Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
Jess
At 8:30, I buzz Marian, our nanny, up. Eden’s been fed and dressed so, logically, I should really think about doing the same. I look down at my coffee-stained AGOLDE jeans and shrug, throwing on a baggy Cuzco’s Cafe t-shirt, socks and a pair of Birks. (That would be Birkenstocks, not Birkins.) (This is my life now.) (For the record, I could never afford a Birkin before, but it’s fun to dream.)
I unlock and open the door, but instead of my 60-year-old nanny, my green-eyed, cute-as-a-button pregnant best friend stands in her place, carrying a drink holder and a Levain bag.
“Oh, thank god!” she says, sounding relieved, reaching out and hugging me, drink holder and bag still in hands. She walks past me, setting everything down on my eat-in table, then immediately picks up her phone.
“Yeah, she’s here, we’re good. I’ll call when I’m ready to be picked up.” Pause. “Love you, too.” Liam , I’m sure .
“What are you doing here?” I turn from where I’m still standing by the door.
“Are you kidding me right now?” she asks, almost sounding pissed at me. “I thought something happened to you. And Eden’s birthday is this weekend.” Time flies when you’re wallowing in pity, but forced to survive because you’re a single mom. Thanksgiving is next week. Fuck me.
“My phone broke.”
“And….?”
I shrug. The truth is that I just don’t care. She looks around at the small kitchen. Dishes piled on the counter. Dead plants in the window. Coffee that may or may not be growing mold in the pot. “Okay. I had no idea things were this bad. Alexa , stop playing Sad Girl Starter Pack.” Brit says into the void of the kitchen. Alexa just replies, “Okay,” and the music stops.
“How’d you know it was the Sad Girl Starter Pack?” She gives me a sad, knowing smile in return.
“Because I know, Jess. You should have called me.”
“My phone’s broken.” She rolls her eyes, picks up her phone and starts texting.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Sending Liam to get you a new phone.” She says it so nonchalantly.
“You don’t need to do that, I can get a new phone.”
“Sure, maybe you can , but have you?” I shake my head, and she continues, “No, you haven’t. So I’ll do it for you.” She looks down at her phone then back at me after it pings with a new message. “See, done.”
Imagine just having it like that . Hey babe, run to the store and get my friend a new phone ?
Fucking cake walk.
“I’m fine, Brit. You’ve come, you’ve seen me, you’ve seen Eden…” who is sitting in a Pack ‘n Play in the living room while Bluey plays. “I have to go to work.” She frowns at me.
“Assuming I came here and you weren’t rotting on your apartment floor, I have a surprise lined up for you.”
“What?” I say, a bit exasperated.
“You have an interview tomorrow.” As if it isn’t pitiful enough she’s buying me a new phone, now she has to get me a job, too?
“You don’t have to do this. I can get a different job…I’m choosing not to. This one is mindless and it’s perfect. It gets me up and out of the house. It’s close proximity to home, and I like the regulars.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” I hate when she uses my own words against me.
I walk over to the eat-in, grabbing for a cup of coffee out of the drink holder, but Brit stops me. “Uh-uh. No coffee until you agree to go to the interview.” I’m suddenly a surly teenager, pissed off and moody.
“Fine, Mom .” I say back to her, but she just laughs. Loudly, in my face.
“Great!” she says back to me. “Call in sick and go take a shower.” There’s a large part of me that wants to fight back, tell her to go to hell. I’m making it just fine on my own. But then, there’s the other part that’s just so fucking relieved to have someone take over and take control, even if it’s just temporary.
I (begrudgingly) grab a chocolate chip cookie, a coffee, text Marian to take the day off, and go sit in the tub for an hour before Brit starts yelling at me to move my ass. I can even hear her litt le booted foot tapping impatiently outside the bathroom door. Fine .
Throwing on a baggy cable knit sweater and even baggier cargo pants, I walk out of my room and see Liam playing with Eden while Brit washes my dishes.
“Hey!” Liam says, genuinely happy to see me. I give him a head nod.
“Oh, good.” Brit sets down the last dry plate. “Your options are, to A. Accompany me on a bakery crawl, or to B. Let me take you shopping, aka, I need your help shopping.” She stands there, dead serious, waiting for an answer.
“I’m really hoping you make the right choice because none of my clothes are fitting,” she pats her belly, “and I really don’t need any more croissants.”
“I don’t know…I could really go for a cupcake, or twelve…”
Her face falls, but then she sort of snarls her lip. (It’s not really possible, she’s too cute.)
“Fine. Let’s go shopping.”
When we walk into Gucci on Wooster, that’s when I know this shopping trip isn’t for Brit. The Great? For sure . Celine? Maybe . Gucci? No . I have never once seen Britain willingly reach for anything Gucci.
“Brit…” She ignores me.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” She doesn’t look at me when she asks. She just starts overturning bell glasses, smelling each parfum in the apothecary section.
“Because it wasn’t…” Until it was. And obviously, I can’t say: “Oh, becau se I think I maybe, likely, fell in love with your brother years ago, and when I found out he’s getting married, I think a little piece of me died. And I don’t even really know that it’s because he’s getting married, but just that everyone else’s lives seem to be moving forward while I regress, and I’m having a pity party.”
Instead, I say, “I was honestly okay for a bit. Not great. But okay. But yeah, things could be better, and I’m alone with Eden all the time, and it’s hard single parenting. There’s no breaks, I don’t get to ever be ‘off.’ And I’m tired. I’m tired of carrying it all on my own. But I also don’t want anyone’s help. So I just get overwhelmed, then a little bit stressy-depressy, add in a splash of anxiety about what the hell I’m doing. Et voilà! I’m listening to Lana Del Rey on repeat while wearing socks with Birkenstocks.”
Brit holds up one of the bell glasses for me to smell; it’s basically the scent of money. (Not literal dollar bills, just expensive.) I nod, and she asks the sales associate for four bottles. The girls will love the Alchemist’s Garden bottles.
She picks out a few different cardigans, one logo (mohair, long), one cropped (logo, cashmere). And honestly, all her picks are on point. Brit’s speed is more Eileen Fisher, but here we are. She’s impressing the shit out of me.
“Since when do you shop at Gucci?”
She shrugs, “Since reading Magnolia Parks .” Makes sense.
After Gucci, we hit up Celine, The Great, and Trudon, then grab lunch at Cipriani’s. She’s fawned over me as I’ve tried things on. She’s insisted on treating me at every store, and when we come back to my apartment, she has a cheesy smile on her face .
There are boxes and bags from everywhere we went today, piled around the entryway.
“Just a little gift. My way of saying good luck at your interview. Also, it’s your severance…and it’s me bribing you to come to Spearhead for Christmas.” She gives me a tight little hug before leaving to check on Liam who’s been with Eden all afternoon. I’m sort of pissed, but honestly, a bit excited. Maybe it’s finally time to get back on the wagon.
If I wouldn’t waste my life moving to Taipei, I shouldn’t waste my life here either.
My new boss is wearing Crocs and a snapback. He’s definitely in his 30s. Definitely loaded, but definitely dressed like a man child, and it absolutely works on him. His name is Caleb, and he’s exactly what you’d expect a techy billionaire to be. (The only thing missing is a puffer vest.)
My interview lasted thirty minutes. Most of which he spent talking to me about his latest trip to Bali. The only question he really asked was, “You worked for Brit, right?” I said, “Yeah.” And he said, “Good enough for me.” That was it. (Classic people-with-money shit.)
I owe Brit for this. Not just for the new Triomphe bag, not just for the interview, but for pushing me and giving me exactly what I needed. What I’d needed was a day without Eden, a killer outfit, small-town gossip which is ten times better hearing about because I have no skin in that game, and not one single reminder about Tommy, or Jamie, or even Alex. For an entire day.
Was it hard not to ask about Alex’s impending nuptials? Yes . Would it have been harder to hear about it? Also, yes . Brit didn’t bring it up either, so who was I to rock the boat?
“So, this is my office,” Caleb gestures around the space that features floor to ceiling windows framed by the changing fall trees outside. It’s a massive space, taking up half the second level of his townhouse in Soho. He motions over to where there’s already two desks, which is nice. “You’re welcome to use my partner's desk when you work here, but don’t feel like you have to come here to work. We’re gone so much, I imagine it’s probably easiest for you to work from home.”
Caleb gives me a run down of what he needs, help with travel arrangements mostly. Some light event planning. Help with organizing meetings with clients.
Aside from being independently wealthy, he runs a sort of travel/experience/extreme excursion business that caters to high-net-worth individuals and their upper-echelon crew. Definitely sounds like good ol’ boy shit, but for the salary he offered, and the minimal hours required, I can look past it.
“My partner is taking a, let’s call it, ‘sabbatical’ or a 'time out’ even, and I need…help.” He smiles at me, boyish charm, dimpled smile, genuinely seems like a happy person. (A billion in the bank tends to assist with that.)
“He normally does all the prep and ground work, but now that’s me until I get someone else.” Apparently there’s some big trip to Patagonia coming up.
There’s a gentle knock at the open office door and a lanky (clearly) model (looks Russian) pokes her head in. She says something in Russian, and Caleb replies, (also in Russian) and then he introduces me as his new assistant .
“Hi, I’m Jess.” I extend my hand and she takes it, limply.
“Hi. Anya.” That tracks. She seems nice enough. But also seems like another reason I’ll end up working from home. She gives Caleb a kiss on the cheek, then says “Paka” to the both of us.
Caleb isn’t wearing a wedding ring, not that that means anything, though. “Girlfriend?” I ask, and he blushes.
“I wish.”
I laugh. That’s how it is here. Got it. I hear Anya exit as someone enters, and then there’s footsteps on the stairs. “Alright, let’s get you an email set up, and some paperwork going, and then mostly everything else we can do virtually. Of course you’re welcome to come in, though! Just let me know your preference.” Uber accommodating, that’s nice.
I smile and just say, “I’ll work from home unless you need me here. I have a 1-year-old.”
He looks at me with a strange look, and says, “That’s awesome,” but punctuates the statement with a sincere smile.
“Ahem.”
(Pause.) Have you ever had that thing with a person where you can feel they’re there before you know it. You can’t see them, hear them, but you sense them? That’s us. I probably guessed it the moment I heard a booted foot hit the first step.
Alex clears his throat from the doorway and…seeing him…looking sun-kissed, with hair that’s been naturally windswept on this blustery November day makes me physically weak in the knees. Like someone took a baseball bat right to the back of my thighs.
I don’t really know where we stand. There’s no hate for him from me, it’ s just I maybe always wanted more than he could ever give me. That’s it. But does he still hate me? He sort of acted like maybe he didn’t anymore, and then that night…wait, was he dating/engaged when we had sex? That definitely makes my stomach lurch then roll. Also, he’s been a major dick to me, and made me look and feel stupid. (I retract what I said about not having hate for him.)
Wait …is Anya? I feel legitimately nauseated, then ten times worse because she seems like his type. They’d have gorgeous nordic-looking babies together, that’s for sure. (Hmm, I don't want to think about Alex making babies with someone else. No, thank you.)
I wait for him to make the first move. Is this civil? Is it back to ignoring me? And then, why is he here?
“Pal!” Caleb calls out to Alex.
“Blanks,” Alex nods back in acknowledgement. Caleb’s nickname is Blanks ?
“You probably know Jess, right? Brit’s assistant?” Caleb asks him.
“Yeah, I know Jess.” He smiles. (He smiles!) I blush.
“Hey, Alex,” I try my best to sound absolutely, completely polite.
“Well, that saves me from having to introduce you to your other boss. Alex is my business partner.” Oh . Oh… no . My mouth forms a little “o,” but no words come out. (Shall I just step in front of a train now? Or wait till later?)
“I just hired Jess to help with logistics while you take your,” Caleb uses air quotes, “‘leave of absence.’” Ahh, leave for…his wedding. My heart stutters.
“That’s right,” I finally find my voice. “I hear congratulations are in order.” Alex looks at me, giving me wide eyes. Maybe surprised, m aybe a bit scared? I try my best to keep my smile normal. Caleb is looking at me, then Alex, waiting.
Then Alex says, “Jess, can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?” I feel like I’ve just gotten called to the principal’s office.
“Um, sure.” I sort of look to Caleb first, checking if it's okay and he shrugs.
I follow Alex, but instead of going outside, he takes my hand, pulling me down the second flight of stairs to the basement. It’s like a separate apartment from the rest of the townhouse. Small kitchen at one end, living space, and several doors open. One leading to a gym, maybe one to a bedroom.
“How are you doing?” Alex asks, surprising me. I thought I was going to get chastised, maybe put in my place.
“Umm, I’m okay.” I fidget slightly, straightening my cardigan (the cropped one Brit bought yesterday), standing up a little straighter. No one has ever made me feel like I’m crawling in my own skin the way Alex does.
“Promise?” He tries to find my eyes. I eventually let him. I’m having a hard time lying to him. I sort of shake my head, but don’t say anything more. Alex swallows and nods, I think understanding.
“There’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you…ask you…” He trails off.
“I heard.” I say. “Congratulations, really.” Good for him for being able to finally move past Amy. “I’m sure that thing that happened by the lake didn’t mean anything, and I can keep a secret…if that’s what this is about?” His face turns red. I can’t do this.
I dig deep, steeling myself in my new Gucci slingbacks. “Brit is throwing Eden a birthday party at Serendipity this weekend. You shoul d both come.” (Look at me go!) (Alright, fine, it nearly killed me.) When he doesn’t immediately say anything back, I lean up, placing a kiss on his cheek and quietly say, “I’m happy for you if you’re happy.” Then walk away like a queen. Head high, steady, and extra grateful I opted for the shorter skirt this morning.