15. Thea
FIFTEEN
THEA
I was at my desk, cross-referencing two case files, my pen moving between the pages.
I needed the Whitfield file. I'd left a draft of the grant narrative in Margot's shared folder.
I walked down the hall and pushed open her office door.
She was gone — her chair empty, her coat on the hook, her reading glasses on the desk beside a mug of cold tea.
I sat down at her laptop to pull up the shared folder. The screen woke. An email was open. I frowned as I read it.
The Harmon Foundation. The subject line: Re: Second Interview — Schedule Confirmation.
My hand stopped on the trackpad.
I read the first three lines. That was enough. A response from a hiring manager. Congratulations on moving forward. A date and time for the second round. A note about the salary range, which was more than double what the nonprofit paid Margot on the months we could pay her at all.
I closed the laptop, set my hands flat on the desk, and sat there.
Margot was interviewing. My Margot. The thought that she could leave never crossed my mind. She was the nonprofit. She was half of it, maybe more than half.
I picked up the laptop and walked out to the main room, where Margot was now sitting at the intake desk, writing something. I set the laptop in front of her.
"When were you going to tell me?"
She looked at the laptop. Her pen stopped. She closed her eyes. One breath. Two. "I was going to tell you this week."
"This week."
"I've been looking for the right time. There isn't one." She pushed her chair back and folded her hands in her lap. "Thea, sit down."
I sat across from her.
"I have two kids," she said. "I have a mortgage. The nonprofit hasn't paid me a full salary in three months. I've been covering the difference from savings, and the savings are almost gone."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you would have given me your own money, and then you'd have nothing, and we'd both be drowning instead of just me. I love this work," Margot continued. "I love this work, and I love you, and I love what we built, but I can't run on passion forever, Thea. I have people who depend on me."
I looked at the desk. I couldn’t speak.
"I haven't accepted anything." Margot reached across the desk. Her hand covered mine. "I'm just looking. I owe it to my kids to look."
I squeezed her hand. "I understand."
She searched my face, looking for the lie. I didn't have one. I understood. Understanding and accepting were different things, but I understood.
Margot nodded. She picked up her pen. I picked up the Whitfield file from her desk. We went back to work, and neither of us said another word about it. The silence was the heaviest thing in the room.
I was still at my desk an hour later, still raw, still sitting with the Whitfield file I wasn't reading, when my phone rang.
Mom.
I could keep dodging. I'd been dodging for weeks. But the dodging took energy I didn't have today. The silence at the nonprofit was pressing in, and Margot's email was sitting in my head like a stone in a shoe.
I picked it up.
"Baby! Finally! I was starting to think you'd changed your number."
"I've been busy, Mom."
"I know, I know, you're always busy. But listen…
baby, you will not believe what Ray did last weekend.
He surprised me with tickets to that jazz thing at Lincoln Center — you know the one, the one I was telling you about?
And he wore this new suit, navy, and honestly, Thea, he looked so good I almost couldn't —"
"Mom, I'm at work."
"Oh, I know, honey. I'll be quick." She wasn't going to be quick. "The reason I've been calling is — Ray has a work thing in the city, and I came along! We're in town! We should get together. Dinner, maybe? Tonight?"
I rubbed my temple. "I'm really busy this week."
"Oh, come on. I haven't seen you in months." Then she let out a low gasp. "Oh, how silly of me. I know this must be so hard for you, with the divorce and everything. Are you managing? Being alone can be — "
"I'm not alone." The words came out before the thought finished forming. "Actually, I'm seeing someone. You might have heard of him. He's quite popular."
Silence. One beat. Two. Then Lorraine Calloway came alive. "Oh! Baby! That's wonderful! Oh my god, tell me everything. What's his name? What does he do? How long have you been… Oh, Thea, this is amazing. We should all go to dinner tonight! A double date! Ray and I, you and your new man."
I groaned. "Sure."
"Where should we meet? We can come to you. Give me the address, and we'll all head out together."
I gave her the penthouse address. Then I hung up. What did I just do?
The penthouse smelled like the rosemary chicken Mrs. Parrish left in the oven.
Declan was in the kitchen, jacket off, sleeves rolled, scrolling through his phone with one hand and eating an apple with the other.
Mrs. Parrish was gathering her things by the door.
The night nurse was with Lena in the nursery — I could hear the soft, tinny sound of the musical mobile through the wall.
I set my bag on the counter. Declan looked up. The apple was halfway to his mouth.
"I need to tell you something."
He set the apple down. "That's never a good opening."
"My mother is in town. She called me today." I pressed my hands flat on the counter. "I told her I was seeing someone, I told her that someone was you, and I told her we'd go to dinner tonight. As a couple."
Declan looked at me. The silence lasted three seconds. Then the grin started — slow, spreading, and he laughed. "A double date with your mother."
I groaned. I seemed to have been doing that all day. "Don't make this worse."
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. The grin was devastating. "I'll help, but you owe me a kiss at the end of the night." He held up one finger. "And I'm collecting."
"This is serious."
"I know." He was still grinning. "I'm still collecting."
I wanted to be annoyed. I couldn't get there.
I hurried to the room to change. I picked out a simple black dress. Then I went to the nursery. Dominique was standing by the crib, watching Lena. Lena was in the crib, awake, her blue eyes tracking the mobile above her — small felt stars that rotated slowly.
"I've got her," I told Dominique. "Take a break."
I picked Lena up. She grabbed my collar immediately. I sat in the rocking chair with the bottle warming in the cup on the side table. When it was ready, I pressed it to the inside of my wrist, tested it, and brought it to Lena's mouth. She latched on and drank.
I kissed her forehead. The warm, soft skin. The faint smell of chamomile. She was almost finished with the bottle when Declan appeared in the doorway.
He was dressed in a charcoal suit, no tie, and a pale-blue shirt open at the collar. His hair was pushed back, but the lock at the front was already falling. He leaned against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets and looked at us.
Our eyes met over Lena's head. I handed Lena to Dominique. We confirmed the numbers — pediatrician, concierge, both our cells. Lena was settled.
The buzzer rang.
I pressed the intercom. "Send them up."
The elevator opened, and my mother walked into the penthouse as if onto a stage.
She was in a red wrap dress and heels, her brown hair blown out, gold earrings catching the light. "Oh, Thea." She pressed both hands to her chest. "Baby."
Ray followed behind her. Mid-fifties, salt-and-pepper hair, khaki pants, a well-fitting blue blazer. Pleasant face.
She squeezed me tight, then held me at arm's length, and looked me over. "You look thin. Are you eating?"
"I'm eating."
"She cooks every day," Declan said, appearing beside me. He extended his hand to Ray first. "Declan Hale. Good to meet you."
"Ray Sutton." He gestured around. "Nice place you've got here."
"Thank you. We like it."
We. I looked at him. He didn't look at me.
Lorraine turned her full attention to Declan. She took his hand in both of hers. She touched his arm when she spoke. She laughed at the first thing he said — a comment about the weather that wasn't funny.
"Thea, he's gorgeous." She said this directly to me, as if Declan weren't standing three feet away. "Where have you been hiding him?"
From the nursery, Lena let out a cry. Lorraine's head turned.
"Whose baby is that?"
"My daughter," Declan said. He put his arm around my shoulder. "And Thea has been gracious enough to help me with her. She's a natural."
"Can I see her?" Lorraine was already moving toward the hallway. "Oh, I just love babies."
That was a massive lie.
We followed her to the nursery. Dominique stood when we entered. Lena was in the crib, fussing, her face scrunched. Lorraine reached in and picked her up. She held her carefully, close to her chest, and made the right sounds.
"Oh, she's beautiful." Lorraine smiled down at Lena. "She looks just like her daddy." She glanced at me. "Oh, Thea. You must be so happy to be close to a child." She adjusted Lena on her shoulder. "It's such a shame about you, you know? I always thought you'd be such a good mother."
The room went still.
A shame about you. Like I was a house with water damage. Like my body was a disappointing report card she'd received.
I reached for Lena. "I'll take her."
I lifted the baby from my mother's arms. My hands were steady. My jaw was not. I settled Lena against my chest and turned to the crib, adjusting her blanket, tucking it around her, and the motion brought me the three seconds I needed to push the words down.
I handed Lena back to Dominique. "We should go."
The restaurant was Declan's choice. A French place on the Upper East Side. Lorraine sat down and glowed. This was her stage — a handsome man beside her, an upscale room around her, and her daughter's billionaire boyfriend across the table.
She took Ray's hand on the tablecloth, squeezed it, and leaned into him. "Isn't this beautiful, baby?" She kissed his cheek. Then his mouth. Ray smiled and rubbed her shoulder.
I picked up the menu. Declan's knee pressed against mine under the table. I pressed back.