Page 76 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“Yeah,” I reply, and I leave her house. A deep sigh slips through my lips.

That went well. One crisis of many averted.

Still, I can’t quite manage to make my smile stick. A job well done doesn’t seem quite as satisfying as it did a month ago, and I know it’s because I’m heartbroken.

Meg helps me unload the van at the office, but when it’s time to go, she lingers.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she starts.

I sit down on a chair and invite her to do the same. “If this is about the measurements, really, Meg, it’s no problem. I should have been better about training you and checking your work. The mistake is on me.”

“It’s not that,” she says, then chews her lip.

I’m bone-tired from the past week of catch-up work. I’m worried about the online reviews. I’m sad and lonely and not in the mood to stay in this office one minute longer than needed. But this is my business and my employee, so I nod patiently. “What is it, Meg?”

“I want to quit,” she blurts.

I straighten. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s not you. I’ve really liked working here, but I can’t handle the ups and downs. Sometimes it’s really busy and I have to work until late, and sometimes my hours are short. I need something more regular. And…” She arches her brows. “Brad and I are going to start trying for a baby.”

Meg’s eyes shine as she says the words, her face full of hope and happiness. Across from her, I feel old and washed-up and empty.

She continues. “This job is so stressful sometimes, Audrey, and I don’t think I can do it. I want to find something part-time, where I have regular hours and less stress. An office somewhere, maybe.”

I sigh. She’s not wrong. The business is great, but jobs come in waves. And because we’re in people’s homes, we can’t leave them with a disaster in their kitchens when the clock strikes five and the workday is meant to be over. Sometimes, things take longer, and we have to work late. Georgia’s closet is the perfect example; it’s nearly eight o’clock in the evening and we’re just getting ready to leave.

“I understand,” I tell her.

“I’ve really enjoyed working here, but it’s too stressful. I’m sorry, Audrey.”

“Don’t apologize. Do you want to keep working with reduced hours until you find something else?”

She gnaws her bottom lip, then shakes her head. “No. I’ll finish out two weeks, but after that I want to be done.”

It hurts to have an employee quit, but I understand. She wants predictable hours, and I can’t give those to her. Sighing, I stand and open my arms. We hug, and she lets out a big, relieved breath.

“If you need a reference, you can use me,” I tell her.

“Thanks. And thanks for being so cool about it.”

“You have to do what’s right for you,” I tell her, and I mean it. That’s the reason I didn’t pursue things with Remy. It’s the reason I started this business in the first place.

To put myself first.

I just wish it didn’t feel so meaningless when I manage to do it.

I say goodbye to Meg, finish up some paperwork, and then I drive home. I collapse into bed, relieved. Georgia said she’d talk me up to her friends. That’s a good thing.

Maybe the low rating on my Google page isn’t the death blow I thought it was. Maybe this can be fixed. Life will go on, and everything will be okay.

Movement outside my window makes me glance over. My bedroom overlooks the backyard, and I have a view of Remy’s garden as well.

He’s near the back fence, hose in hand, watering some plants. The man isn’t wearing a shirt, and a violent pang hits me right in the middle of the chest.

I used to have a right to touch his body. In another life, I could have walked over to his place and wrapped my arms around him. I would’ve tilted my head up and accepted his kiss, and maybe we would’ve disappeared into the greenhouse for long, blissful minutes.

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