“Then we can hire someone,” I said calmly. “I calculated the market rates.”
I handed him the third page. I’d saved it for last.
It was a chart. On the left side, every job I did in our house. On the right side, what it would cost to hire someone to do it. I’d looked up the real prices in our area. Nannies. Housekeepers. Personal chefs. Laundry services. Tutors. Personal assistants. Drivers.
At the bottom, I’d added it all up.
The weekly total. The monthly total. The yearly total.
Daniel studied the numbers for a long time.
His face changed a few times while he read. First he looked annoyed. Then he looked confused. Then he got to the bottom of the page and looked at the yearly total, and his mouth fell open a little.
“That’s ridiculous!” he said.
“Those are the services I’ve been providing,” I said. “For free. For eight years.”
“We’re not paying strangers to do things you can do!”
“Then we share them,” I said.
Daniel pushed the papers away across the counter.
He sat there with his arms crossed, staring at his pancakes. Just staring at them. Like they’d personally betrayed him.
I waited.
Finally, he picked up his fork.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine. How hard can dinner and laundry be?”
I smiled.
“Wonderful,” I said.
That was only the first part of my plan.
I’d saved the real surprise for later.
Monday morning, I put on a blazer I hadn’t worn in eight years.
It was navy blue. I’d bought it for a big client presentation the year before Lily was born. I’d found it in the back of the closet on Sunday night, in a dry-cleaning bag, still with the paper tag on the hanger. It was a little tight across the shoulders now. I didn’t care.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and looked at myself.
Mascara. I hadn’t worn mascara on a Monday in eight years. Earrings. A little lipstick.
I looked like someone I used to know.
“What if I’ve forgotten everything?” I whispered to the mirror.
“Forgotten what, Mommy?”
Lily was standing in the bathroom doorway in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a bird’s nest.
“How to do my old job,” I said.
She looked at me in the mirror. Then she grinned. Her two front teeth were still growing in, too big for her face.
“You remember everything for us,” she said. “You remember when my library books are due. You remember Noah’s shark’s birthday.”
Bruce the shark’s birthday was March fourteenth. We had a small party every year. With a cupcake.
I laughed.
“Let’s hope so,” I said.
She came into the bathroom and looked up at me.
“Mommy,” she said. “You look important.”
“Let’s start with employed,” I said.
Daniel appeared in the doorway behind her. He was in his suit, holding his coffee. He looked at my blazer for a long moment. Something moved across his face that I couldn’t read.
“Remember,” he said, “I’ve got a late meeting tonight.”
“Then move it,” I said. “Pickup’s at six. It’s on the calendar. And the dinner ingredients are on the grocery list on the fridge.”
He opened his mouth.
I kissed him on the cheek, grabbed my purse, and walked out the door.
Kim & Co. Events was in a renovated old brick building downtown, above a coffee shop. There were big windows and exposed brick walls and long wooden tables covered in fabric swatches and seating charts. Somebody was playing music. Six people were working, typing, talking on phones.
Rachel saw me in the doorway and screamed.
She actually screamed. Everyone in the office turned around. She ran across the room in her heels and threw her arms around me.
Her earrings were even bigger than I remembered.
“You came,” she said. “You actually came. I was so sure you’d chicken out.”
“I almost did,” I said. “Twice. In the parking lot.”
“Well, you’re here now,” she said. She took my arm and pulled me into the room. “Everyone! This is Emma. She’s the best coordinator I ever worked with. She once got a wedding cake across town in a snowstorm in the back of a minivan with the seats taken out. Don’t let the hiccups fool you.”
Hic.
Everyone laughed. Even me.
At six-thirty that evening, I came home.
My feet hurt. My head was spinning with names and dates and vendor lists. I’d spent eight hours learning Rachel’s booking software and sitting in on three client calls and taking notes until my hand cramped.
I was exhausted.
And I felt more alive than I had in years.
I walked into the kitchen.
Lily and Noah were sitting at the table. Eating cereal.
“Where’s dinner?” I said.
Daniel was on the couch in the living room, with his tie off and his laptop open. He looked up and shrugged.
“Forgot the groceries,” he said. “Cereal’s food.”
Noah raised his spoon in the air. Milk dripped down his arm.
“Daddy says breakfast can be dinner!” he shouted happily.
“Occasionally,” I agreed. I kissed the top of his head. “Tomorrow, let’s try some vegetables, okay?”
“Vegetables are breakfast too,” Noah said. “If you believe.”
I looked at Daniel.
He sighed and closed his laptop.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said.
“Did you update the shopping list?” I asked. “Like it says on the schedule? We’re out of milk. Noah’s using the last of it.”
He hadn’t.
Tuesday brought a different disaster.
I was upstairs, changing out of my work clothes, when I heard him yelling from the basement.
“EMMA!”
I went down the basement stairs. Daniel was standing in front of the washing machine, holding up one of his work shirts.
It used to be white.
It was pink now. A soft, even, very cheerful pink. Like a flamingo. Like cotton candy.
“These shirts were white!” Daniel said.
He held up another one. Pink. And another one. Also pink.
I looked into the washing machine.
At the very bottom, wrapped around the agitator, was a small red T-shirt with a cartoon fire truck on it.
“Daniel,” I said. “Why is Noah’s red T-shirt in there?”
“Because it needed washing!”
“With your white shirts?”
He stared at the machine. He stared at the red T-shirt. He stared at the pink work shirts in his hands.
“Was that a mistake?” he said. “Nobody told me colors mattered!”
