The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

“That it was going to be the way everyone makes it look?” I knew that feeling way too well. “Believe me, even though I was completely terrified when Olivia came to live with us, I still had this thought in the back of my mind that it really wasn’t going to be that hard. Like, people were just exaggerating how difficult it is to raise a child, and I was totally going to breeze through it.”

Some of that had been because I didn’t want to be a mother. Ever. I still didn’t, and I didn’t consider myself one to Olivia. I loved her with all my heart and would do everything to keep her safe and happy and cared for, but I would never forget that she was someone else’s daughter, someone I desperately wished was still with us.

But I knew what Deja meant. “There’s nothing wrong with having some help.”

“I know there isn’t,” she admitted. “But I don’t know that. Someone asked me about preschools last week on Facebook. Preschool? I can’t even get zir to sleep through the night. Can I just get over that first, please?”

My stomach turned. “Wait, we’re supposed to be thinking about preschools?”

Deja blinked at me, her eyes going alarmingly wide. “You should have started thinking about this like...a long time ago. She’s three, she should already be in preschool.”

“Wait, what?” Why hadn’t Neil mentioned this? He’d had a child. He should have known.

“Yeah, people start fighting for spots in preschool when the baby is still gestating, I guess,” she explained, her eyes widening. “I mean, I’m sure you won’t have a problem. You have a lot of money.”

We did have, but so did a lot of people in New York. Some more than us.

Had we negligently destroyed Olivia’s future by not getting her into preschool on time?

“I can’t fucking believe this.” I dropped my head into my hands. “I was just feeling so accomplished in the ‘raising kids’ arena, and now I find this out.”

In the kitchen, the kettle clicked off.

Deja slowly stood. “You know what? I’m going to go get that.”

“No, no, I’m trying to help you out,” I protested, moving to get to my feet.

She held out a hand to stop me. “Look, I’m dealing with teething. You’re dealing with preschool. I’ll get the damn tea.”

So much for me being a helpful and supportive friend, I guessed.

* * * *

“Neil!” I shouted from the kitchen door. “Neil!”

I didn’t care that he might be too far away to hear me. I didn’t even know if he was home. I dropped my purse on the floor and raced through the house shouting because it just felt so damn good.

“Sophie?” he called back finally. He met me at the entrance to the den. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fucking great!” I shouted enthusiastically.

From near the television, a small voice called, “Bad word!”

“We agreed, I get one bad word per week,” I called past Neil.

“What are you shouting for? Is the intercom broken?” He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me into the vast, airy room. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the loft, the colors of the sky had drifted from warm to cool, and our landscape lighting had clicked on. I’d held onto the news all the way from Holli and Deja’s house back to Sagaponack. I couldn’t wait to share it now.

“Kidney!” I shouted with glee, bouncing on the balls of my feet in my Alexander Wang ankle boots. “She’s got a kidney!”

“Sophie, that’s wonderful!” Neil beamed. “What a relief. Did she already have the surgery or—”

“No. She said it would be in a few hours, but that was a few hours ago.” I should have asked for specifics.

“We could leave in the morning,” Neil suggested. “I can call for a flight crew.”

I shook my head. “She said not to. I kind of think that might be Susan’s doing, but I don’t want to step on any toes.”

Neil frowned and walked me toward the couch. “You’re paying for the surgery. Why shouldn’t you be there?”

What a weird life Neil lived. “So, it’s not exactly in the best taste to tell someone that you’re invited to their kidney transplant because you’re paying for it.”

He grimaced. “That did sound a bit crass, didn’t it?”

I shrugged off my faux-leather jacket and tossed it over the back of one of the armchairs before I took a seat beside Neil on the sofa. Olivia played on the floor in front of the massive fieldstone fireplace, running her bright yellow plastic construction machines over the wide lip of the unlit hearth.

“Let me see your phone,” I demanded.

“Where’s yours?” Neil sat up straight, feigning panic. “How did it become separated from its host?”

“Shut up.” I grabbed for the Pixel 2 he held out of my reach, and he reluctantly gave it to me. “I’m going to email Susan and see if I can’t get some details.”