Chapter Seven
Willa
It was probably naive of me to think my workplace would let me have my uninterrupted maternity leave.
Some part of me had been anticipating the call ever since I gave birth. It was part of the reason I always had my phone on me, no matter where I went. The other part was a bone-deep paranoia that some emergency might befall Adelaide or me without a way to call for help.
I’d always been quietly efficient at work.
I wasn’t like some of my coworkers who liked to get together and boast about some deal they made or client they’d schmoozed.
So it was likely that no one at the office would realize how much slack they’d have to pick up and how much they would miss me until I was gone for a while.
Despite very much earning my place in the company and making a nice living for myself, there was a surge of panic and insecurity when I saw my boss’s name on my screen.
He spent the first two minutes pretending to care about how I was doing and how the baby was. My responses were just as hollow. I gushed. I claimed I’d never been happier. That my daughter was an angel who slept well and hardly cried.
In my personal life, I preferred to tell the truth.
In my professional life, I learned a long time ago to protect myself from my employer and coworkers. I never had anything stressing me out. My family life was fantastic. I didn’t have a concern in the world.
And when I had to finally break the news of my pregnancy to my boss, I kept up the ruse.
I couldn’t claim to be married. My ringless finger would give me right away.
But I pretended I was in a very happy relationship, that the two of us were so excited to start our family—even if we were doing things a little out of order.
Did it feel good to lie? No. But it felt just as awful to be talked about and judged by coworkers.
And nothing would get their tongues wagging more than knowing I was dumped when my birth control failed and I ended up pregnant.
I also worried that my boss might hear the term ‘single mom’ and hear ‘liability,’ since I didn’t have a spouse to take care of the kid on days off from school or when they were sick, over the summer—the list went on and on.
So long as I didn’t ‘get married,’ I didn’t have to actually put anything on paper and risk getting caught.
Fibbing was for protection. Because I’d heard coworkers and bosses in the company call women a ‘liability’ because we might get pregnant at any time.
“Remember Melanie? That kid of hers was sick more than he was well. She lost us three clients.”
It wasn’t true, of course. We lost the clients because of restructuring that the clients saw as instability.
But they created a villain out of Melanie.
Then our boss went out of his way to write her up for any small infraction until he had enough reasons (that had nothing to do with her child) to fire her.
I couldn’t let that be my fate. Melanie had a high-earning partner to fall back on. I only had myself. I needed stability for my daughter.
So I would continue to lie.
And I wasn’t going to let myself feel bad about it.
It wasn’t just about protecting my job, either. It was about protecting the version of myself I’d spent years building in that office: Reliable. Ambitious. Available.
The kind of woman who answered emails at ten at night and never complained when a client wanted something done yesterday.
The kind who came back from vacation with her inbox already cleared because she knew no one else would do it right.
I had worked very hard to become the person they never had to worry about.
And now I had a baby.
A baby who would inevitably get sick. Who would have doctor’s appointments and daycare closures and bad nights and fevers and a thousand other perfectly normal things that could make me less convenient.
I hated that I was already calculating how inconvenient motherhood might make me seem.
But I’d seen what happened to women who didn’t. And without a partner’s income to fall back on, I couldn’t take any chances with my job.
“Dave Campo refuses to discuss his portfolio with anyone but you,” my boss said, a hint of a whine in his voice. That made me think he’d tried himself to talk to Dave, who let us control over eight million dollars of his assets.
I adored Dave.
He was this bubbly, pleasant, surprisingly down-to-earth multi-millionaire who started a blue-collar company that went huge over the next twenty years.
He was also surprisingly good at reading people.
He knew from a two-minute conversation that he didn’t trust my boss.
And he despised “the Chrises” in the office. All three of them.
“Is there a problem with his portfolio?”
My boss grumbled. “He was an early investor in AI, if you recall.” Of course, I recalled.
I’d been the one to handle that. “And now he says he’s done a lot of research into how bad AI is for the environment, workforce, and the minds of people and wants out.
” His words were dripping with distaste.
Despite the fact that, according to what I was seeing, Dave was absolutely right to hop out of AI before the bubble burst.
“And he won’t let you handle that?”
“He will not. He threatened to leave us completely if he can’t deal with you.”
I sucked in a deep breath, debating my options. On the one hand, I didn’t want my boss to take this as me coming off maternity leave early. On the other, I could see him somehow using it against me if Dave left.
“You realize I’m on maternity leave for several more weeks.”
That got a sigh.
“I’m aware.” His voice was clipped.
“Okay. I’m willing to do a video call with Dave. From home. Then handle whatever changes we want to make. From home. Before going back to full maternity leave.”
There was a long enough pause that had me thinking he thought this might be his way back in. “Fine. I will inform Dave.”
He ended the call.
No ‘thank-you’ or anything.
“Looks like Mommy needs to get herself presentable today,” I told Adelaide, who’d been lying on my legs, looking up at me with her big eyes, making little owl sounds, but thankfully not crying the whole call.
“Let’s hope something I own fits over these giant boobs of mine.
” I picked up Adelaide and pressed her to my shoulder.
“I mean, I’m not complaining. They’re nice.
But I know I’m going to be saying goodbye to them sooner or later.
And that’s just a cruel twist of fate, don’t you think? ”
Upstairs, I set her on my bed before making my way into the disaster area that was my bathroom.
Owen cleaned as he went, but there was still dust and bits of tile and glass scattered around.
He’d told me he would get it with a shop vacuum when he came again, but he didn’t want to wake up Adelaide with the sound.
I’d known Owen in an abstract way for a while.
But I’d spoken to him more during the process of this bathroom renovation than I had all these years.
Maybe that was on me. I usually just left him alone to do his work, knowing how frustrating it was when someone bothered me when I was busy.
But some part of me had been craving adult interactions.
So I’d been checking on him anytime that Adelaide would let me walk away from her.
He was every bit the laid-back, easy-going, everything-rolls-off-his-back guy I’d suspected he was. Just one of those stereotypical salt-of-the-earth, kind, hardworking blue-collar men.
He was clearly God’s favorite that he was not only a good man, but also devastatingly good-looking.
I’d noticed that right away, of course. But he’d never been my type. I liked suits and ties and strong investment portfolios. Maybe because that was what I related to most. Or because that kind of man would understand my drive.
I was noticing his attractiveness more, now, though.
And it all culminated in that little run-in that stripped me of my towel.
I hadn’t been prepared for the way desire would bloom through me, warming me from the inside out. I was acutely aware of the press of my breasts to his wide, strong chest, the feel of his fingers on my hip, and how well our bodies fit together.
It was startling and thrilling and, well, interesting. Because my body felt more mine than it had since I’d gotten pregnant.
It wasn’t until I got my towel back on that I remembered how I’d vowed not to get involved with a man again. At least not for a long time. Probably years. I’d done a lot of work, but I still wasn’t fully over the whole series of events that followed the stick showing me two pink lines.
I didn’t trust my heart or my judgment of men anymore.
I owed it to myself to wait until I could again to get involved with a man.
For myself, sure. But more so, for my daughter.
While I was fully okay with raising her myself—and had no worries about a strong male role model, since I had my dad, brother, uncles, and cousins to rely on for that—I would love to model a healthy, happy, loving relationship for her.
One day.
Just not yet.
And not with my handyman just because he was nice and handsome. Or because he didn’t peek when I got my towel back on.
“Though, I am half-tempted to marry him just to get unlimited access to that dog,” I told Adelaide as she looked up at me from the center of the bed, arms and legs kicking.
“You love Tuna too, don’t you?” I asked as I made my way to my closet, digging around for an outfit that would be forgiving of the changes in my body.
I decided on a pair of cream slacks that had always been slightly looser than I liked and a navy blue silk blouse that didn’t tug the buttons too much over my swollen breasts.
“God, I forgot how miserable these things are,” I grumbled as I struggled into one of my nursing bras that I’d abandoned once my family stopped living at my house.
There was a ding on my phone, telling me that Dave would be ready for a call in an hour.