Page 86 of Even After This
Only this time, I’m not that upset about it.
21
“What’s hardto understand?” Leaning a hip on my desk, I pretend to sort through mail. Who can concentrate after our earlier make-out session?
Harlan places his hand over mine and halts my nervous movements. “You make the last six weeks of your life sound like you’re working off a prison sentence.”
I grin. “Right? I told Molly that Al Capone wouldn’t have had this many community service hours.”
“It’s worse.” He throws out a hand. “It’s like asking Jack the Ripper to work in a woman’s shelter.”
Covering my mouth, I giggle.
He tugs on my hands, drawing me to him. “Or Bernie Madoff offering free financial services to college graduates.”
“Stop.” With my shoulders shaking, I plant my forehead on his chest.
“I’m all for volunteering your time, but it seems forced.” He pulls me close for no reason at all, and the affection feels good. More than good. “Do you like what you’re doing?” he asks.
As my thumbs rub down his ribs, all I can think is I like what I’m doing right now. Probably not what he means.
Harlan leans toward my desk, shifting us. “Hey, what are these?”
Turning my head, I glance at the stack of colorful papers closest to us. “Something I made for Sally.”
He releases his hold on me to grab the top sheet. “What are they?”
I stand a little taller. “Stickers.” I graze my fingertips over a three-inch blue accolade that says “Fed BOTH my kids” next to a chubby baby holding up a victorious fist. “You know how children go to the doctor’s office and receive a sticker after their appointment? There’s some cat with the words ‘Purrfect Patient.’ Or a giant trophy with ‘Number 1 Attitude.’ I always wondered where the stickers are for parents.”
He glances from the designs to me. His eyes light up. “This is a brilliant idea.”
“I mean, I’m the one who held the kid down while he screamed through a shot. Didn’t I earn the ‘I Didn’t Cry’ sticker?” I point to a baby-blue circle on the page.
“Or this one.” He draws attention to a different design with balloons and a wine glass that says “Still Sober.”
“Yeah. Sally’s had a rough time the last couple of weeks with the dregs of mommyhood. I sent her a box with a few pages of stickers along with chocolate and a CD mix of non-mommy songs.”
Harlan narrows his eyes. “You’re really good at this.”
“Oh, gosh.” I shoo his compliment away with my hand. “The care package was for fun. I wrote her a note and told her to let herself off the hook. Just for today. She can go back to beating herself up tomorrow for all the things she thinks she’s doing wrong. But for today, I dared her to go easy on herself.”
“Seriously.” He leans in and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think you get it. You’re really good at this.”
I can’t comprehend what he’s saying. “Good at what? All Idid was send Sally a message that she isn’t alone during the Groundhog Days of early-childhood parenting. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“You’re right.” Harlan’s tone drips with sarcasm. “Instead of encouraging people like Sally, you could do more Molly-mandated volunteer work. I hear Billy the Kid is burning some hours running the kiddie trains at the fair.”
His joke falls flat, and I pull back, wrap my arms around myself, and turn and scour the pristine sunroom for a distraction. Shouldn’t there be a stray glass I need to take to the kitchen? “There’s nothing wrong with charity work.”
“Meredith.” Harlan runs his knuckles down my spine. A whisper of a touch. “You have a choice. You know that, right?”
“I have time and resources. Shouldn’t serving others be fulfilling? Shouldn’t that be enough for my life to mean something?” My voice breaks, and I’m surprised by the flood of sadness.
This. This is it. I feel lost inside my own life.
Harlan takes one small step toward me, his gaze searing into mine. “Can we be fulfilled if we aren’t working and serving in ways that we’re wired and love to do?”
“I don’t know.” I rub the spot above my heart.
