Era, as Sam calls it. Hire help, enlist family, outsource, scale!
But my mom was a renowned surgeon and she still managed her household. Laundry, dishes, even her cooking, as bad as it was, she did it. Not some hired stranger.
I do love Loretta. She’s amazing as a nanny for the boys and a household manager for me. She’s Jenn’s aunt’s best friend and she’s a Godsend. But she took over a big part of my role, my identity. Am I still doing enough at home? Am I giving the boys enough? Am I—
“So, six weeks, huh? How are you feeling?” Adam asks with one brow raised. The smirk is back. He inches closer to me.
Oh!
Six weeks.
“Um, it was a check up for the baby, not for me.”
“Oh. So you haven’t been cleared for…”
“No,” I say.
“Damn.” He says, looking at my swollen cleavage like a hungry man-bear. He’s got some stubble on his face and some grays at his temples.
He is still so freaking built. Sexy. Older now, hotter.
Which makes me instantly furious.
It’s brutally unfair that good looking men age into better looking men. Sure, he’s got more of a dad bod now. He eats and drinks like he’s still in his twenties, but doesn’t work out like a division one football player anymore. Still, his muscles are impressive and I know for a fact he can handle me easily, even with the baby weight I’ve gained. He’s still a freaking fox.
And I’m what? Some kind of mangy, sweaty, pissed off…badger.
“Soon, I’m sure.” I say before turning over so he can’t look at me anymore. I’m in a gray, stained nursing tank and little gray boy short underwear. I am still thirty pounds above my normal, feeling like I must look like a manatee right now.
“Susan.” Adam says.
“I’m fine.” He sighs but I don’t turn. “It’s fine. I’m just exhausted.”
As much as I don’t want to be seen or touched, I want him to see me. To hug me and comfort me and tell me that he gets it. Maybe apologize. I mean, we haven’t connected emotionally—laughed, flirted, even spoken about something other than babies or schedules—in months. Now he wants sex? Seriously?
He just turns off his light.
Not for the first time in recent months, I cry myself to sleep.
_____
“That’s a man for you.” Jenn says across from me. Her red hair is styled in perfect waves around her fair skin and glowing green eyes. Eyes that are not at all puffy or bloodshot like mine. Especially this late in the day when she stops by to say goodbye on her way out.
“I mean, even if I were remotely ready physically, uh, hello? You only grunt at me about the calendar or the kids, I feel more emotionally connected to my breast pump!” I vent to Jenn in my office.
“Seriously.”
“And have we talked about how diabolically unfair it is that a man holding his newborn baby is about the sexiest thing ever seen, meanwhile the camera pans over—”
“What camera?”
“Like if it was a quirky romcom movie. Adam would be standing by the window, glowing in the sun, a small sexy smile, arms bulging around our tiny newborn. Then the view would cut to me, lumpy, bed headed, red-eyed, leaking, sweating, asleep in stained pajamas. My mouth would be hanging open and drool would be gathering. They’d zoom in on the drool, Jenn. They’d zoom.”
“Babe, you’ve thought too much about this, uh, new parent dramedy.”
I shrug. “My mind wanders when I’m nursing.”
She puts her bag down to settle in for our conversation. “Want to rant again about the window?”
“The what?”
“You went on for like an hour last week about how small the window of time is when Adam and your dad and your mother in law and everyone cared about you. Basically the end of pregnancy and the very start of nursing. Then no one cares about mama anymore, they only check on the baby.”
I sit frozen for a second. I don’t remember saying that but damn. The accuracy.
“You said with every baby you think ‘I should make the most of this, ask for help, get massages, take naps!’ But you don’t because you’re a toxic achiever.”
“I said that?” I ask, my eyes burning around the edges.
“Okay, toxic achiever is not what you said, but that is what you are.”
“Hmph.” I say around my own bite of salad.
“I can say that with love because I, too, am a toxic achiever. Which is how I know you’ll bounce back, Suze, you did last time. It was a bit creepy honestly. Back at work like nothing happened, smiley and snappy and as on top of everything as ever.”
“Not this time though.”
She winces. “Wellll, all except the smiley part.”
“Yeah.”
“You just need to go find your happy. Maybe restart that awful morning spin class you loved. Didn’t you want to start a spreadsheet for Sally to help her keep track of college essays and admission forms and scholarships? Or! Find some large existing project in disarray to color code and alphabetize.”
I almost laugh, “I sound like a real fun time.”
“Fuck fun, Susan, you keep the whole world running. We’d all die without you.”
“Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. I think you’re a blast when I get you out of the office and into a wine bar. You’re quick witted. And loyal and thoughtful. So what if your idea of fun is to index and annotate and laminate stuff.”
“That’s not my idea of fun.”
She considers me. “You’re way to zen out, then?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“So what do you do for fun?” I consider her question. She goes on, “Or what did you do before you had so much on all your plates?”
“Adam and I played tennis. And sand volleyball. Couples tournaments.”
“Okay, fittingly aggressive. Why don’t you start that up again?”
I sigh, looking around my lovely, completely overstuffed office. It feels like a visual representation of my life, so much to check and fix and do, in every area. “We don’t have the time. If we do get a break, we sleep. We have three kids under five, and most of the time a hormonal teenage genius who resents me because I am not her mother while having to do all the mom things in her life.”
Her face twists with disgust. “Right.” She recovers. “I mean, love that family stuff for you. And I love Sally and your kids. In the photos and videos you show me from an arm’s length away.”
I laugh, and it feels good.
“Any luck on your hunt lately?” I ask, desperate to hear about another one of her random dates. She is older than me, in her forties, and hoping for a man older than her, but without kids. And without the desire for kids. It’s been tougher than I thought it would be. Turns out most older men either have kids or have some glaring red flags as to why they never settled down long enough to do so. Or, Jenn says, they’re just not hot enough.
“Nope.”
“Bummer. I wanted to escape into your life for a bit.”
“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” She laughs.
It certainly is. She’s so pretty she gets mistaken for any famous actress you can think of with red hair and a wide smile from the last few decades. Weekly.
She makes a crapton of money as our CMO. She spends said money on whatever she wants. She has a trainer and a chef and sometimes a driver. Her fiery hair is blown out weekly, her manicure is never not perfect, and her botox is so good, so natural looking, I started going to the same clinic.
She’s a catch on the inside too. Whip smart and funny and considerate, though her delivery isn’t always the nicest. She’s a lot like Skye, which is probably why my younger sister and my best friend can’t really stand each other. At least not professionally, when Skye, an intern, but also the boss’s daughter, comes in with fresh, artistic marketing ideas that Jenn usually has to shoot down because they aren’t feasible at scale.
“What about back before Adam? What about something that’s just for you?”
“Like, college?” She nods at my question. I think back to my sorority days and Brenna and Megan and the girls. They all moved away after college, so I really only talk to Megan now, every couple years when she comes home for a visit. But it’s hard to connect because she also has a gaggle of children that she produced with her very handsome, smart and funny, super conservative, almost-spitting-image-of-her-father husband.
I try to remember as I pack up my planner and meeting notes into my bag. “I mean, I focused on school and occasionally went out. Honestly the work trips were the most fun, getting to be at the stores, see the workers, and, of course, Adam was there.”
“Girl. I’m not letting you put more work in the fun column. Take your man on a road trip or make him play tennis.” She crosses to my mini fridge and grabs a water for each of us. “Or again, the spin class.”
I chuckle, “You hated that class so much.”
“So much! But you really loved it. You were all glowy and high on endorphins and, like, super amped at 8 am. Actually, please don’t go back.”
We laugh about her night owl tendencies as Bobby knocks on the door.
“Excuse me, Susan, is it alright if I head out?” He asks quickly.
“Sure! We’re just finishing up.” I smile. He ducks out of the doorway.
Jenn shoots me a look. “What a sweetheart! Too bad I don’t do sweethearts.”
“Yeah, he’s a couple years younger than me I think. Just finished his MBA, but Dad wanted him to spend quality time in each division.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, well, as much as they can with the expertly applied botox. “Your dad thinks that that cinnamon roll of a man is fit for leadership?”
“Apparently.”
She looks after him through the doorway. She’s not wrong. He’s a cute guy, tall and thin and handsome with thick, shaggy dark hair and glasses. Like the emo boy next door grew up and started wearing collared shirts. He’s very… nice. She shakes her head. “No chance.”
I snort and stand with my purse.
“Seriously, get your groove back, okay? Spin class, tennis, have little Bobby out there disorganize a bunch of stuff so you can reorganize it. You hear me?”
I smile at my friend. “I hear you.”
Jenn is right. Just a few minutes for me—out of work time, not family time, I work overtime every single week anyway—is what I need. Exercise will increase my mood, being on a team again will help Adam and I bond. Looking better and feeling better will help my confidence in the bedroom after we get that emotional piece back.
I take the three minutes left before I need to head out to google the tennis times at the club.
For the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful.