4. Lissa
Lissa
“I’m okay, Mommy.” Henry gently swats my hand away as I smooth his hair for the final time before we leave the apartment.
“Do you have any more stomach pains?” I ask, trying to keep a lightness in my voice that I don’t feel. “It’s okay if you do, I’ll stay home with you this evening.”
“I know, you told me,” Henry says, his huge blue eyes looking up at me. “But I feel better.”
I put my hand under his chin, looking him over carefully as he giggles and pulls away.
“Where are we going?” he says curiously, and my gut clenches at the innocent expression on his face.
“I just need to leave you with the sitter for a couple of hours, okay? But I won’t be too long.”
“Okay.”
“And if you don’t feel well, you make sure to tell her, and she’ll call me.”
“I will, Mommy.”
“And you don’t feel dizzy or anything?” Henry shakes his head.
“Can we get a puppy?”
I pause, my hand on the door, the question so out of the blue it makes me stop dead in my tracks.
“What?” I ask stupidly.
“A puppy. Gregory, at school, got one, and it’s really cute. It’s yellow.”
I feel a slow, sad smile spread over my face. “Maybe. Once you’re better, we can think about it, okay?”
“A yellow one?” he asks enthusiastically.
“Are you sure it was yellow, like a banana, or was it golden, like the retriever Grandma used to have?”
Henry thinks about it for a minute. “It was definitely yellow.”
I laugh at his decisive tone. “Okay then, I’d like a dog, too. Or maybe we could get a cat, so we don’t have to walk him in the snow, hm?”
“I don’t mind. It needs to be fluffy though.”
I take his hand and lead him down the steps to the bus stop just beside our apartment block. It’s a seven-story building, and at this time in the early evening, there are a lot of other people waiting, too. I nod to a couple of faces I recognize, but even after a year, I barely know anybody.
The bus arrives, and to my relief, we manage to find two seats at the back.
It’s overcrowded, noisy, and hot inside, and I check my watch, nervous that if the traffic is bad, I’ll end up being late for my appointment at the agency.
I’m wearing a Chanel blouse and a gorgeous Reiss suit that Bethany lent me. We’re around the same size in terms of body shape, but our heights are wildly different.
Bethany is tall and willowy, whereas I’m petite and what my mother would have called ‘compact’.
Beth and I have often been mistaken for sisters, both with dark brown hair in a similar cut, but I’ve always envied Bethany’s golden skin over my own pale body.
It’s something James made me paranoid about, constantly calling me pasty or ghost-like.
Why did I put up with his shit for so long?
“Am I sick?”
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by Henry’s question. He’s beside me, staring out the window, his eyes moving rapidly as they try to follow the buildings flying past.
I hesitate, weighing my options. Many parents would choose to lie to their children in the face of such a question. I can understand why. Sometimes, it’s easier to mask the truth than let them know how fragile life can be.
But I don’t want to pretend my son is okay when he isn’t. He’s a clever kid; he’ll know something’s up and ask the doctor a million questions the next time we go in.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “You’re pretty sick right now, sweetheart. But you’re going to have an operation, and the doctor will make you better. That’s what they’re there for, honey.”
“Someone at school said I was going to die of cancer.”
“Who?” I snap sharply, unable to keep the fury from my voice. Henry flinches, and I try to rein myself in. “Sorry, sweetie. I just don’t like bullies. Was it one of the other boys in your class?” I ask, putting my arm around his shoulders.
Henry nods but doesn’t look upset. He rarely cries, not even when he gets hurt, and even then, it usually doesn’t take him long to bounce back. When he badly scraped his knee falling off a friend’s bike in the fall, he came to me limping but didn’t shed a single tear.
“That was a mean thing to say,” I manage, tamping down my fury. “But he might not have known what it really meant. He was probably just repeating something he heard on TV.”
“How is the doctor going to make me better?” Henry asks me, turning those ocean blue eyes my way.
“She’s going to take away all the bad things inside you so that the good things can fill you up again,” I say, the horrible image of the operating table leaping into my mind against my will.
“Are you sad?” he asks, as I fight back the tears that seem to be constantly ready to spill out these days.
“I am kind of sad,” I admit carefully. “But only because I don’t like it when you don’t feel good. Once you have the operation, you’ll start feeling better. I promise.”
“Are you going to be there?” he asks in a small, frightened voice.
“Every step of the way,” I say, hugging him tightly to me and kissing the crop of blond curls on the top of his head as the bus continues on.
I don’t let go of him for the rest of the ride, praying that what I’ve told him is the truth.
A bird is staring at me.
I fidget in my seat, looking around at the beautiful interior of Pippa Grooman’s office. She is a gorgeous woman with long blonde hair and full lips that form a natural pout as she reads the information I put on the intake form.
She hasn’t said anything yet, and I’m terrified she’s going to tell me that mothers aren’t welcome at the agency. Since I handed over the form, she’s just been clicking keys on her keyboard with a blank expression as she reads.
That can’t be a good sign, right?
“I have full-time childcare if I need it,” I blurt out. “I’ll make sure that my son is taken care of during work hours.”
Pippa looks up at me, her eyes changing from focused concentration to surprise.
“Oh, we don’t discriminate against mothers, Melissa. Don’t worry. Everybody has to make a living in this world. There are a few women on our books who have little ones younger than Henry, and they make it work.”
I breathe out as Pippa returns to the sheet.
She has a red retractable pen in her hand with a satisfyingly thick nib that she uses to tick the different things I’ve put on the form.
She pauses halfway down, a small wrinkle appearing between her brows as she reads the information I put about my marital status.
Am I allowed to be married? I thought about writing ‘soon to be divorced’ next to it, and now I wish I had.
Pippa ticks the box either way.
“Are some of the other women here married?” I ask, out of curiosity more than anything.
Pippa nods. “Some. A lot of people don’t care about monogamy these days. I have one lady who works here, and her husband loves the stories she tells about her exploits. To each their own, you know?”
There is no judgment in her tone; she strikes me as very open-minded and friendly.
The cup of herbal tea she made me sits steaming on the desk in front of me. The cup and saucer are the exact same shade of teal as the bird on the wall behind Pippa’s head. I pick it up and sip it gently. It has a sharp tang to it and is probably the nicest mint tea I’ve ever tasted.
“Wow, that’s good,” I say enthusiastically and put the cup back into the saucer with a gentle clink. Pippa beams at me as she places my form alongside her keyboard.
“Bethany was here this morning advocating for you,” she says, with the same softness in her voice. “I have to say, I’m impressed at everything you’ve done in your life. She didn’t give me a lot of details, but she told me you’d gotten out of a bad relationship. I hope that is all in the past.”
I’m not sure if she’s asking me to make sure I don’t have PTSD or something, and I just nod, waiting for her to go on.
“I know Bethany well, and I trust her. I hope you understand that I have no problem with you as a candidate, and I’ll bear you in mind in the future.”
My throat dries up. “You don’t have anything you can offer me today?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.
“I have a few clients who are looking for someone right now, but…” she trails off and glances down at a Post-it on the desk I hadn’t noticed before.
I can’t read it upside down, but it looks as if Pippa has made some notes about the sort of man that might be suitable for me.
“Uh, did Bethany give you some rules around who I could be placed with or something?” I ask, remembering what Beth had called her ‘non-negotiables’.
Pippa shifts in her seat, looking uncomfortable. “Not exactly rules, but what she said made sense to me. My priority is the health and safety of my employees first, my clients second. You’ve had some hard years. I don’t want someone that I place you with to trigger… bad memories.”
My fingers twist in my lap, the unpaid bills that arrived in my mailbox this morning making anxiety rise inside me.
“I appreciate Bethany’s input,” I say softly, “but it wasn’t her place to tell you about my soon-to-be ex-husband.”
“It absolutely was,” Pippa replies softly but firmly. “It would have been remiss of her not to, and I’m glad she did. We have a lot of clients who wouldn’t be suitable, who want things that you might not be comfortable with.”
“Can’t I be the judge of that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Can you?” I frown, confused by her tone. “Listen, Melissa?—”
“Lissa,” I insist.
“Lissa,” Pippa continues, rising from her chair and coming to sit in the empty one beside me.
“Bethany clearly thinks the world of you, and she’s told me of your resilience and the hard work you put into everything you do.
I would jump at the chance to have you with us, but I’m not sure it’s what is best for you. ”
“Am I too short and pale?” I ask impulsively. “Because I could wear heels and get a fake tan.”
Pippa’s eyebrows rise. To my surprise, she holds out a hand, and without knowing what else to do, I place mine into her warm fingers.
“You are absolutely beautiful,” Pippa says, meeting my gaze with an intensity I hadn’t expected. “And there’s nothing wrong with being small or pale; a lot of men adore that.”
She gives me a reassuring smile and gently squeezes my hand.
“Listen, all I’m saying is that we need to be careful,” she murmurs.
“It feels like you have someone in mind, but Bethany’s told you not to suggest him.”
Pippa’s eyes widen comically, and then she leans back in her chair and laughs. “My God, she said you were perceptive.”
Sighing, she leans toward her desk, picking up a file sticking out of a black in-tray.
“I was thinking of this particular client of ours because I know you’re what he’s looking for. Almost to a tee, but Bethany didn’t think…” She shrugs and hands the file to me.
I look down at it, my stomach in knots as I open it.
The face looking back at me is undeniably handsome; the guy could be a model or an actor. There is very little information in the file itself, simply that he’s a successful lawyer at one of the best law firms in the city.
I look up at Pippa, who is watching me with interest.
“I don’t take orders from other people,” she says shortly. “I love Bethany, too, but she doesn’t get to dictate what you or I do. I know what Heath is expecting from us, and you’re it. Through and through. But he’s a handful. His tastes aren’t for everyone.”
“Have you sent him someone before?” I ask nervously.
“Yes. She didn’t even last a week,” Pippa says with a little ironic smile. “Too opinionated for him, I think. You, on the other hand, would be just the ticket. Quiet, sweet, beautiful.”
I look back down at the dark eyes staring out from the page in my lap.
“Someone at school said I was going to die of cancer…”
Henry’s words reverberate through my skull like a gunshot.
“I’ll do it,” I say, closing the file with a snap.