Chapter 22
“I want to call a lawyer,” Rebecca says at breakfast.
Eggs and waffles awaited them at the table this morning, courtesy of Mr. Man. Orange juice poured, vitamins set out, napkins folded. Wearing Mark’s old jeans and a fresh black T-shirt, Mr. Man is cleaning out the refrigerator, checking dates and chucking past-due foods into a paper grocery bag.
Rebecca marvels at how quickly they have adjusted to having a full-time servant. It is lovely and yet also a touch disconcerting for reasons she cannot identify.
Mark shovels forkfuls into his mouth, eyes glued on his phone, thumbing through emails. It’s annoying but she reminds herself to be happy to have him at breakfast. “Lawyers are expensive,” he says. “There’s zero proof of anything. And besides, that’s exactly what Jackson wants.”
“To get sued?”
“To cause more disruption and to substantiate his aggrieved victim status.”
Maddy’s eyes widen with curiosity, that wonderful openness Rebecca hopes the world will never dim. “What’s sued, Mommy?”
“It’s what you do to people who take advantage of you.”
“Can I sue Sydney?”
Mark finally looks up with a laugh. He ruffles Maddy’s hair. “I wish we could sue folks just for being a-holes, kiddo.”
“Why? Who would you want to sue, Daddy?”
“Hmm.” Mark sits back, folds his arms, taps his fingers, villain-like, on his biceps. “I like this game. If there was any one person I could sue for going out of his way to make my life miserable? Derek de Grasse.”
“Your boss?”
“Not just a boss,” Rebecca says. “Founder, CEO, thought leader, and visionary.”
Mark cracks his sideways grin, the one that tugs his mouth to the left. “Yes. I wouldn’t mind suing him to death.”
“I’d like to sue Jackson into the ground,” Rebecca says. “And sue Sydney’s mom right in the face.”
Maddy and Mark laugh.
All of a sudden, Mr. Man stands before them, holding a hunk of Stilton with the cellophane wrap peeled back, exposing a few blue veins. “Is this rotten?”
Mark and Rebecca look at each other, amused. The pungency wafting over the aroma of maple syrup makes it a fair question.
“No,” Mark says. “That’s just cheese. Cheese is mold.”
“Mold is rotten.”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just cheese.”
“Oh. I will update my understanding.” Mr. Man returns the Stilton to the fridge.
Mark shoves in a parting mouthful, checks his watch. Rising, he stops at the desk to sign the parent attendance slip for back-to-school night, as Maddy has reminded them to do a half dozen times. “Gotta run.”
“Daddy Carpool?”
Mark is already out the door. “Sorry, kiddo, gotta get to the office.”
Maddy runs the tines of her fork through the maple syrup. “Can Mr. Man take me to school, Mommy? Can he?”
It would be nice. Rebecca thinks about a warm bath, catching up on stockpiled Grey’s Anatomy episodes, maybe even a workout. She feels a pang of guilt, but still, she does so much for everyone else all the time.
Maddy sets down her fork, dips her sticky fingers in her water glass, wipes them off repetitively on the napkin. She is rocking slightly. Watching her, Rebecca thinks about all the things she does every minute of every day to keep her daughter’s beautiful little soul on track.
Doesn’t she deserve a little time for herself?
She glances at Mr. Man and then at her daughter. “Sure thing, Maddy.”