By the time I’ve raced back to the register, people are looking at me like I’m a bad mother. I load everything onto the conveyor and lift her out of the car seat. Holding her against my chest, I pat her back awkwardly. I am fumbling with my wallet and trying to bounce her when the cashier — a bubble popping juvenile delinquent — asks me, “Will that be all?” I look at the bags of diapers that are now bagged in my cart and then at the empty belt. He is staring at me with his watery marijuana eyes, waiting for my answer.
“Um no, I’d like all of this invisible shit too.” I wave a hand at the conveyer and he is actually dumb enough to look.
“God,” I say, viciously swiping my credit card. “Lay off the pot.”
The baby chooses that exact moment to have a bowl movement. Before I’ve pocketed my credit card, the contents of her diaper have leaked onto my hands and shirt. I look around in horror and bolt from the store.
Without the diapers.
I send Sam to go back for them later when he finally calls me back. When he shows up at the front door, I still haven’t changed my crapped on shirt, and in addition to my daughter’s brown artwork, both of my br**sts are leaking. He shakes his head.
“You look worse every time I see you.”
I burst into tears. Sam sets the diapers on the counter and hugs me. “Go shower while she’s sleeping. I’ll make us something to eat.”
I nod and head upstairs. When I come back down, he’s made spaghetti.
“Sit.” He points to a barstool. I obey, pulling in the plate he slides toward me.
“You’re losing it,” he says. He wraps spaghetti around his fork without looking at me.
I use a knife to cut mine into little pieces so that they fit onto my fork.
“How do I get him to come home?”
“Get a new personality and learn to shut the f**k up.”
I give him a dirty look as I dab at my mouth.
“Are you attracted to me?”
There is a long pause.
“I’m g*y, Leah.”
“What? I never really thought you were.”
“You’ve been saying it all along!”
“But, you have a daughter … what’s her name, again?”
He laughs. “Kenley. And, I guess I only figured it out later in life.”
I drop my head in my hands. This is an all-time new low for me, seducing a g*y man. I take a deep breath and look up.
“Caleb’s going to leave me again. I know it.”
For a second Sam looks taken aback, and then he scoots over on the couch and puts an arm around my shoulders.
“Probably,” he says. My head snaps around to look at him. Weren’t g*y men supposed to be sensitive? The minute he announced he was g*y, I was planning on using him to replace Katine. “Probably. I can’t believe he’s stayed with you for this long.” He smiles at my expression.
“Did you really just say that?”
He nods. “Maybe the guy loves a good bitch — but you’re treading a thin line between attractively bitchy and psycho. You messed with his daughter. He’s probably going to leave you and take his kid.”
“No way. I won’t let that happen.”
“What? —The husband or the baby?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. It’s obvious what I mean.
“He won’t believe it — if I start acting all supermom. He sees through shit like that.”
Sam raises an eyebrow.
“He won’t leave me. He thinks I’ll fall apart if he does.”
“Is that how you want to keep him? By manipulating his emotions?”
I shrug. “I try not to think about it, honestly.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of apparent. Why not just let him go? You could find someone else.”
I have the urge to slap him across the face. I light up a Slim instead.
“I won’t ever let him go. I love him too much.”
Sam smirks at me and plucks it from my fingers, stubbing it out on my granite. “Never?”
“Never,” I say. “Never ever.”
Sam points a finger at me. “That’s not love.”
I roll my eyes at him. “What do you know? You’re g*y.”
Chapter Twenty
Past
Daddy called me his right hand. It should have been considered an honor, but it felt more like I’d pinned a scarlet letter to my dress. Everyone knew his rigid policy on not bringing family into the company, so my sudden appearance was a cold, drizzly raincloud over the other employees. Had my father recruited a spy? Was he downsizing the company, using me to report who was and wasn’t doing their jobs? They shuffled papers when I walked by, pretending to be busier than they were. Some were radically pleasant, hoping to gain my friendship to secure their jobs, while others were openly hostile. The Why is she here? question was the ever-ringing bell that preceded me down the halls. It was miserable. What was more miserable was the size of my office. Other than Daddy’s, mine was the most coveted in the building. One wall made entirely of glass; it offered a view of downtown Ft. Lauderdale. If I stood just right, facing the ocean, I could see Caleb’s building in the distance. Its previous owner, who was well loved by everyone at OPI, was fired a week before I arrived. He’d been with the company for twelve years and had earned the office I’d been handed. My door plaque might have just read Entitled Brat in pink, bubble letters. I was making five times the money I’d made at the bank. On the surface, my already privileged life had just landed down Licorice Lane. On the inside, under the shiny new office and title, I was warping.
My father gave me a prestigious job at his company to prove how little he thought of me. My boyfriend gave me smiles that didn’t reach his eyes. My mother gave me love so thin it felt more like sugarcoated contempt. If someone had cared enough to say: Leah, it’s all in your head ... all I would have to do was refer them to the three people in my life who didn’t really want me there.
My assistant peeked her head in. “Ms. Smith, everyone is waiting for you in the conference room.”
Shit. I’d forgotten about that. I grabbed my MacBook and Jamba Juice and bolted out the door. I was so wrapped up in my pity party that I was ten minutes late for an uber important meeting. I hated that. I strolled in casually, avoiding my father’s eyes, and sat down in my seat.