Page 32 of Mismatched

“Um... thank you,” I say, reluctantly taking it from her sticky hand. “So, what brings you to Denver?” I ask, refocusing on her mother.

“My ex, unfortunately.” Marisol sniffs, then rolls her eyes. “We split up shortly after I got here. But so far, the weather and lifestyle have been worth staying for.”

“Oh.” Her attitude reminds me a little of Caprice, though I can’t imagine my best friend weighed down with a kid. “Yeah, it’s great here. But I’m sorry about...”

She winks at me. “I’m not.”

“Lydia, I was telling Marisol about your meteoric growth.” Charlotte returns to the table distributing plates of food, then slides in next to me with her sandwich.

Marisol nods. “It sounds impressive. I wish I’d had an investor waiting to swoop in and fund me before I expanded.”

I raise my brows. “Did you go through something similar?”

She passes a few raisins off her salad to Paloma, who dutifully puts them in her mouth. “I’d been running absolutely everything myself, and I was exhausted. But I was also expecting this one.” She nods to Paloma. “So I had to do something.”

My gut feels like a stone as I try to imagine running all my businesses, trying to level them up, and prepare for a baby. It seems wrong, but every time I imagine what pregnancy might be like, I just envision a ticking time bomb.

“Obviously, it’s a little different, since my model isn’t directly client-facing,” she goes on. “But I reached a point where I had to step up my production, which meant securing capital, bringing in more employees, and ceding a lot of control.”

“Yeah.” I glance at Charlotte. “The ah, control thing has been kind of a pain point for me.”

Marisol smiles. “It’s a major adjustment, taking that leap from relative stability into expansion. But it’s imperative if you want to grow.”

I clear my throat, humbled that my expectations about this meeting had been so very wrong. “My business partner, Henry, has suggested we consolidate our daycares and grooming shop for growth.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows shoot up, but then she gets a pensive look. “Actually, I can see why that probably makes sense.”

“Hmm. Are you planning to continue growing organically, or are you considering a franchise?” Marisol asks.

“Oh, definitely—” I’m about to say organic, but I glance at Charlotte and knot my fingers. She’d brought up franchising some months ago, right before Henry bought into the Pooches.

“Lydia is primed for a franchise.” Charlotte nudges my elbow. “I’ve been trying to tell her that for at least six months.”

“Oh, I’m jealous.” Marisol grins. “I’m not set up for it, but I wish I was. A franchise would be the dream, wouldn’t it?” She chuckles. “Just set it and forget it, and watch the income roll in.”

“I—I guess.” I squirm a little. “I do enjoy running my Pooches, though.”

Marisol straightens. “I would love to see your operation sometime.”

I unknot my fingers, pulling out a business card that lists our locations, grateful for a more comfortable subject. “Sure. Bring Bizkit by The Pooch Park sometime and see if he likes it.”

“Thanks.” She takes the card with a smile and glances at her pigtailed toddler, who is now driving raisins like cars around her placemat. “I don’t suppose you have any child daycare recommendations while we’re at it?”

I laugh nervously. “Oh, my husband and I don’t have kids...”

My pelvic muscles clench, my skin going clammy, wondering how true that statement really is. I suppose there might be a little cluster of cells dividing inside me right now. I push my plate away, appetite evaporating.

“Paloma definitely wasn’t in my business plan.” Marisol laughs softly, gazing at her daughter. “But somehow, once she got here, she became my why.”

At these words, the baby starts kicking her legs, making a loud yodeling sound and rubbing her eyes with sticky fists. Marisol sighs, pushing her mostly finished lunch aside, packing up the snacks and placemat.

“That might be about all the meeting time I can ask of her. It’s getting close to naptime.”

I glance at my phone. We’ve barely been here half an hour.

“I can’t believe how well you balance everything,” Charlotte says, watching Marisol wipe Paloma’s hands with practiced efficiency. “You make it look easy.”

Marisol snorts, but as we rise from the booth to say goodbye, I’m dismayed the conversation has to end. It felt like we were just getting started.

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