“It’s a PR gig at a different ballet company than the one I used to work for.”
He beamed. “That’s fantastic. That’d be perfect for you.”
“Well, I can’t celebrate until they offer me the job. And I’ll have to figure out a situation for Sunny if I get it. I’d probably be able to work more than half the week from home, but there would be some events I’d need to attend, sometimes with little notice. That’s why I have to line a couple people up.”
“You got any leads?”
“Actually, yes. There’s this company that matches families and childcare workers. A friend of a friend recommended it. They sent me a few people to check out today. I’ll have to interview them all, but the company vets them, runs background checks, and makes sure they have appropriate experience. Like, I specifically requested people who have worked with special-needs kids.” I took a sip. “I just pray it will work out.”
“Well, my gram always says if you think positively, make yourself believe it will all work out, it will. We have no idea how much our outlook affects things.”
“I definitely have to work on that.”
Deacon took a seat on my couch and picked up a ball of yarn I had sitting there from the night before. “What are you making?”
“Oh. I’ve been trying to teach myself to crochet, but it’s not going well. I wanted to make a hat for Sunny.”
“Promise not to laugh, okay?” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t laugh at what I’m about to tell you.”
Before he could say anything further, my phone rang.
He waved his hand. “Take it. I’ll tell you after.”
When I went to pick it up, Deacon walked over to where Sunny was swinging. He knelt down and muttered something to her.
The call was from a number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“Carys? It’s Cynthia.”
I cleared my throat. “Oh…hello, Cynthia.”
With wide eyes, I looked over at Deacon. He gave me a fist pump.
“I did a lot of thinking after you left my office today,” she said. “I’ve always been a big believer that you have to go with your gut.”
My heart started to pound. “Okay…”
“My gut told me not to waste the time of those other two interviewees. I should just offer you the position. With your history, I doubt anyone could put their heart into it the way you can.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
“I am. Congratulations. The job is yours if you want it.”
“I do. I do—thank you!”
Deacon gave me a thumbs-up and smiled wide.
“Now, I’m assuming you’ll need time to line someone up for your daughter, so why don’t we select a start date in, say, three weeks? You can let me know if you need a bit longer.”
Blinking, I answered, “Sure. That sounds amazing.” I had to keep myself from jumping up and down.
“I’ll email you an exact date. Plan to work in the office for at least the first three days for training.”
“Okay. You got it.”
“We’ll be in touch.”
“Cynthia…” I said before she could hang up.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“I’m certain you won’t disappoint.”
“I won’t.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
After I hung up, I waved my hands and screamed, “I can’t believe I got it!”
“Hell yeah!” Deacon yelled as he came over and pulled me into a hug.
Whoa.
I hadn’t been expecting that, but it sure did feel good to be wrapped in his arms. Now I knew firsthand why my daughter liked it so much.
He pulled back. “I’m so happy for you, Carys.”
“This will hopefully be the best of both worlds, if I can make it work.”
“Not if…but when. You will make it work. You have to believe that.”
“That’s right. I vowed to believe, and I will.” I smiled. “Thank you for the reminder.”
“Atta girl.”
“Would you want to celebrate tonight with me?” I asked, feeling giddy. “My treat. I insist.”
His smile faded. “Shit. I would love to. But I told someone I’d go see a show tonight. She already bought the tickets and—”
“Oh my gosh!” I waved my hand. “You don’t have to explain.”
“No, I do. Because I really would’ve loved to celebrate with you tonight. This is a big deal.”
I felt stupid for having suggested it. Perhaps this job offer had given me a false sense of confidence. “I shouldn’t have assumed you had nothing better to do than to celebrate with me on a whim.”
“Why? We’re friends, right? Friends celebrate with friends.”
And there it was. I’d been officially friend-zoned. It wasn’t like I didn’t already know this. But I suppose a part of me had held a tiny glimmer of hope for something more than platonic. Why did I even want that with—as he’d once dubbed himself—the manwhore next door? That wouldn’t be good for me.
“A raincheck, okay?” he insisted.
Since he had to get ready for his date, Deacon left a few minutes later.
When the door closed behind him, I walked over to Sunny, who was still calmly enjoying the baby swing. “Looks like it’s just you and me for the celebration tonight. I’m thinking sushi takeout for me, and pureed sweet potatoes for you? What do you say? Sound good?”
She kicked her legs and flashed me a big smile.
Then I remembered Deacon had been going to tell me something before the phone call from Cynthia came in. He’d asked me not to laugh. But I was laughing now just thinking about it—not even knowing what the hell I was laughing about.
* * *
Later that night, after Sunny went to sleep, I sat down with my takeout maki rolls and popped open a bottle of pink champagne I’d had in my fridge since before my daughter was born.
Turning on the television, I selected On Demand and decided to watch some episodes of Flip or Flop on HGTV—the old seasons from before the stars, Tarek and Christina, got divorced. This was my exciting celebration. But I wouldn’t complain. At least I had something to celebrate.
Halfway into my dinner, I got a text. It was a photo of a champagne glass.
Deacon: Cheers to you.
I sent him back a photo of myself sipping my champagne.
Carys: Cheers!
Deacon: Nice!!! Glad to see you’re celebrating.
Carys: How was the show?
Deacon: It was okay. I’m kind of looking forward to heading home and going to sleep, though.
Carys: Heading home alone tonight?
Deacon: Yes. Not feeling it.
Carys: Ah. You win some, you lose some. That’s too bad. But at least I know I’ll get some sleep ;-)
Deacon: That’s very true.
Carys: Sorry, couldn’t help myself.