Our Options Have Changed: On Hold Series Book #1

by Julia Kent

  “Zion” finishes and Natalie Maines starts singing “Godspeed.”

  He comes to a halt in front of the conference room and opens the door with a flourish. I look in.

  The first thing I see is a banner that reads “O Baby!” There’s a pile of gifts on the conference table, and a cake in the shape of a… is that a pink rabbit? The room is very crowded. I look at them, and they look at me, and suddenly they all start clapping. And whooping. A few whistles. I look at Henry accusingly.

  “Don’t blame me.” He smiles.

  Now, after baby tears and guilt, stress and traffic tickets and exhaustion, it’s the show of love and support from friends that does me in. Tears fill my eyes. Something else spilling on this dress.

  Carrie rushes up to me, wearing a pink feather boa and a huge smile. She hugs me and says, “Chloe, we wanted to do this before the baby came, but it all happened so fast, and then you were gone.” She takes off the boa, wraps it around my neck, and leads me to the head of the table, where she pushes me into a chair.

  She turns to the room and claps her hands. “HellO!” she calls. This is how our employee events typically open.

  “HellO!” they call back.

  It’s kind of like elementary school, I know, but it works.

  “Everyone pick up a gift,” Carrie instructs them. “We’ll open them one at a time. Chloe will start, and then we’ll go around the room. When it’s your turn, please read the card and tell us who the gift is from. At O, we share the love.”

  She winks. They hoot. Mousy Carrie has obviously been experiencing some professional growth while I’ve been gone. Also, the refreshments appear to include wine and beer.

  She bends over and scoots a big, professionally-wrapped box toward my chair.

  I open the card. “It’s from Andrew McCormick,” I read, “and it says ‘Cheers from Anterdec!’”

  I tear off the paper. It’s a case of Dom Perignon. Oh my. The perfect gift for any occasion.

  “Next!” Carrie announces.

  Zeke is first on my left. “This is from the team in Accounting,” he says. Pulling off the box lid, he holds up a garment, adult size. “Oh that’s so sweet,” Zeke comments. “It’s something special for you, Chloe.” Yards of cotton flannel spill out onto the floor. Zeke stands to display it better. It has long sleeves and a high neckline, and as he spreads the top across his chest, we all see that it features various slits and flaps on the bodice. There’s also a pair of fuzzy slippers.

  “I didn’t realize you were adopting,” Diane from Accounting says. “It’s a nursing nightie.”

  “Thank you,” I smile. “You can never have too many nighties.”

  Diane is next in line to open. “It’s from Human Resources,” she says, sounding puzzled. “The card says, ‘We heard what Accounting was giving you.’”

  She rustles the tissue paper and, with two fingers, lifts what appears to be a bright red chiffon bra. In her other hand is a matching lace thong. Diane’s face is the exact same bright red color.

  Zeke laughs so hard he falls off the side of his chair.

  Hayley’s next. She unwraps a package and reveals a soft plush baby doll, cute as a button. According to the box, it is from the “Girl Talk” line of educational toys.

  “Wait,” she says, examining it, “I think it talks!” She hunts around a bit and finds a button, which she presses.

  “No means No!” the doll exclaims in a tiny, android voice. Hayley presses it again. “You’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

  “Next!”

  Next is Ryan, and his gift is from the staff at ONY. A Camelbak Antidote Reservoir, 100-ounce capacity. It’s a backpack-type hydration unit for exercise, fitted with a small tube and a mouthpiece, hands-free. They must think I am a runner?

  Ryan reads the card, written by Jack. “‘We see the moms in Central Park wearing these all the time. Good luck!’” Ryan squeezes it. “It’s filled with something.” He opens the valve and takes an experimental sip. “Gin,” he says, in a voice filled with admiration. “Hendrick’s.”

  “Mommy juice,” someone laughs, but I notice that Ryan tucks the box under his chair instead of putting it back on the table.

  A sunbonnet from the skincare team is added to the pile. Marcy Silverman sent an envelope with a U.Fund College logo on the corner, but I said quickly that I would open it later.

  Finally we come to the biggest box of all, which proves to be from Facilities Management. The card says, “Very popular in Cambridge!”

  It’s my very own MulchingMama. According to the instruction booklet, by using the enclosed sample diapers (refills sold online for $150 per case) and processing the soiled diapers through my MulchingMama unit, I can turn Poop to Profit. And potentially save the planet.

  In my spare time.

  Carrie begins slicing the cake and distributing plates and forks. At first, the cake appeared to be a big pink rabbit, but now that I have a chance to inspect it carefully, I see that it closely resembles a giant penis with long ears, a fluffy tail, and a smile made of M&Ms. I catch Carrie’s eye.

  She shrugs and whispers, “Catering. They did their best.”

  Henry, seated on my right, is last. He’s not holding a gift. Standing, he picks up a bottle of Dom from the case, taps the side of it with his cake fork, and the room grows quiet. He clears his throat.

  “You all may know that Chloe is a special friend of Jemma’s and mine,” he begins. “We go way back. And Chloe did us an enormous honor in giving our name to her beautiful daughter.”

  Tissues are being discreetly pulled out.

  “It’s an honor that can never be repaid, but can only be lived up to, lived into,” he continues. Sniffles are audible. “As a sign of our commitment to our extended family, this artwork has been created. It’s forever.”

  He turns his back to the room and drops his tuxedo jacket. On his shoulder, the light catches a brand new tattoo: the leaves and berries of a holly branch.

  There are a few seconds of silence, and then an explosion of applause, cheers, laughter, and joy. Over the PA, the playlist switches to Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely,” and Zeke begins dancing with Diane, who looks like an uncomfortable robot.

  As I am hugging Henry, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t touch it, okay? It still hurts.” At that moment, I see Jemma in the doorway, holding Holly.

  And right now I understand that everything is going to be just fine, forever.

  Nick

  The texts are amusing.

  And hot.

  Sorry I fell asleep the other night, she texts. Can I make it up to you?

  Attached is a picture of Chloe, wearing her power underwear, the bustier open and—

  “Damn.” Charlie draws out the word. “What’s that porn site? I’d love to—”

  My elbow “accidentally” connects with his jaw as I move the phone out of sight.

  “Go away,” I growl, feeling like a seventeen-year-old with an annoying little brother.

  “Sexting?” His voice is filled with admiration. “Nice. I guess you can teach an old lap dog new tricks.” He rubs his jaw and steps out of my reach. “Just don’t send dick pics. Take my word for it. They end up on the internet, no matter what.”

  Something in his tone tells me not to ask.

  Come over tonight? I text quickly, trying not to make typos.

  Can’t. Holly has a late pediatrician appointment, and I’m behind on work, she replies, adding a frowny face.

  I’m frowning too, but it isn’t with my mouth.

  Tomorrow? she types.

  I’m gone all the rest of the week, I reply. LA for a design meeting. I’m back late Friday.

  When did life become so complicated? she answers.

  Saturday? I ask.

  Jemma and Henry are away for the weekend, so you’ll have to date both of us, Chloe replies.

  I look at the picture of Chloe.

  I think about a “date” with Holly along for the ride. Expecta
tions change when there’s a teething baby in attendance. Can’t assume sex. Or drinking to the point of lost inhibitions. Or a foreign film, or a good comedy set at Improv Boston.

  But I get Chloe.

  And Holly’s not bad company, either.

  Saturday, I reply back.

  “Hot date?” Charlie asks, coming into the kitchen for a beer.

  “Something like that.”

  “Now that the kids are all in college, isn’t it great to do what you want, when you want?”

  I stare at my phone screen.

  “Yeah. It is.”

  Chapter 20

  Chloe

  There is a saying: space exists so everything doesn’t happen in the same location.

  Time exists so everything doesn’t happen all at once.

  Sometimes, though, time isn’t enough.

  Two important events coincide, and one has to yield.

  This is what parenthood has done to me: forced the moment where I have to choose my job over my baby, even for a few hours. I knew this day would come, and here it is, two months into being back from maternity leave, and I am stuck.

  It’s not quite that stark, I remind myself as I fight tears, waking before sunrise and busying myself with showering and dressing, praying Holly stays asleep so I can pull on thigh highs with two hands like a civilized person. Last time she woke up while I was getting ready, I learned new yoga positions.

  One-handed snake stuffer. Nylon rip asana. Skirt button warrior pose.

  In the quiet, creepy dawn, I mainline coffee and hope I won’t pass out at the last meeting of the day at two o’clock.

  Three o’clock is a fine time to snooze on the plane, though. Eyes on the prize.

  6:00 am. I need to be at the airport by 7:30. I hate to go so far away from Holly, even though I’ll be home at the exact same time tonight as if I’d just been at the office. What if there’s an emergency? But I have to meet with the O NY staff, and we can’t fly them all here to meet with me.

  You know what would be great right now? One of those tanks from the Oxygen bar at O.

  There may be no scientific evidence to support the claim, but a hit of pure oxygen, scented like gin and tonic, would really take the edge off my separation anxiety. Breakfast of champions, zero calories and no prescription required. Pricey, though.

  Isn’t the baby supposed to be the one with separation anxiety? Because she looks perfectly calm and composed. Enfamil is her drug of choice.

  “Good morning!” Jemma calls, coming in the back door, bringing in a sprinkle of snow. It’s the week before Christmas, and Thanksgiving was a blur of a feverish baby and a sleep-deprived mama Baby’s First Christmas is coming and so is my mother, Charlotte. Add in a last-minute business meeting to New York and call me Job.

  I can’t do pleasantries right now. I hand Jemma a document. Six pages, single-spaced.

  The cover page is phone numbers: Holly’s pediatrician, Children’s Hospital emergency room, poison control center, Cambridge police, Boston Cab, O Boston, O NY, American Airlines, the car service in New York, the manager of my apartment building, Charlotte’s cell, Howard’s cell, Nick’s cell, Carrie’s cell, the electrician, the plumber, my cousin who lives in Newton, and the vet. Also health insurance info for Holly, and all my credit card numbers with PINs.

  One page of infant CPR instructions, with diagrams.

  Two pages of legal information, including Henry and Jemma’s guardianship of Holly and my last will and testament.

  Operating instructions and warranties for all the major appliances. And the coffee maker, which I certainly consider to be a major appliance.

  Jemma flips through the pages.

  “Poison control? Seriously? She can’t even crawl yet, Chloe, how is she going to get poison? Roll to it?”

  “Better to be safe than sorry,” I mutter.

  “I am here with Holly four days a week,” Jemma says patiently. “I know her schedule. I know how to use the washing machine and the microwave. I have read The Happiest Baby, Sh!t No One Tells You, and Pat the Bunny.”

  “I know,” I answer miserably, and gratefully.

  “You are only going to New York,” she continues. “For the business day. You could practically take a cab home. Now get your bag and go. We’ll see you tonight, same time as always.”

  “Is Henry still planning to pick you up here after work?” I ask. Jemma and Henry are leaving immediately for her sister’s wedding in Providence. The last-minute New York meeting put me into a tailspin. Jemma warned me months ago that she needed this day off for the wedding rehearsal and dinner. I’ve placed one of my best friends in a horrible position. She’s split the difference for me, and I’m deeply grateful. Charlotte couldn’t (wouldn’t) come, and I haven’t cultivated a relationship with any other caregiver for Holly.

  I’m in a bind of my own making.

  And it’s killing me.

  “Yes,” Jem answers. “If we leave here by six thirty, we’ll get to the rehearsal dinner in Providence by eight at the latest. We’ll miss some of cocktail hour, but that’s probably a good thing. It’s going to be a long weekend with my family.”

  “And you’re sure it’s okay for the maid of honor to miss the rehearsal?” I ask dubiously.

  “Yes, my sister the bridezilla walked me through it last weekend,” she says. “As long as we get there sometime tonight, everything will be fine.”

  She looks back down at the pages in her hand.

  “Hairball remedy?”

  “For Minky,” I explain. “Sometimes she chokes.”

  “GO,” Jem says.

  I pick up my leather bag and try to swing it over my shoulder, but it knocks into some of the supplies I have helpfully stacked on the island. Cans of formula and cat food, bottles of baby ibuprofen and Ipecac—just in case—fall and roll. The six-pack of Corona (for Henry) stands firm, but the lime rolls too.

  “K bye,” I call. If I start kissing Holly, I’ll never leave. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll get home.

  Or something like that.

  * * *

  Around one p.m., in between meetings, I look out the window and see just a few glittery little snowflakes in the air. So pretty in the city. I hope it snows tomorrow night in Boston. It would be so romantic for my dinner with Nick.

  Around two p.m., I look out the window and see… four inches of snow on the ground. At least, I can kind of see it. Visibility is about ten feet. Mostly I just see white. I should be heading to the airport in half an hour.

  I pull out my phone to check for a text from the airline. And there it is. Flights to Boston Logan canceled.

  Don’t panic, Chloe. Do not panic. Breathe.

  She doesn’t pick up: “Jemma, it’s me. My flight is canceled. Where are you? Call me.”

  I text her: flight canceled call me!

  I email, and send a Facebook message. I resort to Twitter. I call Henry, whose phone goes directly to voicemail. He must be with a client.

  Another deep breath. Another.

  Solve the problem, Chloe. New York is not that far from Boston. I can get home somehow. Right?

  I find Jack, the office manager, and ask him to call Amtrak for train reservations.

  “Sorry, Chloe, they’ve canceled all trains to Boston. Looks like this is going to be a major blizzard. I’ll find you a hotel room.”

  “No. NO! No hotel room. I have to get home.” I am leaning over his desk. He leans away. “What about a car rental?”

  “Chloe. It’s a blizzard. We’ve had four inches of snow in an hour. You can’t drive three hours in this! What if you get stuck on I-95? You could die!”

  He’s right. Shit.

  Shitshitshit.

  My phone rings, Jemma’s ringtone.

  “Chloe? Weather.com says you’re going to get a snowstorm this evening. It’s bypassing New England, but New York’s getting whomped.”

  “Did you not see my messages?”

  “No, we just got back from a walk
. What did they say?”

  “They said we are having a snowstorm!”

  Heads pop up from cubicles all around me. I walk to a corner and lower my voice, cupping my hand around my phone.

  “My flight is canceled. All flights are canceled. So are the trains. I can’t get home.”

  “Well, that’s just not possible,” Jem says calmly. “I have to be in my sister’s wedding. In Providence. You have to get home. In fact, we should probably leave sooner than we planned.”

  “How, Jemma? How am I going to get home? Teleport?”

  Silence.

  “Okay,” she says slowly. “We need to figure this out. When do you think you can get here?”

  “I don’t know! Tuesday?”

  Am I yelling? Jack has opened the door of an unoccupied office and is motioning me in.

  “Hotel room?” he whispers.

  I nod unhappily.

  “I guess Henry could stay here with Holly,” Jemma offers. “If you can get home tomorrow morning, he might even make the wedding.” I hear the skepticism in her voice, though. Her sister’s already pissed Jemma is missing the rehearsal. If Henry doesn’t go, I could be the reason for a decades-long resentment that it’s unfair to create for them.

  “Oh Jem. That is so generous of you.” They hate to be apart. “But I don’t think Henry’s interest in public health extends to wiping poopy bottoms. I wouldn’t leave him alone with a baby for ten minutes.”

  I’m helping her save face.

  “That’s true. He’s going to have to ease into fatherhood when we’re ready,” she says with a distracted laugh. “Besides, my family already doesn’t like Henry. This could push them over the edge. If I go without him, it could get… bad.” She sighs. “What about your cousin? The social worker?”

  “In Florida. Visiting Charlotte. Who can’t even fly up for an emergency now!” A little sob of desperation escapes from me.

  My phone beeps. Another call coming in.

  It’s Nick.

  “Jem? I’ll call you right back. Two minutes.”

  “I just saw the storm reports,” he says when I click over to his call. “How are you?”