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Is it possible to cringe so hard you crush an organ?
I hadn’t even opened my eyes, and I was already reliving every cringe-worthy moment of the previous day.
I grabbed the comforter and curled up. My temples throbbed with every heartbeat.
I kicked my leg out of the bed and slowly worked myself into a standing position. I didn’t check the clock, use the bathroom, or drink any water until I checked on Ethan. He was still sleeping, soundly and snugly. The party had obviously knocked him out too. Thank you, God.
I treaded back to my bathroom, feeling the cold marble on my bare feet and willing to do anything to stop the throbbing.
I knelt down, put my cheek against the cool floor, and stayed there for a few minutes.
I did this to myself. This is where I deserve to be.
I took my time standing up, swallowed two ibuprofens then another one for good measure, ran a washcloth under the cold water, and went back to bed with the cool towel over my eyes.
I rested there until Ethan tottered through the door. “Why do you have that thing on your eyes? What is that?”
“A cold towel.”
“Can I feel it?”
I handed it to him.
“It’s cold.” He handed it back.
“What do you want for breakfast?”
“Nothing. I want to watch TV.”
“Okay,” I said. “Why don’t we hang here for a little bit? Come on, next to me.”
“No.”
“Get in bed with me, Ethan.” I patted the pillow next to me.
“Nooo,” he screeched.
A stabbing pain shot from my ears to my temples, increasing the throbbing beat. That behavior was unacceptable. But I would have to fix it another time. I was in too much pain at the moment, and I’d caused a scene and puked at my kid’s birthday party, so I was giving us both a break today. “Okay.” I lifted myself out of bed. “Want pancakes?” I asked as he ran out the door.
“Yes!”
Shit. When was the last time I made pancakes? I hope I still have the mix.
“We might have to go out for pancakes,” I said as I grabbed my phone from the end table.
“To the diner?”
Ethan loved the diner. I hated it, especially their dirty silverware and gross coffee. Mark loved the coffee and their Western omelet.
“Sure.” I followed him down the stairs. “First, you’ll watch TV while Mommy has a cup of good coffee, and then we’ll change and go.”
“It’s a plan!” he exclaimed. He got that phrase from Mark.
“It’s a plan,” I said under my breath as I walked into the television room. The plan was also that Mark and I were supposed to talk, but that had gotten derailed. I wondered if he would call to discuss things.
As Ethan plopped on the couch, I found Buddy the Bulldozer on the DVR then headed toward the kitchen.
“Not this one!” he announced.
I grabbed the remote and found another episode. Before I reached the kitchen, he informed me that he didn’t want to watch that one either.
“You’re watching that one, or we’re not going to the diner.”
“I want juice. I’m thirsty.”
“What do you say?”
“Please.”
After I retrieved a juice and poked the straw through the hole, which required as much concentration as performing brain surgery, I leaned over the cold kitchen counter and sipped my headache away. Then I finally bit the bullet and checked my phone.
The first thing I saw was a meeting request from Dan. The subject line was “Planning.” It was scheduled for eight a.m. the next morning, and there was no other information. No one else was cc’d.
My heart sank. I suppose I’m officially on probation. I will have to be a very good girl at work, and everywhere else for that matter. I accepted the meeting request and moved on to social media.
Of course Orly had already posted photos from the party. I inspected each one and was relieved that there were none where I appeared visibly drunk.
Thank you, God. And Orly.
I continued to scroll, and that was when I came upon Jessica’s latest update. “Don’t ruin other people’s happiness just because you can’t find your own.”
It was a meme, a photo of a cartoon pinup girl, hand on her hip, staring straight ahead with a snotty look on her face. I noticed the source in the bottom corner—a social media page called “I Hate Home-wreckers.”
Adrenaline coursed through my whole body in waves of shame, and my throat started doing that thing.
I clicked Comment and wrote, “I’m sorry.”
Then I deleted it.
Then I wrote “I didn’t wreck my or your home all by myself, Jessica. Todd did his part too.”
Stop. Let it go. Grow. Where did I hear that? Probably another meme.
I hesitated. Then I deleted it before hitting Enter. I couldn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.
Suddenly, my phone pinged with a text message.
Todd: I heard what happened. Working it out on my end. Hope you’re OK. Don’t check Frontbook, BTW.
I downed another gulp of coffee before replying.
Jada: I hope you work it out. I’m sorry. Again, please don’t ever contact me again. Goodbye.
“Ethan, let’s go for pancakes!”
###
AFTER THE DINER, I spent the rest of the day serving Ethan juice, chicken nuggets, grapes, and repeats of Buddy the Bulldozer while I finished my work for Lionel. Never had interrogatories been prepared in such a neat, orderly fashion. It was no easy task with a hangover, but I even color coded each interrogatory based on the corresponding substantive issue and provided a table of contents so Lionel’s little pea brain could follow along. Dan would be happy.
I also checked my phone every time I stepped away from my laptop, anticipating texts, calls, or messages.
But there was nothing from anyone, not even Orly or my mom or Mark. Maybe I should call Orly. Or maybe not. I didn’t know if I could handle hearing how pissed or embarrassed our parents were. Or my sister might throw in one of her Orly daggers like, “Has Ethan ever seen you like that before?” No, Orly, this isn’t a common occurrence! So, I didn’t call her, or anyone.
Once it was Ethan’s bath time and bedtime, my headache was gone, but my heartache and mortification were still palpable. As far as Ethan was concerned, however, we’d had a good day.
“Did you have fun at your party?” I asked him.
“Uh-huh.” He put his foot in a pajama leg while resting his hands on my shoulders.
“What was your favorite part?”
“The cake.”
“What was your least favorite part?”
“The trampoline.”
“Why?”
“It’s boring. I like climbing and swinging and the balls and the rings.”
Fifteen minutes after he fell asleep, I checked my phone one last time before falling into a restless sleep, waking every hour to check my phone and then passing back out again quickly. The only revelation was that when I checked to see if anyone had commented on Jessica’s meme, I couldn’t because she’d unfriended me. I wish I could unfriend me.
If only I could text Danielle, but I wasn’t sure how she would respond or whose side she was on. I would love to talk to someone who wasn’t actually there. I’d thought of calling Veronica, but I hadn’t even invited her to the party. She hadn’t invited me to her daughter’s last birthday party, reasoning that it was small and mostly family and local friends, and she hadn’t wanted to make me drive from Long Island to Jersey on a Saturday. So I’d reciprocated.
I had no one to rehash with, no one to confide in, and no one to talk to.
I woke up with the darkest circles and puffiest eyes I’d had in a long time. And I had no time to do my makeup tricks if I wanted to get to work in time for the eight a.m. meeting with Dan.
When Joyce arrived, Ethan had already been fed and was watching television. She seemed surprised. “He’s up? How was the party? I saw your sister’s photos. She tagged you.”
“It was okay.” I shrugged. “Well, it was fun. The kids had fun. I got sick. Long story. Anyway, I have to go. I have a meeting.”
I kissed Ethan and ran out the door.
I noticed Dan’s light was on when I arrived at the office. I peeked in, but he wasn’t at his desk. Maybe he’s in the bathroom? I made my way to my office, put my bags down, flipped on the light, turned on my computer, and checked my phone.
Dan walked by.
“Hey!” I called and waited, assuming he would turn around and lean against my door to catch up on the weekend, but he kept walking.
It was only then that I realized no one—not Lionel, not Dan, not Karen—had responded to my reply to Lionel on Saturday or to the email I’d sent yesterday with the work attached.
I checked the clock. It was 7:50. I went into Dan’s office. “Hey,” I said.
He seemed startled as he looked up from his desktop. “Hey,” he said quietly.
I sat down. “How was your weekend?”
“Good.” He sighed. “Listen, Tim McBride is joining us. He should be here in a few minutes.”
Tim McBride was one of the managing partners. “What is this meeting about?”
Dan stopped typing and turned his chair to face me. “Jada, listen, I’m going to let Tim talk because he’s the ‘HR partner’”—he used air quotes around that phrase—“but I just want you to know...”
Ah. The HR partner. Of course. How could I have been so stupid?
I nodded along while he spoke, not necessarily hearing what he was saying yet fully understanding.
“If I need a recommendation in the future, can I ask you?” I cleared my throat. “Before you even answer, Dan, I know I’m a piece of work, but I always thought we had fun while getting our work done. But what I really want to say is, I’m sorry for any aggravation I’ve caused you.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. I noticed the edge of his mouth curl before adding, “Okay, you can apologize because you’re a piece of work, Jada.”
“Actually, I’m more of a work in progress.”
“Sure. Whatever. We did have fun. And yeah, I will give future employers a warning.” He smiled. “I mean, recommendation.”
Before we could say anything else, Tim McBride arrived, did the deed, and I was no longer an employee of the law firm I had worked at since law school.
“Are you going to escort me out of the building?” I asked Tim as we all stood from our chairs.
“My secretary, Jean, will.”
“Is Jean a black belt in karate in case I go berserk?”
Dan laughed. Tim swayed uncomfortably and put his hands in his pockets. “Please feel free to leave all personal items here, and we’ll have them shipped to you.”
“Thank you.”
I knew I crossed the line sometimes. I knew I wasn’t the ideal employee. But I always thought as long as I got my work done, I could help old dogs like Lionel change their ways in the process. I was the dipshit whisperer. I was teaching lessons, I thought.
But I wasn’t changing anybody. I wasn’t teaching anyone anything. I was only hurting myself, and I was finally paying for it all—at work, at home, everywhere.
I shook Dan’s and Tim’s hands.
Then I swung by Karen’s office. She was on a conference call, so I mouthed, “I. Got. Fired.”
“What?” she screamed. Then she frantically searched for the mute button.
“I’ll call you. I guess you’ll be getting all my cases, so call me if you have any questions.”
She appeared speechless.
“Fired,” I mouthed again and pointed to myself.
“I’m so upset,” she said.
“You’re too nice, Karen. I know there’s a witch in there. Find her. Find your broomstick.”
She stood to hug me, and there was suddenly a lump in my throat. I really needed a hug.
“Too nice.” I pushed her away. “Get back to work.”
I went back to my office and looked around for some personal stuff I needed to take. There wasn’t much. Jean said she would ship my diploma and the rest of the papers for me to sign.
And that was it. I was on the train back to Long Island by 9:15 a.m.
Joyce was shocked when I walked through the door. Ethan was playing with Play-Doh while Joyce folded laundry.
“Hi! Are you okay?” She looked worried.
“Another long story. I’ll explain everything later, but I have to make a few phone calls.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“No, I’m not, but I’ll explain everything in a bit.”
I went upstairs, carrying my tote bag and my suit jacket. I shut the bedroom door behind me, dropped everything on the floor, and lay face down on the bed. I sniffed the fancy comforter and shut my eyes. I was too stunned to cry and too ashamed to laugh. I just lay there with my eyes closed, processing it all.
I didn’t think it could get worse, but when I finally lifted myself up and checked my phone, I had an email from Mark. It read, “Hey, how are you feeling? I was going to call you yesterday but figured you might want to be left alone. I hate to bring this up again over email, but I wanted to let you know that I just spoke with the lawyer, and the filing will likely happen this week. We can talk about the house and everything later.”
I let Joyce go home early and then did the whole bath-and-bedtime routine on autopilot.
After Ethan was asleep, I texted Mark.
Jada: I was let go today. I received your email, and I know this throws a whole other complication into the mix. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow to talk, if that’s OK?
He replied a minute later.
Mark: Sorry to hear that. Call me when you are ready to talk.
I then washed the dishes by hand and swept the kitchen floor. With each brush, I admired our beautiful kitchen floor. It was natural stone. I’d spent so much time picking it out before we moved in, and I hadn’t given it a second thought since then.
When I was done, I went upstairs, washed my face, and reflexively set the alarm on my phone for 4:15 before realizing I had nowhere to be the next day. So I turned it off and went to bed.