The Break’s Over

Sophie

Why did I say that? Why did I lie?

I got in my head. Too concerned about what people would think—what my father would think—if I went on a date with another guy with a dead-end job. In any career, there are ceilings to what you can achieve. A barista’s ceiling isn’t very high. Not compared to my capacity at a multi-million dollar company. Instead of following the same route I’ve been going down for the last decade, I let my fear and past experience dictate my answer.

What’s even more frustrating is that I wanted to say yes. He’s a bit of a mystery and the broody, serious personality thing is like a code to crack. I’m curious if he’s like that everywhere or just at work. Maybe he’s only cranky because customers are frustrating. I know that feeling. Dealing with infuriating clients is part of the reason I ended up back there on Monday. And Tuesday.

Driving away from the café, I feel even more angry with myself than I was at the sexist jerks I had to deal with. Now I’m afraid I really have screwed myself over. Either I can never return, or I have to go and cultivate the lie, or tell the truth. None of those options seem very appealing.

I march out of the elevator and walk past Andy with a percussive tempo to my steps that amplifies my don’t-mess-with-me mood, but he stops me anyway. All so he can tell me a client I’m supposed to meet with tomorrow morning insisted my father join us. Andy is trying to make arrangements with Joel, but it irks me that I’ll once again have to play second fiddle when I’ve done all the legwork. Not that I expect anyone to sing my praises for doing my job, but some basic respect would be nice. An acknowledgement that I’m capable, even though my testosterone levels are significantly lower. Hard to imagine for these men my father attracts, unfortunately. They must have some secret club I don’t know about—since I am a lowly woman—because I know for a fact that most men don’t share their views.

Why can’t I just stand up and be honest? Fight for what I deserve?

Oh, right. Because Henry doesn’t like to be questioned or second-guessed. He certainly doesn’t like to be challenged, so it’s easier to just stay quiet.

So I do what I always do. Buckle down and do the hard part so my father can swoop in to take credit. Another opportunity to pad Henry’s ego and inflate his already bloated self-esteem. Yay.

I settle into my office and review my presentation for a meeting I have at 3pm, resolved to prove myself while I have a chance.

Saturdays are usually my favourite day of the week. A full day off work, and I don’t have to think about the week ahead. Yet, after three days without a proper flat white, the only thing I can think about is visiting Just Add Coffee. The single serve coffee maker at work and the instant coffee I have here are abominations by comparison.

Just as I build up the determination to drive to the café, my phone rings, stopping me in my tracks. Wilson lifts his head from his spot on the couch, tilting it like he’s asking if I’m going to answer.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, my darling. I haven’t heard from you for a while.”

Immediately with the guilt trip. Go figure. It’s not like phones work both ways or anything.

“I’ve been busy with work. Late nights. Then I get home and have to take care of Wilson.” I feel guilty using my dog as an excuse; especially because I talk to Ashlyn on the phone all the time when I take him for walks. It never crosses my mind to call my mother.

“Right. Your father said he had to sit in on a meeting with you this week.”

I clench my jaw, recalling the disastrous meeting Henry joined me for. One where, once again, I was interrupted, dismissed, subtly insulted, and hit on in a matter of minutes. “The client requested him.”

“He’s never going to be able to retire at this rate.” She sighs, piling on the guilt.

But I don’t feel guilty. I’m angry. “Is that what he tells you? That he’s going to retire?” I know for a fact that my father has no interest in being a retiree. Zero desire to give up the clout that comes along with his CEO position. Certainly not so he can tour the continent’s golf courses and winter in Florida with other retired rich people. He doesn’t want to be seen as an equal. In his mind, he’s an alpha, and belongs at the top of the food chain. He’ll stay there as long as he can.

“He promised once you were ready, he’d retire and we could travel more. I miss those days.”

Ah, yes. The days when our parents jetted off to random countries across the globe on business trips and left me and Caleb at our grandparents’ for weeks on end.

I want to ask her why she’s stayed with him all this time. It can’t be the money, because that only serves as a Band-Aid for so long. Their mansion in Forest Hill is nice, but not enough to sacrifice the prime of her life. In her mind, though, she’d rather be an eighty-five-year-old widow than a fifty-four-year-old divorcee.

The sad thing is, I get it. Every thought I’ve had about my mother and her perceived weakness for staying with Henry, I could say about myself. No doubt she stuck it out because she thought it was the easier choice, even when it was hard.

So, after far too many seconds, I ask, “Do you really want him home every single day?”

Silence. I wonder if the call disconnected because Mom replicates my long pause with one of her own.

“Have you spoken to Chelsea or Hollis recently?” That’s a sharp turn in the conversation. Clearly she’s sidestepping my question. Whether it’s because she doesn’t want to answer me or she doesn’t want to admit the truth to herself, I don’t know.

“I spoke to Chelsea a few weeks back, and Hollis and I went for dinner two weeks ago. Why?”

“Just curious. Zara calls to check in like I’m her little sister, but I don’t often talk to Lexi. Her and Lorenzo are probably having issues.”

My mother’s speculations about her sister’s marriage do not appeal to me—like she has any right commenting on someone else’s relationship.

I really just want a coffee. “Sorry, Mom. I have to go. I’ve got plans with Ash this afternoon.” No point in signing off with pleasantries I don’t mean. I’ve already lied once… something that seems to be a new habit.

“Way to make your mother feel important. It’s not like I carried you for nine months and birthed you or anything.”

Not to split hairs, but she carried us for seven-and-a-half months and had a c-section. Not saying that wasn’t a painful sacrifice on her part, but… details. It’s yet another way for her to make me feel guilty.

“Have a good day, Mom.” I hang up the phone before she tries to smother me with more shame and culpability for things I never asked for.

Instead of walking out the door and going where I had planned, I drop onto my couch and slouch against the back. As always, Wilson takes the opportunity to show me how capable he is as a lapdog and settles atop my thighs. I rake my hands through the curly hair at the side of his ear and make a mental note to book a groomer’s appointment for him. For now, I soak in the love of my shaggy dog and try to decompress from the phone call with my mom.

Somehow, my thoughts drift to Boyd and his offer to grab dinner or a drink. It loops in my head several times, making me question my response. That is something I feel guilty about. For lying to him. But I’ve learned the hard way, and I refuse to wind up with another guy who treats me as a stepping stone instead of a person.