I shrug my shoulders, because that sounds like good logic to me, and then decide to join him. Rounding the kitchen island, I grab a fork from the utensil drawer on the way and stab into the flaky crust. I take a huge bit. As I chew on the sweetly tart goodness, Randall asks, “So, how are you doing with work?”
My head swivels to Randall, and I look at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Work?” he repeats as he lays his fork on the counter and grabs a napkin to dab at his mouth. “How’s it going?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I tell him, setting my own fork down. “You and I talk pretty much every day about work. Why would you ask how it’s going?”
Randall shakes his head and smirks at me. “We talk about work, sure… but I want to know how you’re doing with it? How’s the stress? Do you like what you do? I know damn well you’re good at what you do, and I know you’re handling everything fantastically, but I’m asking how are you doing with it all?”
“I’m doing fine,” I say carefully… really still not sure what he’s getting at. I almost feel as if he’s searching for a particular answer from me, and I’m afraid of not giving him what he wants.
“You’re putting a lot of hours in,” Randall observes. For a split second, I wonder if Moira has said something to him. My eyes cut to the doorway that leads down the hall where she’s bathing the kids, and then back over to Randall. He just looks at me expectantly.
“Sure, I’m putting in some hours,” I tell him with confidence, going back in for another forkful of pie. “But it’s all good. You know I’m a hard worker, and you also know I don’t know any other way to be.”
Randall studies me for a moment, weighing my words and testing my veracity. I stare back at him unflinchingly, because the last thing I want him thinking about me is that I’m overworked. I know his protective instinct, and he’ll step in and make me back off.
He finally gives me a nod of acceptance before picking his fork back up. He holds it poised over the pie. Just before going in for another bite, he says, “I’m just worried… what with Moira being offered that full-time position at Emory, I know it’s going to be stressful on both of you having busy careers and trying to raise a family. So if you need me to—”
“What full-time position?” I ask as my muscles go tense all over because I have no clue what he’s fucking talking about.
Randall doesn’t mistake the hint of anger in my tone. His face flushes red and ducks his face slightly in guilt. “God… I’m so sorry. I just assumed Moira told you about it. It’s actually not really an offer, but more of an inquiry by the anthropology department to see if she’s interested… But she seemed so excited…”
Randall’s voice trails off as he seemingly deflates right before my eyes. My lips are flattened in a grim line, and his shoulders slump even further.
“She hasn’t said a word about it to me,” I mutter as I set my fork down on the counter.
“Well, you’ve been gone the last few days. Maybe she was just waiting—”
“When did she tell you about it?” I cut in.
“Only day before yesterday,” Randall says quickly, trying to appease my hurt. “When she found out… she called me…”
His voice dies again as he realizes that sounds even worse. That my own wife called him with important news rather than me.
Just then, Moira walks into the kitchen carrying Jaime. Her fine brown hair is still wet from her bath, and she looks beyond adorable in a yellow-and-white set of pajamas with little duck’s heads on the feet. Moira takes one look at my face, and I can see her tense up.
I don’t make her wait.
“You got a full-time job offer from Emory?” I ask her, not even trying to hide the accusing nature of my question.
Moira immediately turns to hand Jaime to Randall. He takes her without even a word being spoken, and I watch as something else unsaid passes between their eyes. They’ve definitely been talking, and this pisses me off. I’ve no doubt seeing the look they just shared that said conversation has included dismay over the long hours I’m putting in, as well as Moira’s concern over taking a full-time job.
All the things she should have been fucking talking about with me.
Randall had no sooner turned and cleared the kitchen with Jaime before I’m leaning in to Moira. With a hushed voice, but still no less pissed off, I ask her, “You got a full-time job offer and you didn’t bother to tell me?”
Moira at least has the grace to look embarrassed, and she whispers back to me. “It’s not a formal offer… really just a conversation with a friend of mine in the anthropology department. I was curious about the potential—”
“Wait a fucking minute,” I practically hiss at her. “You instigated this? I thought we agreed you weren’t going to go back to work until Jaime was old enough to go to Pre-K?”
“Zach,” Moira says in a placating tone, even laying a calming hand on my chest. “I was just curious. Doing this work for Senpace made me realize how much I miss teaching. I was just having a friendly chat with—”