Chapter 14 Emma
Chapter fourteen
Emma
My day only got worse after Steven left.
One crisis after another, all piling up until Cindy called to tell me she was sick—that was the breaking point.
My mood was shot, but the way I sprinted across town to grab Josie and still made it back in time for the faculty meeting should’ve qualified me for the Olympics.
I’m panting more than one should be as I wheel Josie into the teacher’s lounge and park her stroller by the refrigerator. The steady hum fills the room, doubling as an impromptu sound machine. A tiny, desperate hope sparks that it’ll lull her through the meeting so I can figure out what to do next.
“Let me see her!” Ellie squeals as she bursts into the lounge. I shush her, furiously pointing to the sleeping baby. She slams to a halt then tiptoes forward like a ninja.
Ellie’s never been a “baby person.” Honestly, she’s never even been a “people person.” So her adoration for Josie still throws me.
I practically choked on my egg roll the day she told me she wanted to be a psychiatrist. And yet, here she is now, all gentleness and quiet awe, gazing down at my daughter like the miracle she is.
Her green eyes mist as she watches my daughter’s tiny chest rise and fall. I can’t help but stare with her. My perfect girl. She’s so small, so utterly defenseless, yet somehow holds so much power over me.
“She’s so perfect,” Ellie whispers.
“She is,” I say wistfully, drinking in the bliss wrapped inside a pink fleece onesie.
The serenity that comes with watching a baby sleep evaporates when the lounge door swings open and smacks against the wall.
“Mrs. Jones, can you order me some more bleach?” Bill’s voice ricochets off the tiles, startling Josie awake.
And not with the sweet stretch-to-consciousness kind of waking you hope for, but with the I’ve-been-dropped-from-a-cliff and release-me-from-these-shackles kind of waking.
She pitches her head back, arches her body, and screams.
“Damn it, Bill,” Ellie growls, already unbuckling Josie.
Bill winces, guilt flooding his face. “Sorry.” He edges closer, trying to help, murmuring soft nonsense to soothe her, but she’s not having it.
Her crying crescendos as the school bell rings overhead, and every nerve in my body frays.
My patience is shot instantly, and sharp pain suddenly lances through my chest. I reach for the diaper bag and thrust the mini cooler off to Ellie.
She knows the drill, rushing to the microwave and pulling out bottles, baggies, and wipes.
Meanwhile, she deposits screaming Josie into Bill’s highly uncertain arms. He holds her like a feral animal, attempting the shh-it’s-okay-you’re-okay loop.
Josie is beet red and furious by the time I tug my portable pumps from the bag.
The microwave dings, and Ellie is already snapping into action, bottle in hand.
“Do you—” I start.
“I got this,” she cuts me off, gently waving me away. “Go get those things on.”
By the time I get back, pumps on and humming under my blouse, the meeting has started without me.
Benny is covering the agenda, and I step in quietly as he goes on about the upcoming sports schedules and need for concession stand volunteers.
I stand off to the side, trying to pretend the suction at my chest isn’t audible to the entire room.
Margaret volunteers herself and Bill for the concessions.
Bill obliges with a playful pinch at her waist.
“Get a room,” Malcolm grumbles from the back.
Margaret just shrugs her shoulders and wiggles her brows at Bill. Most of the room laughs at their blatant affection, but Malcolm rolls his eyes and signals for Benny hurry up.
“Other than that, we are needing a couple of people to stay late next Thursday for the peer interview.” Benny holds up a piece of paper, the résumé for our potential new hire.
“She is interviewing for the open theater position and will assist with art classes until we find a more permanent solution.”
The thought of anyone encroaching on my art classes makes my stomach hollow.
“You’re the one who needs the help.”
Benny said that during our big budget debate, back when I was nine weeks postpartum and convinced I could do everything on two hours of sleep and sheer will.
I was livid, confident he was micromanaging me and stealing my responsibilities before I even started my new job.
But hindsight is cruel and clear. He was right.
I was a hyper-emotional postpartum tornado who needed help. And I needed rest.
“Emma.” Ellie nudges me, pulling me back to reality and leaving the incompetence I felt in the past. “You’re up,” she whispers, bouncing Josie on her hip.
“Right, yes.” I clear my throat, pumps still going, and address the room. “Thank you, Benny, for covering those things. Alright, next up we have our spring art show, and then prom will be here before we know it.”
Kate whoops at the mention of prom, because of course she does.
Last prom was the year she and Malcolm finally got together after five painfully obvious years of him pining over her like a lovestruck puppy.
They’ve been disgustingly inseparable ever since.
Malcolm winks at her, and the room groans as one.
Staying on task, I add, “We could really use some help with set-up this year. Please don’t make me assign names.” I eye the group of chatty Kathys in the back corner—literally, there’s a Kathy and Cathy making up half of the liberal arts crew, who are very good at ignoring these meetings.
Benny pipes up immediately, dragging Ellie into his “we’ll help” statement. He beams, as if the whole school isn’t aware that he will help with everything.
“Thank you, Benny,” I deadpan, trying to coax more hands. “If anyone else could—”
“Let me have a turn with her,” Margaret interjects, wiggling her fingers in Josie’s direction.
“Did you wash your hands?” Ellie asks, givingMargaret a look like she, herself, is covered in baby poop.
Margaret scoffs, and Ellie whips her head toward me for backup. I take a strategic step back; I am not refereeing a baby-holding cage match. Benny’s quiet coaxing eventually pries Josie from Ellie’s arms, but not before she levels Margaret with an I’m watching you two-finger warning.
“Alright, then, as I was saying…” My words trail off as I hear footsteps pounding down the hall, followed by a loud slam of a locker and a string of curse words.
“Here we go,” Malcolm mutters, and Kate elbows him in the ribs.
“Be nice,” she tells him as Rob Daniels barrels in, sweat beading on his forehead and his necktie crooked over his Star Wars graphic tee.
“Mr. Daniels, nice of you to join us.” I bite back the smile as I savor the line I’ve always wanted a chance to say.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he stammers. “I got held up with the—”
I give him a careful nod and direct him to sit down. His eyes are full of fear and shame as he takes the seat next to Benny. He hugs his computer bag to his chest and Benny gives me the “go easy on him” look.
“Glad you made it, Rob.” I give him a smile, and he loosens slightly.
“Now back to prom set-up. Does anyone else want to commit, or do you want to wait until my kindly worded email next week?”
Before anyone can answer, Josie starts to wail in Margaret’s arms.
“What did you do?” Ellie snaps, reaching for the baby.
“Why don’t I take her?” I say softly.
Ellie winces at my words, aware that she’s overstepping. Margaret hands Josie over, and my baby girl melts into me instantly, soothed by my voice and heartbeat. Her curls tickle my cheek as she nestles in, and the room releases a collective “Aww.”
“There, there,” I whisper. She wiggles a few times before finally falling asleep against my chest.
“Wrapping up,” I whisper to the room, “prom email goes out next week, check your inbox. And for the peer interview next week, we still need two people to sit—”
Kate’s and Malcolm’s hands fly up.
“Again, you cannot participate if you have a personal relationship with the interviewee.” Their hands drop.
“Interview?” Daniels asks.
“For the theater position,” Benny whispers.
“The memo went out last week,” I say.
“Why are we going through this process?” Kate asks. “We know you’re going to hire her.”
“Who is it?” Daniels whispers to Benny, but it’s loud enough for the room to hear.
“My sister,” Malcolm says with a verocious protectiveness all over his features.
“Which is exactly why we need to go through the official process,” Benny reminds the room.
“Conflict of interest. We did the same for Eleanor.” He waves at his wife sitting next to him, the grueling hiring process flashing through my mind like a sped-up montage.
Getting Ellie her job, in my opinion, was one of my greatest accomplishments.
But it wasn’t without its obstacles. The interviews, background checks, me swearing some random oath that I believe isn’t even a real thing to ensure there was, like Benny said, no conflict of interest.
Obviously, that worked out, seeing as Benny, our boss at the time, went on to marry her. I laugh at the memory, almost missing the conversation happening in front of me.
“Was she the one at Thanksgiving?” Daniels’ curiosity seems to pique.
“Yep. The only sister I got, Daniels,” Malcolm answers.
“All this to say,” I continue whispering as Josie snores lightly in my ear.
The sound jolts me into awareness, the realization that I am holding my baby, who isn’t my small baby anymore, and time is passing me by faster than I know how to grapple with.
A chill ripples down my limbs as I cling to her tighter, and I stammer, “I—uh…we need volunteers.”
Josie’s fluttering eyelids distract me, and I miss who volunteers, but Benny says, “Perfect, I’ll email the details tomorrow.”
“Anything else we need to cover?” Benny asks me, but I’m no longer capable of work responses. My mind is transfixed on the fragile soul clinging to my blouse.