Aced

Pregnancy brain.

Oh shit.

Scenarios flicker through my mind as I take the phone from Colton. Our eyes meet momentarily, and I can already see he’s thinking the same thing I am.

“Hey Teddy,” I say, my voice ten times more enthusiastic than I feel.

“How you doing, kiddo?” he asks cautiously.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you,” I say, immediately using those two words again even though I technically haven’t done anything wrong.

“No need to.” It’s all he says and the awkward silence hangs through the connection. I can sense he’s trying to figure out how to approach this conversation, an awkward dance of unspoken words. “But we do need to talk.”

And the angst I had shelved momentarily returns in a blaze of glory.

“What do you need from me, Teddy?” I feel the need to rise and walk, subdue the discord I already feel, but don’t have the energy. Colton steps behind the couch and places his hands on my shoulders and begins to knead away the tension there.

My boss sighs into the line and it’s the only sound I need to hear to know my fears about why he’s calling are warranted. “Some benefactors are raising their hypocritical highbrow hands and protesting your lead on the project.”

I take a deep breath, biting back the comments on my tongue. “I see. Well, take me off as the lead then. Let me have my shifts at The House, and I’ll work behind the scenes on the upcoming project.”

When he doesn’t respond immediately, I bite my bottom lip. “I wish I could.” And then silence. We sigh simultaneously, the singular sound a symphony of disquiet.

“What do you mean you wish you could?”

“Ry . . .”

And it hits me. It’s not that he wants me to take a back seat on the project. He wants me off the project entirely. And out of The House.

“Oh,” I say. Colton’s fingers tense as he feeds off my physical reaction. Right now I’m so glad he can’t see my face because he’ll see how devastated I am. He already feels guilty enough for things he can’t control. “I won’t risk the project. The boys, the mission, everything means way too much to me. I’ve put my blood, sweat, tears, and heart into this and I can’t risk it for the many more we are going to be able to help. I know this is hard for you and I won’t make you ask me so I’ll just say it. I’ll take an early maternity leave. I’ll hate it. It’ll kill me to leave Auggie right now just as we’re making progress and a breakthrough is on the horizon . . .” My voice trails off, ending my ramble as I struggle to articulate how hard this is for me. In the same breath, I know it was ten times harder for him to pick up the phone to call me and ask this of me.

“They want more than an early maternity leave, Rylee.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Board wants me to place you on an indefinite leave of absence.”

“Indefinite?” I stutter, voice unsteady, disbelief tingeing its edges as I prod him for the answer I want. “As in three-month type of indefinite?”

“You know I respect you. You know I know this project is a continued success because of you and that the boys are contributing members to society because of all the time and hard work you’ve put in.” I hate that all of a sudden Teddy sounds like he’s speaking to a room of stiff suits instead of me, the woman who has worked for him for over twelve years. However, I understand his protective wall of detachment more than he knows because I’m fortifying mine too right now. I have to. It’s the only way I’ll be able to get through this conversation when he tells me I am no longer mother to my boys. To my family. When I don’t respond, he continues, trying to find his footing in a world where he is boss, mentor, and friend. “I swear to God I went to bat for you, kid . . . but with the board vote coming up,” he says, shame in his voice but I get where he’s coming from. The annual vote to approve his position is next month and if he fights too hard, he might not get renewed.

Teddy losing his position would be a colossal mistake; the boys would lose both of us—their biggest advocates. I bite back the bitterness, the want to argue, because with him still in the mix, I know there will at least be one of us working with them.

“It’s temporary. I promise you that. Just until the attention dies down.”

Yeah. Temporary. The bitterness returns. Disbelief overwhelms me and shakes loose a new thought: what if his contract isn’t renewed? Would I still have a place at Corporate Cares?

The fear replaces my rage, allows me to calm down and realize fighting him is like preaching to the choir. I just need to fade into the background regardless of the fact I feel like I’m bathed in a neon light. It will be hard as hell but I don’t want to rock the boat for him any more than I already have.

“Okay,” I respond softly, my voice anything but certain. And I want to ask him how he knows it’s temporary—need some kind of concrete here—but know it’s useless to ask. This is hard enough for both of us as it is, so why throw false promises in there too?

“I feel like I’m selling you out for the donations—”

“No—”

“But we need these funds,” he murmurs.

Desperately. Non-profits always need funds. I’ve been doing this way too long to know there’s never enough and always so many we can’t help.

“I won’t risk the project, Teddy.” And I know he’s having a hard time finding the right words to ask me to step down. And the fact it’s hard for him shows just how much he believes in me, and that means the world to me. “I’ll step down effective immediately.” I choke on the words as tears clog in my throat and drown out all sound momentarily, my mind trying to wrap itself around what I just said. Colton’s reaction is reflected in the tightening of his fingers on my shoulders, and I immediately shrug out of his grip, push myself up off the couch, and walk to the far side of the room. It is almost a reflex reaction to feel the need to come to terms with this on my own. Yet when I turn to look at Colton and the unwavering love in his eyes, I know I’m not alone. Know together we are a unified front.