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“You’re here as a means to an end. Stay strong in there.”
“Okay.” But I think I shake my head.
“You’ve got vomit on your sweater,” he points out as casually as if he were buying a pair of shoes and not about to walk into one of the biggest meetings of my life.
I understand these kinds of meetings are child’s play to him, but to me, it’s everything.
I haven’t set foot in this place in over two years. My memories here are nothing but nightmares now.
Panicking, I look down at my red blouse to see a small stain on the collar. How did he even notice that?
I sniff it.
He grimaces.
“It’s not vomit. It’s Isabel’s breakfast. And are you quoting an Eminem song?”
“No, but it’s a good song.”
I lick my thumb and do my best to remove the stain. It’s no use so I pull my hair over my shoulders to hide it.
Ironic, considering today I’m trying to rid myself of the biggest stain of all.
“This is your fiancé’s fault,” I tell him.
“How is this Claire’s fault?”
“She arrived early this morning to bring Hannah to school so I could get ready for this. You know what she gave my kids for breakfast?”
Finally, I see a hint of a smile on his face. “Let me guess: chocolate ice-cream?”
My mouth falls open. “You gave her the ice-cream for the girls, didn’t you?”
Nothing but a shrug.
“The joke's going to be on you when the girls come to their Uncle Jake to pay for their dentist bills.”
He doesn’t get a chance to respond because the doors slide open and take all the oxygen from my lungs.
The carpet is a different color than it used to be. It’s the first thing I notice. My heels sink into it as we step onto the floor.
Audrey, my lawyer, greets us with a handshake and some friendly chit-chat about how everything is going to be fine, and I don’t need to speak if I don’t want to. Honestly, I tune her out because I’m here. I’m standing here in this building.
If I turn left and walk down the hall I would be outside his office.
But I can’t because a young woman with a fake smile is guiding us to the board room on the opposite side.
Handshakes are exchanged. “Mrs. Ellison, it’s good to see you again.”
Eye contact filled with pity and a touch of loathing is cast my way from the men on the other side of the table. Lawyers fiddle with their folders. An intern takes the minutes of the meeting at the end of the table. Drinks are offered. I try to keep my breakfast down.
Someone says, “Let’s get this over with.” I think it’s Jake.
I close my eyes and zone out.
The voices around the board room table are muffled, negotiating business I should be involved in, but I can’t get past the way the familiar smell in this building is making my pulse race beneath my clammy skin.
When I close my eyes, I can almost smell him. It’s like he’s still here, haunting the floors. I’m half expecting him to open the door in his tailored suit and take a seat across from me.
