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Back in my office, my smirk disappears and it’s easier to tell my hackles are standing up. That attitude. Rude to my staff. Rude to me. Rude about my gym. And all in front of customers.
Without realizing, I’ve started pacing the floor, my usual calm shot. I thought Brits were supposed to be all pleases and thank-yous and queues. Not hoity-toity divas.
I rub a hand roughly across my short beard and crack my neck.Shake it off, Brooksie. Shake it off.
Taking a bottle of sparkling water from my minifridge, I sink into my desk chair and lean back into the padding as I drain the bottle, enjoying the cool, calming effect of the liquid. I fire the empty into the trash can in the corner of the room and stare at my desktop screen saver. A picture of Cady is swirling around the otherwise black monitor.
I don’t know why I do it – morbid fascination, maybe. I wiggle the mouse, type in my password, and open the internet browser. I only type ‘Izzy C’ before Google offers me her full name.
Hitting return brings up multiple images of Izzy Coulthard, aka Brit with a stinking attitude. I click on images and the screen fills with pictures of her. Mostly, she’s dressed in sports gear. Tight fitting and brightly colored. Her hair is always tied in a high ponytail, as slick as it was today. Her arms are toned, even though her skin is pale in every image. Her face is flawless, yet not made up. She looks better without all the makeup she was wearing today. More natural. Like a real fitness instructor. I wonder why she was wearing makeup today; it surely wasn’t to mask a lack of confidence.
In all the shots, she’s working out or looking at the camera, straight faced.
Figures. I’ve spent minutes in her company and can’t imagine her smiling.
As I scroll down, the images keep loading. Finally, one picture makes me pause. I click it to zoom and take her in. Her head is thrown back, her mouth is open, her perfect teeth are on display. She’s laughing, hard. It lights up her eyes – the brightest, bluest eyes I’ve seen. Her dainty hands are placed across her waist.
I rest back in my chair and take in the image. Everything about her. I’m still staring when my cell phone rings, stealing my attention.
The name on the screen causes me to do a double take. It’s surprising it hasn’t gone to voice mail by the time I slide my thumb across the screen and put the phone to my ear.
‘Alice. Hi.’
She clears her throat. Good, this is awkward for us both, then. ‘Hi, Brooks. How are you?’
I shrug, not that she can see me. ‘I’m fine. You?’
‘Mm-hm, good.’ Cue uncomfortable pause. Hey, I didn’t make the call – it’s not on me. ‘Well, I mean, I’m good generally. You, ah, I guess Cady told you I’m pregnant?’
‘Right, yeah, she mentioned it. Congratulations… by the way.’
Did she just snort? ‘Thanks. So, that’s not actually… I’m calling about Cady.’
‘Of course, right.’
‘Brooks, I don’t know what to do with her. I’m going out of my mind. She’s got this older boyfriend, a college guy. She didn’t come home on Saturday night. She called and said she was staying with a friend but I saw her friend’s mom yesterday and she said they didn’t stay there. Cady stank like a brewery when she finally did come home.’
I take a breath. Part of me thinks Cady’s just being an eighteen-year-old kid. The other half of me wants to wrap her up in cotton, so I get where Alice is coming from. ‘I’ll talk with her. I spoke to her on Saturday but I’ll try again.’
Alice sighs. ‘Brooks… I… How would you feel about her coming to stay with you full-time? Just for a while. I can’t. I mean, I’m pregnant and…’
I feel my brow scrunch. She wants to kick out my daughter? ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘I just think she’d be better off—’
I scoff, feeling my blood boil in my veins. ‘She’s a kid, Alice. She might give it the tough eighteen-year-old routine but she’s just a kid.’
‘She’s your kid too, Brooks,’ she yells down the line.
‘Hey, calm down. You know I’d have her with me twenty-four/seven if I thought it was the best thing for her, so drop the attitude. Maybe ask yourself why she’s acting out now, of all times. She feels pushed out. You’re pregnant. She needs to know she’s still your girl, Alice.’
The line goes silent and I know she’ll have her fingertips pressed to her soft lips, her eyes closed.
‘I just don’t want her to…’
‘Make the same mistakes as you did. I know.’
