“I trust you’ll help her make a sound decision about her next steps?” she says.
I hold my breath, awaiting his response, half expecting something snarky to come out of his mouth. Instead, he simply nods and says, “Yes. I will. We just want a healthy baby. Right, Josie?” He turns to look at me.
I swallow, feeling a little teary, then tell him yes, that’s all we want.
chapter twenty
MEREDITH
Nolan and I barely talk the week following our anniversary, and when we do, our exchanges are strained and formal. I’m not sure whether I’d call it a stalemate or a standoff or simply the calm before the storm, but I find myself seriously contemplating his “suggestion” that I go to New York. I can’t imagine leaving Harper for more than a few days, but the prospect of spending some time alone becomes something of an obsession. It doesn’t help my mental state that I’ve just been staffed on a mammoth product liability case with Larry Goldman, the biggest asshole partner in the firm, who gave me a scathing review last year because I dared to miss a deposition when I came down with a 103-degree fever.
When I give Ellen the update over the phone one morning, she tells me I’m welcome to stay at her apartment in the city.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “Absolutely.”
“Oh, thank you…It would only be for a few days….”
“Stay as long as you want. Stay a week.”
“I don’t know…I think I’d feel too guilty leaving Harper for longer than a couple of nights.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty,” Ellen says. “I’m often gone from Isla a week at a time, and she’s totally fine with Andy and his parents.”
“That’s different—you’re actually working,” I say.
“Yes. But we all need time to ourselves sometimes,” Ellen says. “It doesn’t make you a bad mother.”
“Maybe not,” I say, thinking that it might not make me a bad mother, but I’m pretty sure the way I’m feeling does make me a lousy wife.
—
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, I call in the big guns and meet with Amy, telling her everything I told Ellen, only more candidly. She listens intently, then says, “Why New York?”
I frown, thinking for a few seconds before I say, “I don’t know why Nolan suggested New York. Maybe because that’s where I lived when we started to date…maybe because he knows I’d have a free place to stay there—my friend Ellen has an apartment….Honestly, though, it doesn’t have to be New York. I just want to get away. From him. From work. Even from Harper.”
I wait for a lofty psychological explanation—something about how common my feeling is among mothers with young children.
Instead, she simply says, “You should do it, Meredith. You should go now.” She looks into my eyes with her trademark confident, clear-eyed stare.
My heart skips a beat. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.” She nods again, her bob in full motion.
“And do what, exactly?” I say, wanting to be clear about the permission slip she’s signing for me.
“Take a vacation. Maybe even a short leave of absence, as Nolan suggested. Go to New York. Alone.”
I shake my head. “They’ll never let me take a leave, especially now that I’m on this big case….”
“Yes, they will,” she says. “Especially if you tell them you need the time for your health.”
“You mean imply I have cancer or something?” I look at her, appalled.
“No, I’m talking about your mental health. Which can be just as critical.”
I sigh, considering the implications. “If I admit to some mental problem, then I’ll never make partner. Even if I go back to full-time.”
“First of all, they legally can’t hold that against you. Second of all, I didn’t realize that making partner was your dream?” she says, calling my bluff because she knows that making partner has never been something I cared much about. I mean, it would be a satisfying accomplishment; it would translate to more money; and it would make my parents very, very proud. But basically, I’m perfectly fine as a senior associate.
“It’s not my dream,” I say. “You know that.”
“Well, then? What’s your next excuse?”
I stare at her, my heart now racing. It was one thing when Nolan told me to go to New York. And even Ellen. It’s another thing altogether hearing it from Amy. “I guess I don’t have one,” I say.
“Okay, then. Tell your firm you need some time off. They’ll put someone else on this case. You’re replaceable.”
“What if I’m so replaceable that they fire me?”
She shakes her head, adamant. “They wouldn’t do that…especially not if you cite your health….But who knows? Maybe you’ll quit when you get home.”
“Maybe,” I say, wondering why I haven’t already. Was it nerve that I lacked? Or simply a viable alternative?