So nauseous, I thought. It was only 5:30, but I had to get to work early, again. After last night, I had to be on top of my game. Rubbing my eyes, I peeked at myself in the mirror. I had bags, I never have bags. I touched the corner of my eye, was that a fine line? I can’t do this now. One meltdown at a time.
I sat down. My stomach was a mess, terrible timing. I just had to get through the day, maybe the week. Everything needed to settle, including my stomach. There were sweat beads on my upper lip. I raced to the bathroom and emptied my stomach. Was this...? No, it can’t be, it’s a bug, it has to be. I sent up a prayer to make it through the day alive. I got dressed quickly, put on a power outfit, silk blouse with a double-wrapped pussy bow, high-waisted pencil skirt, gold bangles, and pumps. I’d be presenting in front of the CEO, DO, and other account execs, summarizing and strategizing last night’s debacle.
Did I really come home after two last night? Seriously, why did the CEO of Penilon start a tweet storm worthy of Donald Trump, after a customer criticized one of her shoes on Twitter? Really? Really? Worst client ever.
“Leaving?” Ari mumbled from his bed as I fumbled for the keys.
“Yeah.”
“Call me later, wanted to talk to you.”
“Sure,” I said. I picked up my tote and left, closing the door quietly behind me. Ari wanted to talk? Why didn’t he just talk? Because you’re never home, I answered. I didn’t even have to be meta to know that was bad.
Everyone gives that well-meaning “shanah rishonah” advice about date nights, quality time, and priorities. I don’t know if any of them ever had real jobs. My stomach rumbled as I approached the bus stop. I rummaged in my bag and came up with a granola bar, totally healthy, with protein and something — I made sure not to look at the sugar content. Not that I really cared, but I was supposed to.
The bus arrived and I hoped my stomach would settle with eating, but it churned away. Maybe I’m just nervous about the presentation. But I’m never nervous for presentations. New bosses, I reminded myself. By the time I exited I was in full-on sweat. My stomach was a disaster. If this was morning sickness, I was not hacking it. I would not tolerate it for the next three months.
Elevator ride up was quiet. Even Vicky wasn’t in when I entered. The office was still, but I felt the tension in expectation. I could feel it in my wrist, in the way I kept bending and flexing my fingers. These new bosses are throwing me for such a loop. I’ve done great work for years, but I wasn’t there when crisis hit last night. So what if I hightailed it back to the office — it wasn’t good enough.
My computer booted up fast enough and I typed notes and basic data to present later. I got into the zone, it was good — I could ignore my stomach for a stretch. When I finished, I looked up. The office had woken up, with noise and people, walking past my door clutching coffee cups.
Coffee — I should have some, the thought registered clumsily. I turned on my Nespresso machine. Miranda had eyed it suspiciously the last time she “popped in.” My phone read 8:37. Was Ari home? Did he finish davening? Was he on his way to work? I realized I didn’t know his schedule that well. Was that important? Did it make a difference? Maybe. I took out my to-do list and added, learn Ari’s schedule.
Picking up my phone again, I called Ari. Voice mail. I shrugged. I took the milk out of my mini-fridge, sniffed, still good I think, added it to my coffee, stirred, drank. It was fine, but a moment later I was running to the bathroom.
Back in my office, I checked my phone, missed a call from Ari. Shoot. Called back. Voice mail.
(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 622)