Pregnant By The CEO

Plus, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m twenty-eight. Thirty is right around the corner, and recently, it feels like everybody I know is getting married and having babies. It doesn’t look like anything like that will be happening for me any time soon, sadly. Oh well. Such is life. But maybe, by thirty, I’ll have my own apartment.

I imagine myself in my own place, taking bubble baths without worrying that someone’s angrily waiting for me to finish on the other side of the door. Cooking without someone else’s dishes in the sink. Walking to work on a mild summer day. Wow, that would be so nice.

Damnit. Those are just pipe dreams, and I know it. A studio in Manhattan costs thousands of dollars, and I just don’t have the kind of income to support that. Damnit. I might as well get breakfast. At least I can kind of afford that. I stop into the deli on the corner and order myself a bacon egg and cheese on a bagel. I grab an extra large coffee and stir through my two sugars and my half and half. I grab a few packets of snacks for breakfast as well.

When I finally arrive at my desk, a mountain of work awaits me. Oh god, it’s Wednesday. Wednesdays are always hectic because it’s the run-up to our Friday deadline. I suppose I should be grateful for the consistency, even if it’s chaotic consistency, but after a while, it becomes oppressive. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It just wears a person thin.

Plus, on Wednesdays, I have to read every letter I’ve received over the week. From there, I choose what to feature in my advice column before penning a reply. Honestly, the pity parties can be a lot to take emotionally. I spend my weeks absorbing other people's heartaches and romantic troubles, and it’s exhausting. Who said this job was easy?

Sighing, I quickly pop over to my friend Nicole’s desk to say a quick good morning. She’s up to her elbows assigning coverage for the upcoming Food and Wine Festival.

“Hey,” she chirps, looking up from her computer. Nicole’s sleek as always in her black jumpsuit, with her blonde hair in a flawless ponytail. Visitors to the office generally assume she’s our fashion editor, and not the food editor, when they first meet her. After all, the woman positively oozes glamour.

“How was last night?” I ask, referring to her date.

“He canceled,” Nicole says with a pout. “What a jerk. Said something came up. Yeah right.”

“Maybe something did come up,” I shrug. “Maybe he broke his leg? Or his dog died?”

Nicole shrugs and rolls her eyes. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, really, a last minute cancellation? This is someone without manners. You know as well as I do that ‘the dog died’ excuse is total BS.”

I grin cheekily. “Write me a letter about it.”

She laughs. “Listen, I can’t talk now. You know, deadlines and all. But lunch later?”

I nod. “Let’s try the burger place that intern was raving on and on about. What could possibly be so special about this new place?”

My friend giggles and nods.

“I heard you can get double their special sauce on the patties if you just ask. I’ll come grab you around twelve.”

I nod and saunter off, a smile on my face. Burgers always make me happy, especially if there’s going to be a double serving of tangy sauce. But right, this is work. Back in my office, I take a deep breath, and then a bracing gulp of my coffee. It’s cold and tastes like a witch’s brew. Making a face, I open my emails and dive in. There’s no sense in putting off the workday any further.

* * *

Dear Corner Chat,

I’m crying as I write you this letter.

A few months ago, I started dating someone who I thought was my dream man. Let’s call him P. He was everything I always fantasized about: successful, driven and masculine. He was a fantasy come true.

As my boyfriend, P loved to spoil me. He brought me to quite a few lavish events during our time together. He was like a celebrity. Everybody seemed to know and respect him. We had many romantic nights and I felt like a princess most times.

But last week, the man went AWOL. He completely ghosted me for no reason. What happened? It was confusing, but I sat tight.

Finally today, I heard from him, but in a ridiculous way. There was a knock on my door, and when I answered it, some guy whom I’d never met before was standing there. He looked nervous and introduced himself as P’s assistant at work. I almost jumped out of my skin. My boyfriend sent his assistant to break up with me. Who does that?

Sure enough, the assistant said that P was “very sorry, but had decided that things were over between us.”