Chapter 2
Paige didn’t sleep well, waking repeatedly in the night to adjust her pillows, get water, check the time, check her phone, check the Internet, wondering each time if the Australian scientist Jack King would still look like the Jack she’d known, and yes, he did.
Which made the meeting today even more stressful.
Her only hope was that Jack wouldn’t remember her. She went by a different name now, using her married name, not her maiden name. She’d changed her hair. It used to be shorter, darker, the early choppy Rachel style made popular by Jennifer Aniston on Friends. She’d been heavier, too. There was a very good possibility he wouldn’t recognize her.
She sincerely hoped so, because thirty years ago, Jack had been a tan, muscular twentysomething with a sexy accent and long, shaggy hair. He’d known far more about sex than she did, and she’d faked an orgasm because she was afraid she was taking too long to come.
He’d asked her if she’d faked it, too, and, mortified, she’d denied it.
The memory still mortified her, and Paige grabbed a pillow and smashed it over her face, praying her new colleague wouldn’t—please, please, please—be her one-night stand. Please, God.
Paige glanced at the bedside clock. It was too early to call her youngest in New York. Ashley would be sleeping in after working late last night.
She needed to relax. She needed to sleep. Finally, just before five she did, managing to snag two more hours before finally leaving bed with the sun pouring through the blinds on her window.
It was going to be okay, she told herself, pulling on her short pink kimono robe and knotting the sash. No matter how much she dreaded today’s meeting with Dr. King and the department chairs, she’d survive it, just like she survived everything else. Paige could juggle a lot, and handle pressure, and do it with grace. She’d proven her strength more than once. At some level, it was gratifying to be the one others could depend on. She’d been that person in the family, so why shouldn’t she be that person at work?
In the kitchen she made coffee and, while it was brewing, opened her laptop to do yet another Google search on her new colleague, feeling slightly obsessed at this point. Dozens and dozens of links popped up, along with photos, including a photo of Jack in the field, wearing the proverbial khakis, his skin bronzed, his brown hair still thick, still shaggy, although not quite as long as he’d worn it thirty years ago.
Heart racing, she clicked on the different links. His biography. His published articles. Photos. Awards. Speeches.
She scanned the Wikipedia page to get an overview of his career, and it was daunting. He’d earned his undergraduate degree in Melbourne, and earned his PhD from Oxford. The man had more postdoctoral fellows than anyone she’d ever met. She actually counted them—twenty-four—and the web page hadn’t been updated since 2017. God knew how many more he’d received since.
He even had a TV show on the Discovery Channel.
Paige closed the laptop, unsettled all over again, and marched into the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. Artfully highlighted blond hair, blue eyes, skin beginning to soften at her eyes, mouth, chin, but when she smiled the only lines she could see were at her eyes. She’d inherited her Scandinavian mother’s strong cheekbones and chin. If she continued to use sunscreen she should age well. Or at least that’s what she told herself every time she headed out for a walk, careful to wear sunglasses and her oversize, floppy straw hat.
Her phone rang and Paige returned to the kitchen. It was Michelle, her oldest, and Paige put her on speaker while she filled her coffee cup. “Morning, sunshine,” she said to her daughter. “How are you?”
“Okay.” But Michelle said it slowly, drawing the word out, so Paige knew things weren’t good.
“What’s going on?”
“Have you talked to Nichole lately?”
So, the call was about Nichole. Paige shouldn’t have been surprised. Michelle and Nichole were tight. Michelle usually knew everything that was going on with her middle sister. “Yesterday,” Paige answered, keeping her voice neutral. “She phoned me.”
“You know about Andreas?”
“Which part? The fact that they broke up, or that he moved out? Or that he got passed up for a promotion and is taking it out on your sister?”
“So, you pretty much know everything now.”
“How long have you known?”
“All along.”
“Even the living-together part?”
“Yes.”
Paige rolled her eyes, but bit her tongue so as not to step in it. Michelle was fiercely protective of Nichole. “What about you? Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. It’s your first day of school. Not sure if you’re nervous.”
“I’m fine. Second year teaching sixth grade. Just glad to be in the same classroom. It should be a lot easier this year.”
Paige poured a generous splash of creamer into her coffee. “How is the new place? Like it?”
“Belltown’s fun. I can walk to everything. Except my school, which is good. I don’t want to live where I teach. The last thing I want to do is bump into students outside of school. It was mortifying that time I saw some of my kids in the checkout line at QFC. All I had in my cart was wine and yogurt.”
“I’m sure they didn’t notice.”
“Oh, but their mom did. I saw the way she looked at the bottles of wine and then at me, thinking, lush.”
Paige laughed, sipped her coffee. “Do you ever think about teaching junior high, or high school? You’d be able to focus on teaching just math.”
“I actually have thought about it. I’ve also looked into earning my master’s.”
“At University of Washington?”
“Seattle U. They’ve got an evening course for working professionals.”
“You’d certainly earn more money with a master’s degree.”
“That would be nice. Hey, Mom, a question. Your birthday is just over a month away. Shouldn’t we start making plans? It’s tough getting everyone together at the last minute.”
Paige sighed inwardly. It was going to be tough getting her girls together. Ashley didn’t have the money to fly out from New York, and Nichole was buried with work in Chicago. “I don’t think we’re going to get everyone together this time,” she said carefully, aware that Michelle would want to jump on the phone and put pressure on her younger sisters to “make an effort for Mom.” Michelle took her job as the firstborn very seriously, and she did it well. “Maybe you and I could just do something,” she added. “I haven’t spent a weekend just with you in ages.”
“I think we can certainly try to get together,” Michelle answered. “I’ll reach out to Nichole and Ashley.”
“Michelle.”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Don’t—” Paige broke off and swallowed hard, battling with herself. She wanted everyone together. She hated having them all so spread out. But this was also her girls’ time to spread their wings, develop resiliency and experience true independence. “Don’t make them feel guilty, okay? Money is tight for everyone. And we can always do my birthday later—”
“It’s your fiftieth, Mom. And you deserve to be treated like a queen. You’re our queen.”
Paige’s eyes burned and she bit into her bottom lip to stifle the emotion. “I love you.”