Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“Oh!” I turn and practically fall into Matt’s arms. “Oh, thank God!”
“What is it?” he demands, his arms tightening around me.
“Letty left Clodagh with me while she went to her parent-teacher conference.” The words fall so quick, I’m surprised he can follow. “And everything was fine until we went upstairs to get her changed out of her muddy leggings, and now she’s gone!”
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
“It’s not funny, Matt!” I thump his chest with the side of my fist. Because the man is amused. Amused!
“She hasn’t gone,” he says, gathering me close. He folds me under his arm as he turns his attention to the staircase. “Oh, what a pity,” he calls upward. Loudly and with a theatrical exaggeration. “How will I ever survive without my Clodagh!”
“You think she’s hiding from me?” I almost whisper.
“She’s five. And a little shite.”
“But she’s so sweet,” I protest.
“They all are. Until they’re not. You can’t have lost her,” he says, giving a reassuring squeeze. “She can’t work the locks on the external doors. She’ll just be winding you up.”
“What about the swimming pool?” My stomach sinks.
“Also locked by a code. And she’s been swimming like a fish since she was two. Come on, let’s find the tiny terror. I bet she’s run you ragged,” he says, slanting me a look.
“No, she was . . . yeah, she really did.” We set off up the stairs.
“That’s kids for you.”
I wouldn’t know. I don’t know how this works. Parenthood. Kids. Any of it.
“Raaah! I’m a monster!”
“Fuck me!” On the first floor landing, Matt’s arms tighten around me as he moves me behind him, shielding me with his body. Instinct, I guess. Not that the threat is too terrifying.
“Uncle Matty, you said a bad word!” the little girl yells, her hands still held in the air like claws. Latex claws. Because hanging from each of her fingers is an extra-large condom.
Chapter 28
Ryan
I can’t sleep.
It’s not the pregnancy. Not the physicality of it, at least. But maybe the emotional realities. The fact that I barely coped looking after Clodagh for an hour. Maybe I should take some parenting classes along with those cooking classes I have yet to book.
Most of the stuff I’ve read seems to make it sound like motherhood is instinctual. I just hope that instinct will kick in, because I feel so out of my element right now. But maybe I should cut myself a little slack and remember this is, in fact, my first rodeo.
I didn’t know my father, and my mother was a mess. My upbringing was chaotic. Toxic. I felt powerless, and I was often scared. But I knew the world had other plans for me. Be it God, or the universe, or some other deity, I had certainty. I just knew I wasn’t going to perpetuate the cycle, that I was going somewhere. I’d grow up, get smart, make money, become happy. Be safe. And never look back again.
I did that—I did all that. I did the work, studied hard, and found my place in the world. But now I’m rudderless. Out of my depth. And if I let my mind dwell, it becomes a scary place. My job was such a big part of my life, and it feels a little like, well, maybe I don’t know who I truly am without it.
Ryan the mom-to-be isn’t Ryan the killer queen. As much as I hate the moniker because of how it speaks to the past—a past that no one but me knows about—I do wish I felt a little more like that girl. Kicking ass and taking names, not caring for anything but success.
Instead, as I stand in Matt’s kitchen, the cabinet lights the only illumination in the room, I feel truly lost.
I’m in the big kitchen because I’ve run out of the tea I once pretended to like but now actually enjoy. There’s something soothing about the preparation of tea, a kind of mindfulness in the boiling of water and the waiting for the tea leaves to steep. Steep, not brew. I’ve already been schooled there. And then there’s the drink itself, which I find now to be like a warm cup of comfort.
As I wait for the leaves to infuse, I pull myself up onto a stool and open the stock-trading app I recently installed on my phone. Time to redirect my thoughts and channel a little positivity into this evening. Hormones. It has to be.
It’s been years since I’ve dabbled in the market privately. Working for a hedge fund pretty much exempts you from doing so, and I was never interested in putting my job on the line. Instead, I invested in the employee fund, which, while lucrative, wasn’t as much fun. Or as personal.
Hedge funds trade on loans and lines of credit. Meanwhile, I’m playing with my own savings. So I’m playing conservatively but using the same parameters as I watch the market for specific events, things that might influence the price of stocks or derivatives. Affect the price either way. Whatever your poison is, the name of the game is to get out at the optimal time. The optimal time for profit. And so far, I’m doing pretty well.