Not long after, we land at Auckland, say goodbye to Joe, and exit the plane. We cross the tarmac together, and it’s only when we’ve got our luggage and head out into the dazzling sunlight that we stop and face each other.
“Well, bye,” I say, seeing James in the Mercedes, waiting for me.
Caesar hesitates, and we study each other for a long time. There’s a slight frown on his brow. He doesn’t speak, though.
“Jesus,” I blurt eventually, “just say goodbye if you can’t think of anything else.”
His lips curve up. “There’s too much to say,” he tells me softly. “That’s all.”
“Oh.”
He moves toward me until he’s just a few inches away, cups my face, and looks down into my eyes. “Thank you,” he says, injecting as much sincerity as he can. “For a great weekend.”
Emotion rushes through me, but I hold it in.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says. “’Bye.” He looks at my mouth as if he’s thinking about kissing me, but he doesn’t. He lowers his hand. He means he’ll be in touch about the business, not in a personal sense.
He walks away from me then, in every way, physically, mentally, and emotionally, leaving me standing there, ten weeks pregnant, and completely alone.
*
I take Monday off sick.
I feel okay, physically; for once my nausea isn’t too bad. But I need what my mother calls a duvet day.
Gramps messages me to say he hopes I’m okay and requests my presence at a meeting on Tuesday. I reply with a sinking heart to say I’ll be there. I know he’s going to want feedback on Caesar’s state of mind, but the truth is that I don’t know what Mr. Mysterious is thinking.
Brielle messages me to check on me, and I reply and say I’m fine and I’ll see her tomorrow, and then I turn my phone to silent and leave it in my purse in the kitchen.
I live in an apartment in the center of the city, with a nice view across the central Auckland Domain. I’m not short of money, as I came into a generous inheritance when I turned twenty-one, and I earn a good wage in my job, so I’m comfortable and happy living here.
But is it a place I’d want to bring up a baby?
I spend the day trying not to think about it, but of course I end up thinking about nothing else.
By the time I go to bed, I’m exhausted, and still none the wiser. All I do know is that it’s very nearly time for me to make a decision. I can feel it coming out of the mists. I just can’t see its form yet.
*
On Tuesday, I rise, shower, and dress in my favorite lavender-colored business suit and a soft white blouse.
I stand in front of the mirror and look at my reflection. Yesterday, I dyed my hair. I didn’t do it as a disguise—I think that’s obvious, because I dyed it galaxy colors: blue, purple, and green. But I couldn’t stop thinking of Caesar asking me not to dye my hair while he washed it in the shower. It hurt every time I remembered. It felt like one way to claw back some control over my own life again.
At the same time, dyeing it galaxy colors felt like a way to honor our time together and put it to rest. I’ll always remember lying in bed with him, looking up at the lights from the projector lamp, and feeling his chest pressed against my back and his arms around me. That’s going to stay with me forever.
But it’s done. It’s over. And now I need to move on.
I drive myself to the office, feeling strangely lightheaded. When I arrive, I make myself a cup of fruit tea and then make my way to the boardroom, ready for the nine a.m. meeting.
As I approach, I’m surprised to find more people there than I expected. Gramps sits at the head of the table as usual. It’s not a full board presence, nor the whole family council, but my father’s here, as well as several of my aunts and uncles who are hands-on with the business. Brielle’s here, too. Clearly, they want to discuss Ashford AgriTech.
“Come in, Maddie,” Gramps says. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good, thank you.” I sit next to Brielle. Several of them were talking and getting themselves coffee, but now they sit with their drinks, and everyone looks at me expectantly.
“So,” Gramps says, “we were hoping you’d be able to give us a rundown of your time at Blackridge with Caesar Ashford. How did it go? And what was the outcome?”
I’ve prepared for this and manage to waffle on for a while about how impressed Caesar was with the improvement in yield at the Station. I see no point in lying, so I tell them that the AI optimization failed to convince him, but I think he could be persuaded if it was used alongside my soil restoration model. Brielle’s not precious about her work and is happy to support the idea, and everyone else is suddenly interested in my system if it means getting a foot in the door with Ashfords.
