Page 81 of Unmatched

My sister can’t know how devastated I am about Sharon, about what’s happened between me and Anton. How I feel like everything around me is coming to an end all at once. But I appreciate her sincerity.

“Look, I actually called to ask if I could run something by you. It’s, um, a business situation. You can bill me for coaching if you want.”

She snorts. “I’m not going to charge my own sister just to answer a question.” She pauses, then amends. “Well...maybe I won’t if you promise you and Anton will come for Thanksgiving.”

I grit my teeth, trying not to imagine what the next family holiday might look like. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll buy the pies.”

“Hah.” I can tell she’s angling her nose high, like she’s won something.

“Okay, let me just get to it. I—I received an offer from an associate interested in purchasing my businesses. All of them. I had initially turned it down, but now I’m having second thoughts.”

“Interesting.” Her voice rises in surprise. “What kind of figures are we talking?”

I share the number and she whistles. “Not bad, Lydia, considering.”

Considering the dog poop? Fleas? She doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask.

“So, out of curiosity...If you already declined, what’s making you reconsider?”

I miss my husband.

A twinge of pain works through my chest. He hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Hasn’t done anything to indicate he feels the same way I do. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. Or our argument before he went to Dallas. I’m not super interested in waiting around until you have time for me.

My stomach feels heavy. I was awake all last night thinking about everything. The past few weeks, the past ten years. Anton probably spoke more actual words about our relationship the morning he left than he has our entire marriage, but when I really think about it—Unmatched, the thirty-day deadline—he has been communicating how he feels. I’ve been the one avoiding him.

“I’m just worried it might’ve been a hasty decision. I don’t want to wind up regretting it later.”

“That’s wise.” I can hear her clicking around on a computer. “What does Anton say about it?”

“He wants me to sell.” The tip of my nose burns. “He thinks I work too much.”

“Ah, marital discord,” Celia says. And there’s a surprising bitterness in her voice I’ve never heard before. “Well, let’s coach you through this. I mean, if you want a real analysis, I’ll need to see the proposal, your profit and loss statements for the last several years, etc. But for the sake of this conversation, what are all the immediate pros and cons?”

“Pros of selling would be...money, obviously. A change of pace. Flexibility to travel and focus on things I haven’t had time for.” Like my marriage. My face burns. “It might also be an opportunity to pursue other things.”

“Like what?” she asks.

“Uh . . . I don’t know. Maybe a new business.”

“You don’t have anything in mind?”

“No. Not at all. All of my plans for the foreseeable future were tied to the Pooches.” Unless you count starting my own family?

“Hmm.” She types for several minutes, then pauses. “Okay, what about the cons of selling?”

“Giving up my livelihood,” I say, a little too quickly. “Lump sums aside, my businesses are profitable. We’re not hurting, and I enjoy them. I’m not sure I’m ready to walk away.”

“Profitable even with the new place opening up?”

I nod. “Even if we only get half the business of the first location, we’ll be fine.”

“Look at you,” she lilts, not quite under her breath. “Okay, and I can assume the pros of not selling would be getting to keep and grow the pet businesses you love, having a stable income, and the cons would be...poor work-life balance, less flexibility for travel, and no pile of cash.”

And no marriage, I add in my head. “Essentially.”

Celia makes a humming sound, then lets out a low breath. “I mean, if it were me, I’d take the money. But if you don’t need it and don’t have something else you really want to pursue, it still makes sense to hold on to the dog stuff. Especially if it makes you happy.”

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. After a minute, my shoulders slump with disappointment. I was sure she’d tell me to sell the business and take the cash—that’s what I needed her to say. This feels like the same conversation I already had with Anton. The Pooches do make me happy, but they can’t be the answer. Because what I couldn’t grasp before, maybe what should have been obvious, is how happy he makes me too. It doesn’t seem fair that I have to choose—one or the other—our life together, or apart.

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