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I help her change into her pajamas and then tuck her into bed. We read a book, and I lie with her until she falls asleep. It's funny—no matter how insistent she is on being up past her bedtime, she's always asleep so quickly. Tonight is no exception. Literally seconds before she starts snoring, she asks me if I’m sure she can’t stay up.
I sneak out of her room and pull the door closed. As I’m walking back down the hallway, my phone rings. I race down to the kitchen and lunge for it on the counter, not checking the caller. As soon as I say hello, I begin to panic that it might be Heather, someone I'm just not in the mood to argue with again—not yet anyway. Relief fills me when I hear Max's voice, followed by embarrassment when I remember our kiss. Even though I’ve seen him since then, the interview was hardly the place to address it properly.
“Hey. I hope not calling too late,” he says.
“No, I'm awake,” I say, pouring myself a glass of wine to calm my nerves. “I’m a bit of a night owl.” I chuckle, carrying my wine over to the sofa. I sit down, tucking my feet up underneath me.
“Well, that will have to change when you get the job,” he teases.
“When I get the job?” I repeat, my heart racing. Does he know something?
“It's not a done deal just yet, but you can be pretty confident,” he hints.
“When do you think I’ll know for sure?” I ask nervously.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he says. “We’re meeting to discuss the positions. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to apologize for the other night.”
“No, you don't need to do that. If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “I'm sorry. I know I'm giving you mixed signals, and I know that's not fair. It’s just the place I’m in at the moment is just so messed up.”
“And I get that—”
“I need to get this out,” I say, cutting him off. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Max. The problem is, I do like you.”
“How’s that a problem?” he asks. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you. I like you too, but if you’re not ready then I’m not going to push you. Just don’t avoid me, okay?”
The problem is it’s easier to remember the reasons why opening myself up to him is a bad idea when I’m not around him. When I’m around him, all my rationale goes out the window.
“Okay, I’ll try,” I promise. “I have to go and get Till ready for bed,” I fib, just wanting to end the conversation. “I’ll see you soon though, I’m sure.”
“Okay. Call me if you need me,” he says, before ending the call.
Sighing, I finish my wine and then glance at the clock. It's not even ten, but I'm so tired I feel as if I could sleep for days. I get up and put my glass in the sink and check that the doors are locked.
Even though I'm tired, I know I’m going to struggle to get to sleep. I have
too much going on in my head and not enough time to think about it all. I have a shower to try and relax me, and it does, the hot water calming as it streams down my face. It’s a good ten minutes before I resurface. I reach for a towel and wrap it around my lean body, and use another towel to dry my hair. My skin is red from the piping hot water, but I don't care.
I walk down to my room and fumble through the drawer of my night table for a sleeping pill. I don't take them often, but I feel I need a little help tonight.
***
I sleep pretty well, all things considered, but waking up is a bitch. My head pounds, and I feel as if I’ve drunk ten vodkas and I’m now paying the price. I knew there was a reason I avoided sleeping pills as much as possible.
Pushing back the covers, I force myself out of bed, knowing I have to get Tilly ready for school. I wrap my robe around me and stagger down to the kitchen. First thing I do is put on coffee. I feel as if I'm going to need a lot of that today.
Tilly wanders out, her blond hair a mess all over her face. She yawns and looks at me, a strange expression on her face.
“What's wrong?” I ask, setting some toast on the table for her.
She sits down. “Nothing. You look more tired than usual,” she replies, taking a bite of her toast. “Maybe you need to go to sleep earlier,” she adds, parroting a line I’ve used on her many times.
I narrow my eyes at her but I can’t help but laugh. Sometimes I wonder if she's really only five.
“Thanks for your concern, sweetie. I'm fine, I just need my coffee.”
She screws up her nose and takes another bite of her banana and honey toast. After she finishes, I bundle her into the bath, regretting not taking the time to bathe her last night. It's so much easier getting as much done in the evening before bed, because the mornings are usually a mess with getting her ready.
After I drop her off at school, I go back home to start my cleaning. Mondays are cleaning days. I hate cleaning. With a passion. So I allocate one day a week where I get it all done. The rest of the time I do as little as possible.
