Page 35 of Caught By the Chief of Staff

Chapter 9

I did what you wanted

Taylor Swift’s “I Knew You Were Trouble” blares from my nightstand, making the pulse pounding in my head so much worse. I clench my eyes closed and blindly slap around for the offending piece of metal and glass. Once it’s firmly in my hand, I crack one eye open and hit the button to stop my alarm. I feel hungover, but it’s not alcohol that made me regret my life choices. It was a man and a badly broken heart. And the worst part is? I did the breaking. Again.

I thought the song was ironic, given my tumultuous relationship with Rick, but now it just hurts. Maybe he’s not the one who’s trouble; maybe it’s me.

After Rick slammed my front door behind him, I quickly scooped up my clothing previously discarded in a sex fueled haze and made a break for my room. I can’t imagine anything being more awkward than being caught in a walk of shame by your eight-year-old child. I know I’m not a perfect parent, but that feels like it crosses into bad parenting territory.

I had shut my bedroom door behind me and dumped my clothes into the hamper before pulling on a T-shirt and a clean pair of panties. I pulled the covers back on my bed and climbed in. And only when I was safely tucked in the thick covers did I let the rest of my tears fall. I cried for Rick and for me. I cried for Rachel and the life she should have but will never get to know. I cried for all the friends I’ve made and will have to leave behind. They will never forgive me for what I have to do in the morning.

I swing my legs over the side of my bed and sit up, and then I rub my hands over my eyes and hope the blinding pain behind them will ease if even just a little bit. And then I push up from the down-filled softness that calls to me to stay and sleep away the day, but that’s not fair to Rachel. That’s not being a good mom. Even in the early days before she was born, I never let myself wallow. I always put one foot in front of the other, because it was always for her.

I make my way into the bathroom and turn the taps as hot as I know I can stand it. I strip off my T-shirt and panties and catch the last traces of Rick on my skin before I toss my clothes into the hamper. I step into the shower and let the water and steam envelop me. I’m tempted to cry some more and really feel sorry for myself, but Rachel can’t be late for school, and I can’t be late for my meeting with Grace.

I wash quickly and then shut off the taps. I notice I smell like lavender and vanilla like usual now as I grab a fluffy towel from the rack and wipe the droplets from my body. I make my way into my closet and pull on a matching bra and panty set and then slip my favorite tank dress off the hanger. It’s olive-green with cream stripes, and the best part of all is the hidden pockets. I slide my feet into tan leather ballet flats, the heel of the working mom, and slip a pair of gold hoops onto my ears.

I make my way back into the bathroom and twist my hair up into a messy ballet bun on top of my head and do a five-minute makeup routine of soft pinks and golds. Sometimes, it’s nice being a pro. I know how to look good in less than ten minutes, which is a life-saving skill, because I am always running late.

I quickly head down the hall and knock on Rachel’s door. I push it open and see her blink her eyes against the early-morning sun.

“Morning, sunshine girl.” I smile at her.

“Morning, Mom.”

“Get dressed, and I’ll have breakfast waiting for you downstairs,” I tell her before making my way down the stairs and to the kitchen.

I quickly down more than the suggested amount of Advil and half a pot of coffee before I start making sandwiches and packing lunches. I make sure Rachel’s backpack is packed, with her jacket hanging over her pack on the hook, so it’s all easy for her to see when she’s ready to leave the house.

She rushes down the stairs right as I’m pouring her a bowl of Cheerios, and I smile against the clanging in my head the sound of the cereal filling the bowl causes.

“Yes!” she cheers. “I love that cereal.”

“I know you do. That’s why I buy it.” My kid is weirdly healthy most of the time, our Chinese takeout and ice cream feast nights notwithstanding. I’m pretty sure she gets that from her father too. Lord knows, I love a good pizza. “Eat quick. We gotta run.”

“Okay,” she says before diving into her breakfast while I sip my coffee.

When she’s done, she races upstairs to brush her teeth and then races back down again. She’s kind of like having a really busy puppy. Her uniform polo is hanging out of her tan shorts in clumps, making me laugh.

“I think you need to fix your shirt,” I tell her.

“Why does it have to be tucked in anyway?” she grumbles. “Uniforms are dumb.”

“Uniforms are supposed to ‘level the playing field,’” I quote the information pamphlet on the private school she attends, making her laugh. “Plus, you love your new teachers and friends.”

“I know,” she concedes. “And I like being near Dad.” My heart pangs. She doesn’t know we’ll be leaving soon. She’s going to hate me for it, but when she’s older, I hope she understands why I’m going to do what I have to.

“Grab your stuff,” I tell her. “We gotta hit the road.”

Rachel slips her jacket on and plucks her backpack from the hook by the door to the garage. I hit the button to open the overhead garage door and lock the door to the house on my way out. We climb into the car, and I pull out of the driveway and head toward the fancy prep school Rick was able to secure midyear for our only daughter.

She’s not a morning person at all. When she was in preschool, Rachel would routinely put herself back to bed when I woke her up in the morning. But this morning, she’s more subdued than normal.

“Mom, are you mad at Dad?” she asks.

“No!” I answer quickly. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, last night, you said he couldn’t come to dinner, and then after, you guys were weird,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t know.”