Page 52 of Bastard-in-Chief
“She’s divorced, right? A single mom to a teenager. How long has she been struggling? How long has she carried the weight of supporting herself and her daughter without any help?”
Details that Sophie’s shared with me about her ex-husband have a growl building in my chest. “Always. She’s always been the one carrying the load, as far as I can tell. Her ex could never keep a steady job, and was always spending their money pursuing his hobbies.” I shove a hand through my hair, tugging at it in irritation. “Which is why I don’t understand why she won’t let me help her. Isn’t she exhausted? Doesn’t she want help?”
Mercedes doesn’t answer right away. I finish booking my flight and email the itinerary to my sister while I wait. If seeing Casey, Clara, and Ethan doesn’t help, I don’t know what will.
“Maybe she’s scared of letting you take away any of her burden, in case you decide to give it back to her.” Her words are clear in the quiet of my office.
“Give it back to her?”
“If she allows you to help, gets used to you being there and sharing her burdens—what happens to her if things go bad? You? You’ll be heartbroken, like you are now, but in the end you’ll be fine. You’ll have a roof over your head, a nice car to drive, and someone else to stock your fridge full of fresh food whether she’s there or not.”
I lean my elbows on the desk, opening my mouth to protest, but Mercedes cuts me off.
“It’ll be a sad and lonely life, and that comes with it’s own problems, but not a hard one.”
I can’t deny the truth of that statement. It doesn’t mean I want that life though. The memory of Emma wandering into my house, her muffled exclamations over how nice it is, how big it is, while I’d stared dumbfounded at Sophie, rush back to me.
Before, I’d thought it was adorable. The idea of introducing Emma and Sophie to my lifestyle. I admit to myself I’d had fantasies of taking them shopping, letting them buy anything and everything they wanted. “What’s wrong with wanting to make someone else’s life a little easier?”
“Nothing, sir. Offering help to those who need it is never a bad thing.” Mercedes is quick to respond. “But giving a hand up to an employee who needs it, is very different to stealing away someone’s burden’s and leaving them wondering when they’re going to have to take it back from you. The uncertainty is exhausting.”
I eye my assistant. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
She laughs. “That’s because I am.” When I don’t say anything she pats my hand on the desk and continues. “Do you know what HR told me on my first day as your assistant? They wished me luck and urged me to stay at least three weeks since that’s how long it would take to find a replacement for me.”
“What?” I knock a pile of papers across my desk as I jerk back.
Mercedes grabs the stack and shuffles it back together. “Oh, they were perfectly nice about it. But do you remember how many assistants you went through before me?”
I shake my head. Before Mercedes, my assistants had been a blur of useless or incompetent college graduates. I guess there were a lot of them.
“You hadn’t had an assistant last longer than three months when I started here. You either fired them, or they left in tears. But that’s not the point.”
“What is the point then? Besides reminding me that I’m a grumpy old monster of a boss?”
“The point, sir, is that I spent the first six months of this job terrified that you were going to fire me. I was making the most money I’d ever made in my life, but I tossed and turned in my bed every night. I was finally able to catch up on all the late bills that had been keeping me up before you hired me, but I was sure everyday was going to be my last. I could pay off debts, and still have enough to buy myself whatever I wanted…” She pauses, blinking back tears. “Yet, I couldn’t sleep at night because I was so scared this was going to be ripped away from me on your whim.”
Offended, I sputter. “But—”
Mercedes stops me with a shake of her head. “It’s not that you are the problem, sir. The problem is that when you’ve been in survival mode for that long, your instinct is not to trust any help that’s offered to you—because in the end it doesn’t last. And a taste of that kind of peace, then losing it, is worse than never having tasted it at all.”
She pats me on the hand once more as she stands. “Have a good time with Casey and the kids, I’ll hold the fort while you’re gone. And don’t you dare give up on Sophie.”
“But what if she’s given up on me?”
“She hasn’t, but she’s scared. Stop cornering the poor girl and let her take the lead.”
Ethan and I lean back against the couch to admire our handiwork, the multi-colored tower of Lego blocks wobbling precariously when his foot kicks the coffee table leg in his haste to scoot closer to me. “Nicely done, my man.” I offer my hand for a high five and he slaps it as hard as his six-year-old self can. Which is surprisingly hard.
Laughing, I rub my stinging palm on my leg. “Will you take a picture to send to my dad?” His dark eyes are big and pleading, as if I could possibly say no to him.
In answer, I pull out my phone and snap a picture. “Go hop up and stand next to it, so he can see how tall it is.” I snap another photo of Ethan standing proudly next to our tower, his hand held up above it, and text it to Garrett. Ethan wanted to see if we could make one as tall as he is. Luckily, the coffee table helped us make up the last foot of distance.
Me: Ethan wanted to make a tower as tall as he is. You’re gonna have to spend another few thousand dollars on more Lego if he’s going to be able to do it again in six months. How is he so tall already?
I pocket my phone, not expecting an answer right away, not when Garrett is busy shooting.
“Uncle Teddy, can we watch TV?” The tower forgotten, Ethan is halfway out the room before I can corral him back.