1 Sarah
June
Melanie’s name lights up my screen with a text.
Mel
I’m waiting …
Trust her to know my cycle. It only makes sense since we’ve known each other since kindergarten; we know most things about each other, and she knows how much I want this to work. The problem is that I’m not ready to tell anyone I failed again. Not even my best friend. After my second attempt to get pregnant, I’m still no closer to becoming a mom. The disappointment weighs heavily on my heart, and I’m terrified my dream may never become a reality. I blow out a heavy breath and pick up my phone.
Me
I got my period
I drop my phone back to the cushion beside me and take a sip of my wine. I’d been staying clear of the sweet goodness, but I needed something to help me commiserate my failure. Staring off into space, the doorway to the second bedroom mocks me. I don’t know when it became essential to me that I needed to have a baby; I just know it’s all I can think about. I’ve always wanted to be a mom. As a kid, I would always play mommies and daddies with my dolls, and watching Em with her kids makes me realize I have this gaping hole inside of me. Sighing heavily, I blow out a long breath and sink into the plush cushion. My phone lights up again, and I read her messages without picking it up.
Mel
I’m sorry. I know how much you want this
My nose tingles and I swallow the lump in my throat.
Mel
I’m taking you out dancing tomorrow night. No arguments
I don’t want to go out dancing. At thirty-four, I feel so old when we go to clubs. I grab my phone, ready to make up some excuse when it rings. I press the green button and hold it to my ear. “Mel—”
“Don’t say it, Sare. No excuses. We’re going dancing. There’s a new club with an over-thirties crowd.” Her tone is no-nonsense.
“I’m really not feeling it. I just want to wallow. Let me wallow. Just this once,” I whine like a child.
She chuckles. “What sort of friend would I be if I let you wallow? Besides, you’ll be a mom before you know it, and then you won’t be able to go out and have fun with your bestie.”
I know she won’t relent, so I may as well save myself a whole lot of arguing and simply agree. “Okay. But I don’t want to be out late. I have my shift at the hospital on Saturday morning.”
“I know, I know. I have my shift too. I promise to get you home before you turn into a pauper!” My long-time friend giggles. “See you tomorrow night. Mwah!”
I can’t help but chuckle too. She’s infectious. “Tomorrow night, Mels Bells.”
We end the call, and I take a long sip of my wine. I guess I should have dinner and finish crocheting the beanies I need to take with me on Saturday since I won’t be able to finish them tomorrow night. Climbing to my feet, I head to my poky kitchen, pull out the container labeled Thursday, and pop it in the microwave. As I wait for the timer to go off, I check whether the cupcakes I baked as soon as I got home are cool enough to pack into Tupperware. They are, so I quickly transfer them, then top off my wineglass and grab a fork out of the drawer. With my butt leaning against the counter, I allow my gaze to wander around my small apartment. Even though the space is compact and it’s not in the swanky part of town, I feel accomplished that I saved up enough money to buy it. I’ve always been great at saving money and working toward a goal. Even when I was a kid, I would save my birthday and pocket money until I had enough to buy something special. Which reminds me, I need to start saving again for more treatments. Not getting pregnant is going to set my plan back, but what else can I do?
The microwave dings so I grab my chicken masala and head back to the couch. I smile to myself, grateful that I didn’t have to cook dinner tonight with the way I’m feeling. The hour of meal prep I do every Sunday morning saves me a heap of time and money because I’m not tempted to grab takeout when I’m tired or work late or just feel blah. A little planning goes a long way, and it helps me to keep on track with my financial goals, too.
I had saved enough money for two rounds with the clinic in the hopes I would get pregnant, but no dice. Now I need to start all over again—another eight grand for two more attempts. If I don’t get pregnant by the end of those rounds, I’m not sure what my next step will be.
* * *
My tan patent heels clack across the stone floor as I make my way toward the elevator that’ll take me up to the forty-fifth floor. I balance the two dozen cupcakes I baked last night as I walk toward Joe.
“Morning, Sarah,” Joe calls across from his post near the elevator, ready to press the button for me.
I smile at him. Every day, he’s here to greet me with his warm smile and a friendly hello. “Hi, Joe. How are things?”
“Never better.” That’s always his answer as he presses the button to my floor on my behalf.
I hold the container toward him and raise an eyebrow. “Would you like one before I take them upstairs?”
“I’ll never say no to your baking.” He reaches across, lifts the lid, and makes his selection. “Mmm, smell that lemon.”
“There’s a treat hidden inside.” I wink at him. The lemon curd filling is always a hit.
“Nice. I’ll look forward to it when I take my morning break. Thank you. Mr. Wainwright hasn’t arrived yet.”
That gives me pause. Eric is always in the office before me. Well, he used to always be in the office before me; now, not so much. “Thanks, Joe. Have a great day.”
“You too,” he says as I step inside the elevator with a stone-tiled floor and stainless-steel walls, which match the lobby. I don’t have to share the space with anyone this early in the morning.
The building is incredibly stylish and classy, and I love that I work in one of the most iconic buildings in the city, Stone Tower. It doesn’t hurt that, on occasion, I manage to lay eyes on the one and only owner of the building, Oliver Stone. That man is all sorts of hot! His wife is gorgeous too. I’ve met them both a couple of times over the years because Emma works with her and we crossed paths when Emma was in the hospital and again at her wedding. Even though I know Kate is really down to earth, I can’t believe the wife of a billionaire businessman still works in an elementary school. I shake my head.
Using the polished stainless-steel walls as a mirror, I adjust the collar of the navy sleeveless dress I’m wearing today. Nobody would even guess the dress I’m wearing only cost thirty-nine ninety-five, including postage—such a steal. I love dressing up and finding outfits that accentuate my assets—which are on the curvier side—not that there’s anyone to impress in the office, but I like to look nice.
The reception desk is empty when I step off the elevator, which is normal because Lucy doesn’t usually get here until she’s dropped her teenage kids off at school. I start her computer, then head toward my desk, located outside of Eric’s office. As I pass by the research and development cubicles, I raise the Tupperware container of cupcakes so the guys know to grab one each before they all disappear. Evan and Jordan always start early on Fridays so they can leave early and hit the bars. Eric’s always been generous with his staff, allowing us to start and finish whenever it suits us as long as we work our designated number of hours in the week. I was lucky to land this job over ten years ago.
I tuck my purse in the cupboard behind my desk and turn on my computer. Glancing at Eric’s darkened office, I mentally run through his calendar, searching for an early appointment I’ve forgotten but come up blank. His behavior has been worrying and uncharacteristic as of late. He’s been stressed about his grandson, Adam, taking over his position within the company. Eric’s ready to retire, and it shows in the considerable decline of his enthusiasm over the last twelve months.
Adam’s been reluctant, making Eric understandably upset. I consider the situation from Adam’s point of view as I turn on the lights and computer in Eric’s office. Glancing at the old black and white photograph of his daughter and her family he keeps on his desk, I study the little boy, Adam, closely. I guess it takes time to pack up your life and move across the country from New Jersey, but it’s been over eighteen months and the delay is impacting Eric’s health. Apparently, Adam moved there straight from college for a job and hasn’t been home since, but surely he knew he’d have to take over from his grandfather one day. I’m not even sure he’s capable of taking over such a large company; he’s never even set foot in this building. Would he even know how to run FutureTech?
I drop the cupcakes off in the kitchen, turn on the coffee machine, then move through the rest of our floor, switching on the lights and printers. Once I’ve made myself a coffee, I pop my head in to say hello to Evan and Jordan. “Morning. Are you guys ready for your presentation with Eric this morning at ten?”
“Morning, Sarah. Yeah, we’re ready, but where is he?” Jordan asks.
“I don’t know. I’ll give him thirty minutes, then I’ll try calling him. Don’t forget to grab a cupcake. I made the lemon ones this week.”
They both nod. “Thanks, Sarah. Your cupcakes make Fridays bearable.”
“You’re welcome.” I head back to my desk. Taking my seat, I work through the emails in my inbox, forwarding them where needed, and double-checking Eric’s calendar for today. He leaves at lunchtime to play golf on Fridays; it’s something he’s always done. More often than not, by three p.m. on Friday afternoons, our office is almost completely empty. I love it because it affords me the quiet I need to prepare for the following work week.
Eric wanders toward me, looking a million miles away. “Good morning, Mr. Wainwright.” I smile at him.
He glances up as though he’s only now realized where he is. “Good morning, Sarah. Please cancel the presentation this morning. Move it to the first available time next week. I need to make an important call.”
“Sure. Is everything okay?”
He waves over his shoulder as he disappears through the door to his office. “Of course.”
Puzzled at Eric’s uncharacteristic behavior, I check his calendar for next week and move the presentation, then head down the hallway to tell the guys. I’m sure they’ll be disappointed. They seemed excited about showing Eric the new chip they’ve been working on.
I make Eric’s pot of tea, pop a cupcake on a plate, and head back to his office, catching him before he makes his call. “I’ve changed the presentation to your earliest available time next Tuesday. Here’s your tea, and I made lemon curd cupcakes this week.”
His cloudy eyes meet mine, and he offers me a genuine smile. “What would I do without you, Sarah? Thank you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’d get by, but I’m glad I can help.” I tip my lips up. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, thank you. Please ensure I’m not disturbed.”
“Of course.” I spin on my heel, closing Eric’s door behind me.
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