Page 61 of Better Left Unsaid

Maria:You’re right. I have to tell them. I’ll do it today.

Dominic:Maybe don’t tell them about the chess game.

Maria:That chess game is dying with us.

Dominic:I don’t care as long as I get to replay the memory of you sitting on my lap and riding my cock over and over again, especially the part where you came.

Maria:Are we going to start sexting now?

Dominic:LOL. No. Get back to work.

Maria:You did this on purpose because now all I can think of is your cock.

Maria:And now you’re not going to respond. Great. You suck.

Maria:Not even that got a rise out of you?

Maria:Fine. I’m getting back to work but just know this: I’m going commando.

I opened my bottom desk drawer and slid out the dummy binder, which was basically a very rough draft of what would be the final copy of the issue. It was easier to envision the entire thing this way, though, and I was able to leave sticky notes—what Mom used to refer to as love notes—on the pages for the team to preview. It was a lot more efficient than I was making it sound.

Granted, this was the first time I’d be seeing it from this perspective, but I was really excited to dive in. Especially knowing I’d been part of most of these pages, layouts, and overall decisions. This issue really did feel like my baby, and, it turned out, I wanted the job, the title of editor-in-chief, more than anything.

I began flipping through the pages, my eye almost immediately catching a text box that was larger than the others. I pulled out a sticky note and was just about to jot that down and paste it on the side of the page when a knock sounded on my office door.

I looked up and smiled, shaking my head as I motioned for my dad to come in. “Dad, what are you doing in the office on the weekend?”

He raised a brow. “I’m always here.”

“Well, you don’t have to knock. You know that.”

He grinned, speaking with his hands. “And you don’t have to come into work on the weekend.”

This time I raised a brow. “I needed the distraction.”

“Fair enough. About this door knocking,” he said and smiled, “you’re going to be editor-in-chief and with that comes respect. Everyone will be knocking on your door. That includes me. No special treatment.”

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. “You’re the owner.”

“Eh, semantics,” he replied, sitting down in one of my guest chairs. “How has everything been going? I wanted to check in on you.”

“It’s going well actually. Everything is on track. I spoke with the ads department and ad layouts are being finalized this week, so by early next week we can start to plug them into the rough draft.” I slapped the binder and sighed happily. “This is like a dream, Dad. I know it’s a lot of work. It’s also a lot of pressure. Trust me, I feel all of that. But it’s also so rewarding, and I love what I do so that makes it easier.”

He nodded, playing with the Italian horseshoe ring on his finger. “It was the same way for your mother. She could go all night and then do it all over again in the morning. This magazine was her life, and somehow she always managed to make time for her family.”

I shook my head and rested a hand on my cheek and an elbow on my desk as I listened to him talk about Mom. “She did the impossible and found work-life balance. One that didn’t have her miss out on anything.”

“You know, I had a dream about her the other night,” he said not for the first time.

Dad had been fortunate in that he’d dreamed about Mom many times since her passing. I had once or twice, but no more than that. Even my sisters, especially Bianca, had dreamed about her more frequently. When we had been younger, Mom had told us that when we would dream about someone who had passed it was because they were visiting, checking up on us to make sure we were okay. I always thought that was sweet, so I’d chosen to believe it.

“You didn’t go asking to hear about that, though, did you? And I didn’t come here to bother you with my dreamland,” Dad retreated, getting up and tucking the chair in.

I put a hand up. “You know you can talk to me about your dreams and Mom anytime. I love hearing about them. Did she talk to you?”

He shook his head. “Not this time, but I like to believe she was saying everything that needed to be said just by being present.” He rubbed his temples. “I wish I had more time with her, but, for whatever reason, her time wasn’t meant to last longer.”

My eyes burned, and I felt tears fill them. “She’s watching over us.”

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