The Girlfriend (The Boss)

by Abigail Barnette

  I blinked back my tears at the memory. “You’re not so bad yourself. Did you go to work today?”

  “No, I was just so tired of hospital gowns. I needed to get dressed or end up deeply depressed.” His laugh was short.

  I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to touch me. I just wanted everything to be okay between us.

  He led me to the kitchen, where Sue had laid out our neatly plated dinners. “Halibut, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “It smells amazing.” It actually smelled awful, but I didn’t hold that against his housekeeper. It was the uninvited guest in my uterus. It made everything smell ten times stronger than usual. I looked around the kitchen. The counters were scrubbed clean, the light was off over the stove. I slid into one side of the breakfast nook. “Sue’s gone for the night?”

  “I didn’t ask her to stay on past seven.” He went around the wide, marble-topped island and reached into the cooler beneath, coming up with a bottle of white wine.

  “None for me, thanks,” I said, too quick. He gave me a strange look, and put the bottle away.

  That was weird. He usually liked wine with dinner.

  Oh god, he was probably staying sober to let me down gently when he broke things off for good. The wine was for me, to drown my sorrows, if necessary.

  I completely lost my appetite.

  “So...” He sat down across from me and unfolded his napkin. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Any developments in the job hunt?”

  I knew what he was asking me. “I didn’t take the job with Gabriella.”

  He nodded, and poured ice water into my glass from the carafe on the table. “Were her terms—”

  “You know why I turned it down.” My hands clenched in my lap. I was more angry than I thought I would be. I’d been preparing for this moment, steeling myself against hurt and disappointment so that I could walk away with dignity. Instead, my emotional control snapped like a rubber band and I accused, “How dare you.”

  “Sorry?” He looked like a man staring through the windshield of a car that was nanoseconds from hitting him.

  “You did it again. You pushed me into making this huge decision, but you acted like you were somehow protecting me. You did it when you stole my plane tickets six years ago. Now you tell me that I have to take this job because it’s a wonderful opportunity, and you magnanimously declare that you’ll let me go if you have to.

  “You didn’t even ask me what I wanted. You didn’t tell me what you wanted. It’s like you don’t care about the outcome, you just don’t want to feel responsible for it.”

  “Magnanimous?” he repeated, outraged.

  My hands were clenched to fists beneath the table. If we were going to break up, then we might as well raze this fucker, salt the earth, and poison the ground water. “If you didn’t want to be with me... then just break up with me. Don’t force me to make the choice for you.”

  He was struggling to control his temper as he said, measured and controlled, “I wanted you to slow down and think about what you were doing, and where we were headed. You keep pushing me away - “

  “I keep pushing you away?” I snorted derisively. “When I got to the hospital the other night, I was so worried about you. Then, you basically break up with me and try to make it seem like it was for my own good. For four days, I felt like I couldn’t call you or see how you were doing, while you were in the fucking hospital. I had to get updates from Deja, and all of those were total bullshit. Exhaustion? You don’t get exhausted.”

  “On the contrary, I was quite exhausted,” he said quietly.

  I looked up, and I knew he could see how furious I was from the way he slightly flinched when our eyes met. Good.

  I reached into my pocket and fished out the ultrasound image. I placed it face down on the table and slid it toward him. “I needed you. I called you eleven times because I was freaked out and scared about this. And I came down to the hospital afraid something really horrible had happened to you, and I was thinking about all the stuff I would miss about you if you died. And what the hell was I going to do about this?”

  He lifted the photo and turned it over. It took a moment for him to register what it was. I saw a surprising mixture of emotions in his expression, things I didn’t expect. I’d been prepared for angry, or scared. Maybe cold, or strained and polite. Instead, his eyebrows lifted and he blinked in momentary shock. The slightest smile twitched at the corner of his lips. He looked pleased, maybe even a little proud.

  I clasped my hands together under the table to stop myself from trembling. The longer he looked at the photo, the more the color drained from his face. There it was. That was more like what I had expected.

  He looked up, throat moving as he swallowed. His eyes met mine, and a sick feeling of dread curdled my stomach. Whatever he was going to say, I knew it was going to be bad. But it was so much worse than I had expected.

  “I have cancer.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia,” he continued slowly, looking back to the ultrasound print-out in his hand. I noticed it was trembling. “I have had, for some time. With medication, I’ve been in remission for quite a while. Now, it appears my condition is accelerating, and needs more attention. I’ll be flying back to England next week to spend Christmas with my family, and then I’ll be staying in London and starting chemotherapy after the new year. My prognosis is quite good, though. It might only take a few months to get back on my feet.”

  I felt a lot of things I wanted to say– well, scream— rising up my throat. But I thought if I opened my mouth, I might vomit. Or call him a fucking idiot for thinking he’d get over cancer in a few months. Or demanding to know why he hadn’t told me in the first place. But I guess it really hadn’t been any of my business when we were just messing around for fun before. And how do you bring that up, without making things incredibly awkward in a new relationship?

  Neil has cancer.

  Fuck.

  His gaze flicked back up to my face, and he quickly forced a cautiously neutral expression. “When is it due?”

  It was difficult to find my voice. All I could hear was a litany of Neil has cancer, Neil has cancer, Neil has cancer, running through my mind like a sick taunt. “I— I don’t know. I mean, I know. July sixth. But I don’t know if I’m having it.”

  He carefully placed the photo on the table and tucked one hand under his opposite elbow. He regarded the image as he rubbed his forehead, considering.

  “Sophie, if you want to have this baby, I will support you without question. It isn’t as though I haven’t done this before. And having Emma was enormous fun.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t imagine parenting being fun at all. And while it was great that he was in instant supportive mode, I was still pretty pissed off. “You kind of have a bad track record of getting chicks knocked up.”

  “Not at all. This is only the second time. As a percentage, it’s really not so bad.” I noticed his split-second glance at the photos of Emma on the wall beside the table. “I didn’t plan on having more children.”

  “Then it’s probably best if we didn’t have this one.” I stated it firmly, for both our sakes, because the idea of Neil with a baby, with our baby, was a dangerously sweet image in my mind. But then, I reminded myself of all the really not sweet parts of having kids, the responsibility over another human life, and the fact that my relationship with Neil was so new... and possibly over. “I want to have an abortion.”

  “Right. The timing of this is...” He stopped mid-sentence, his expression softening, becoming apologetic. “You have my unconditional support. That’s absolutely the right decision. And I am so sorry for my part in this.”

  “It’s okay. I could have hunted through Holli’s room for a condom. Or gone to the drugstore.” I shrugged. “We fucked up. But we’re going to take care of it.”

  “How do you need me to help?” he asked. “I don’t want you to be solely responsible for this.” He gestured to
ward the picture, but he didn’t look at it.

  I smiled a tight, close-lipped smile at him. “Well then it’s your lucky day, Mr. Moneybags. I need help paying for it.”

  “Of course, think nothing of it.” He picked up the ultrasound picture again, giving it one long last glance. “If things were different... If I didn’t have— “

  I shook my head an emphatic no. “It has nothing to do with that. I don’t want children. And I thought you didn’t, either.”

  “I didn’t. I enjoyed fatherhood, and I wouldn’t trade a moment of that experience, but I’m comfortable in my life as it is now. This...” He dropped the printout. “It caught me off guard, is all.”

  So, it was settled. Relief took the wind out of my anger sails. I was just so glad that conversation was over— though it had gone way worse than I’d expected— and that our decision was made. However, I was a bit surprised at Neil’s reaction. I’d thought he would either want to keep the baby, or not. I’d never imagined he would feel conflicted between the two options.

  Somehow, the sneaky knot in my chest had tightened up again, binding me in all my doubts. It slipped a little now. “You’re not brutally disappointed, then?”

  “No. Slightly emotionally confused. But that could be due to the recent cancer news, which I did not take well.”

  “Really?” I hated that he kept saying the c-word. It hadn’t quite sunk in for me, yet.

  “I cried for a full day when they told me I would have to have chemotherapy. A manful, stoic cry, of course, but very dehydrating.”

  “I wish you would have called me. Even though we fought... I wish I could have been there for you.” The thought of him facing the news alone made my heart hurt.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” he began, and stopped himself. “It was something I had to go through on my own. It isn’t that I wouldn’t have wanted you to be there... but if you were there, I would have been more worried about how you were taking it.”

  “That sounds fair. Especially the way we left things.” I couldn’t look at him just then. It felt like it might hurt, like staring at the sun. “How long have you known?”

  “Almost four years now.” He cleared his throat. “It was the diagnosis that prompted me to propose to Elizabeth. I suppose I was trying to take control of my own destiny, live like I was dying, all of those trite things you’re supposed to do when you’re embracing life.”

  “And maybe you were trying to cling to someone?” I suggested gently.

  His snort of laughter broke the quiet. “Like a bloody life raft.”

  That reminded me. “There’s something else I have to ask you.”

  “Anything.”

  I took a deep breath. “I know things between us are... weird right now. But Holli is in Paris, and I don’t really have anyone else in the city I’m close to. And I’m so scared of needles and blood and all of the rest of it, I just... I really need someone...”

  Here I was, talking about needles and blood, and he’d just gotten out of the hospital. He would go back into one in a matter of a few weeks, for awful procedures that probably involved getting stabbed in tons of delicate little veins. I couldn’t hold it together in front of him at the prospect of going alone to my own abortion. I started crying, and he immediately got up and came to my side. Sliding onto the bench beside me, he pulled me into his arms, his lips brushing the top of my head as he held me.

  “I would never dream of letting you do this alone,” he said, stroking my hair down my back. It was almost painful, him touching me like this when I didn’t know exactly where we stood with each other.

  Then I remembered what he’d told me about going back to England, and my stomach knotted. “Oh no. You can’t go with me. I couldn’t get an appointment until after New Year’s Day, and you’ll be gone.”

  “That’s three weeks away,” he was doing the math in his head, I could tell. “Perhaps I could postpone the start of my treatment—“

  “No!” I sat back and brushed the tears from my cheeks. I was not going to have him feeling guilty about getting life-saving cancer treatment. “Don’t you dare. Why didn’t they start you immediately?”

  “I didn’t want to miss Christmas. I don’t know how the next year will pan out. If chemotherapy doesn’t work, if I have to pursue more aggressive therapies… I thought I should give myself a good holiday to bolster my spirit.” He tried for a smile, but it was tremulous, and he gave up too soon.

  “Oh no. No, don’t,” I stopped myself before I could tell him not to cry. It seemed only fair that he should cry if he wanted.

  Man, I thought I’d had a bad week.

  He reached up and tucked my hair behind my ear. “No, I’m fine. We can talk about that later. I want to make sure you’re well taken care of before I leave. I imagine the wait is interminable.”

  On that score, he was entirely correct. I sniffed. “Yeah. I really do not like being pregnant.”

  “If you could see a doctor next week... would that be too soon?” His hand fell to rest on my shoulder. “You’d be surprised at the mountains one can move just by throwing a bit of cash at them.”

  “Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon.” I laughed miserably. “Let me guess, all rich men have an ’abortions guy’ on speed-dial to take care of your mistresses?”

  He winced slightly at the truthfulness of the statement. “Not exactly. But I do have an acquaintance who went through a similar situation, and he was able to have it handled quickly and discreetly.”

  “Jesus.” I dropped my head to my hands.

  He didn’t know what to say. What could either of us say in this situation? “Just tell me what you need. Ask me for anything. I don’t want this to be difficult for you.”

  “It’s going to be difficult no matter what.” I dabbed my eyes with the ends of my sleeves. “I mean, once this is all over, we’re kind of over, too, aren’t we?”

  He slipped from the bench and walked to the island, buying himself time to respond. Grabbing a sommelier corkscrew and the bottle of white from the cooler, he considered as he opened it. “I don’t want us to be.”

  I laughed tearfully in relief, but then he continued, “I’m not certain how well a long-distance relationship will work for us, in the state we’re in. If this had all happened two weeks ago, I would have gone ahead without hesitation. But I would be lying if I said I haven’t been doubting us.”

  “I kind of got the hint when you broke up with me.”

  He poured himself a glass and came back to the table, but he didn’t sit down. “I didn’t break up with you. I wanted you to examine your priorities and really think about what you were giving up.” He paused, his gorgeous green eyes searching my face. “I know I went about it badly, but I didn’t want to lose you or push you away. I was worried that in a year, you’d still be looking for a job, hating yourself for turning this one down, and hating me for being the reason you did. Despite what we feel for each other and how well we were getting on, our relationship is still very new.”

  There was a reconciliation floating between us, fragile as a soap bubble. I wanted it. I thought he might, as well. But we both seemed too afraid to reach out for it. We didn’t want the bubble to burst.

  I got up from the table and stood beside him, and he set his glass down. I caught his hands and held them between us, looking down at them as I spoke. I didn’t want to search his face for something that might not be there. “Things moved a lot faster than we were expecting. A lot faster than I wanted them to. But maybe we’re just making up for the six years we were supposed to be together.”

  He smiled down at our joined hands. When he looked up, I didn’t see any trace of the anxiety that had been a flashing neon sign over his head since I’d arrived. “I think you could be right.”

  “I want to be with you. I thought about accepting Gabriella’s offer, and how empty everything in my life would feel without you...” And now he was going to England. And I really would be without him.


  His laugh was grim. “This will be torture, you know. Being across the Atlantic, unable to see you.”

  I turned my head slightly to give him a little side-eye. “So... are we back together? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I maintain that we were never actually apart, but yes. I love you. I hate that I fractured your trust in me.” He let go of my hands to wrap his arms around me, and for the first time all night, I took a breath that didn’t feel like razor blades were slicing up the insides of my lungs.

  “Let’s just forget all of this, okay? We have a limited amount of time together, and I want to make the most of it.” My stomach churned, both at the thought of him heading to England, and the specter of a much more permanent kind of leaving.

  He lowered his head slowly, almost hesitating to kiss me, as though it were a step too far. But it wasn’t. I rose on my tiptoes to meet him halfway, and when I swayed on my feet, his arm around my back tightened, holding me up.

  He’d felt the tension as much as I had, and he was just as eager to break it. We communicated just fine out loud, in my opinion, but there were some things we could only tell each other this way. A single kiss could say “I’m sorry,” and “I missed you,” much more powerfully than just uttering the words ever could.

  “I need,” I gasped, breaking my mouth from his. How did I want to finish that sentence?

  “Tell me, Sophie. Tell me what you need.”

  “I need you, Sir.” I put all the weight on that one word. I needed him to take control of me, because for the past four days I’d felt so out of control, so disconnected. I needed our connection, like I needed air.

  I knew what that word did to him, coming from my mouth. And I knew that he’d understand exactly why I wanted him as much as I did, because he wanted me, too. His hand tugged my hair, baring my throat to him. He bent his head and trailed his mouth up my neck. “Get out of those clothes, right now.”

  My skin prickled all over with goose bumps, and my breathing sped up at the sudden, keen anticipation. I whipped my sweater off, staggering a little, drunk from wanting. I kicked my boots off and shimmied out of my pants, working fast rather than sexy.