I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t think I know how to do that.”
“That’s not the same as not doing it; I should know that,”he says gently. There’s a smile in his voice. Not smug. Sad. Soft.Emotional. And my brother doesn’t do emotional.“We’ll be there at seven.”
In the evening, I order takeout and make more tea.
At 6:58, there’s a considerate knock, and I open the door to my brother in a sweater instead of a suit for a change. Maeve’s tucked under his arm, all bright and colorful as usual.
“Hi, Mrs. King,” Maeve says as soon as she spots Mom. Her voice is soft and gentle. “I brought you rosemary shortbread. It’s from a place that thinks butter is a love language, and I agree with it.”
“Maeve,” Mom says like she’s trying the word on, then she smiles—a careful curve that starts on her lips first and then reaches her eyes. “My son married a woman with good taste.”
“Debatable,” Ezra mutters, and Mom laughs. It’s tiny but real, and I have to clear my throat because it turns tight.
The visit is quiet. No speeches, no dragging ghosts out from the closet by their hair. Ezra sets up the TV to one of those cooking channels where everyone is having an anxiety attack under the pressure.
Maeve fusses with throw pillows until she climbs between them and covers herself with a blanket Mom passes to her.
After Maeve is done nesting, Mom smiles and asks us after the Newside project, and for a second, I see the woman who used to correct our homework and bully teachers with courtesy.
Ezra stands up and goes to the bathroom. When he comes back, he settles next to Mom and finds her hand. When she doesn’t pull away and sends him a warm smile, I have to rise to my feet and walk away to the kitchen. Because I can’t see all ofthat without thinking about what I said to Bea when I saw her here.
I panicked. I was mad at myself for not being here when Mom needed me. I was scared that Mom would like Beatrice too much, and after that, if I fucked it up with her, Mom would be devastated. I wanted to be one hundred percent sure that the thing between us would work before introducing Bea to this part of my life.
And of course, I fucked it up.
43
Bea
After havingthe weekend to think about it, I come to the conclusion that I shouldn’t be surprised that he shielded his mom from me since I was the one who wanted to pretend our night didn’t happen. I’m the queen of mixed signals: come closer, don’t touch me, touch me everywhere, how dare you. It’s Olympic-level indecision. Gold medal, baby.
Since there’re too many unknown things floating in my life currently, I decide to take charge of the one thing I can control: me. Not the version trained to be agreeable, to swallow, to fit. Me. The person who can’t breathe in a relationship that starts with limits I didn’t set.
So, I do the thing my spine has been begging me to do since I learned that I have a brain.
I open a blank email and type my realest sentence to date:
I resign.
Then I do it properly,because I’m not a goblin. I write it out like an adult who values herself and, fine, loves a well-structured paragraph.
Dear Mr. King,
This is my formal resignation, effective immediately. I’m grateful for the opportunity, but I need to pursue a life that’s actually mine. I’ve documented all active projects and delegated next steps below. My laptop and badge are with HR.
–Beatrice Wrong
Then I writeup a fifteen-page “How to Survive Noah King” guide that includes things like: do not book a meeting before 9:00 a.m. if you value your kneecaps; he’s allergic to cilantro (not really, but he hates the smell); board members respond to flattery and fear in equal measure—use both. I include a note on the first page with some encouragement as a personal touch.
I forward the resignation to Esther with the guide attached.
I duplicate a similar resignation email to Julian, because I feel like I’m letting him down, and hit send before I can talk myself out of it. The second the little window leaves my screen, my lungs expand like someone cut a medieval corset off my immobile chest.
I grab the promised items to be returned and go to the office. Since it’s not even seven in the morning, the building is nearly empty.
I go to our floor, collect my belongings in a box, and head straight to HR, where I place my laptop, my badge, and the spare key to his office on Esther’s desk. I borrow a piece of paper and pen and write a short letter to her, thanking her for the opportunity and faith in me.
Then I head out.
