Charity Case: The Complete Series Page 3

  Thankfully, Jade is a very helpful and mature seven-year-old, but I kind of wish I would’ve taken Pete up on his offer to escort us to Chicago. But part of leaving Los Angeles was to have a clean slate and I couldn’t do that with my ex footing the bill and helping me the entire way.

  “She’s an angel compared to you at that age.” My mom tips her head and peers down at me.

  “Why thanks, Mom.” I’m surprised when she doesn’t smack me on the back of the head over my sarcastic tone.

  She sits down on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table. “When do you start?”

  “I have to go in on Friday just to meet Hannah and the marketing manager and get acquainted. It will be quick and then I start on Monday.”

  “I’ll take care of Jade. We have some catching up to do anyway. I can pick her up from school, too.”

  “Mom. I didn’t move here so you could be Jade’s babysitter.”

  “If you thought it was so you could be my babysitter, you’re wrong. I’m fine. I can walk and talk and feed myself.” There’s joking in her tone, but an underlay of warning.

  She’s stubborn and what can I say? The apple fell right out of the tree with me. She’s hard-working and not about to let anything slow her down. I’m here to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.

  “Walking three blocks to get her isn’t going to be a big deal. Not to mention it’ll be good for me.”

  I’m not going to argue with her right now. I’ll wait until I can find a babysitter or maybe a mother who lives nearby to walk her home with her own child.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, which is the only thing that will appease her in this moment because I’m not starting the next world war within the first five minutes of being here.

  “You’re welcome. Glad that he let you come.” She pats my leg, standing up.

  By he, she means Pete. We never refer to him by name in the house.

  “He’s nice like that.”

  “Don’t go letting him fool you. Now he can live the bachelor life all month long.” She leaves the room before I can argue back.

  All she sees in Pete is the man who hurt her little girl similar to the ways my dad hurt her. Talk about a sick and twisted cycle.

  “Mommy. Mom!” Jade runs into the living room with my mom’s cat Moe in her arms.

  I inch back a little because he’s not always pleasant.

  “Look at Moe.” She squeezes him so tight around the neck I fear his head is going to pop off. “Can he sleep with me?” she asks.

  “Sure,” I say. I’ll let her know later that it’s never going to happen.

  Moe is like a night crawler, suddenly you wake up and he’s wrapped around your neck. We’ll be shutting our doors.

  “Who wants pizza?” My mom comes in with a stack of pizza place menus. Gotta love Chicago, there’s a pizza joint on every corner.

  “Yay!” Jade starts jumping around the room with Moe hanging in her arms.

  “How about Gino’s?” I ask.

  “The one off Lincoln? I’ll call.” My mom disappears to use her home phone in the kitchen.

  Jade sits on my lap with Moe who looks nothing short of unenthusiastic about his new house guests, especially the little one. “Mom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is daddy going to come visit?”

  I couldn’t tell Pete that he couldn’t see us off at the airport—I’m not that cruel—but it did leave a crying girl in my arms until after take-off. I couldn’t even bribe her with a Frappuccino from Starbucks.

  “Yep and he promises to call.”

  She shoots me a look because although Pete is hands on while face-to-face, time slips past him when it comes to phone calls.

  “We can video chat with him, too.”

  Her eyes light up. “He said he’s going to get me a phone.”

  “We’ll talk about it.” I push the conversation away. She’s seven and does not need a phone. I mentally tag that topic in my head to discuss with Pete.

  “Pizza is on its way.” My mom comes in and Moe squirms to get out of Jade’s hold, meowing and jumping next to my mom.

  Jade isn’t easily detoured and follows him, petting him as he lays next to my mom. He decides to tolerate the unwanted attention.

  “Thanks again, Mom.”

  “Stop thanking me. You girls are the ones who uprooted your life to move here.”

  “We’re happy to do it.” I smile.

  “Yeah, we’re happy to do it.” Jade mimics me and smiles over at my mom.

  “It’s so great to have my girls with me. We’re going to have so much fun.” She squeezes Jade into her side.

  I watch the two knowing that regardless of how hard of a decision this was, it was the right one. I know Pete grabbed the short end of the straw on this one and I’ll have to remember that the next time we disagree on something. Right now, after all the disappointing men in my life, I’m happy to be surrounded by the female race.

  Chapter Five

  I stop outside the deli that Hannah told me was on the street level of our office building and take a deep breath, trying to shake the nerves away. After steeling myself for a moment, I open the door on the right to be greeted by a long hallway with elevators on the left-hand side.

  “First day?” A woman’s voice says as I take another deep breath and hesitantly press the up button.

  I turn to my left to find a blonde in a blue dress and heels who looks like she just stepped off the cover of Vogue. Strike that, not Vogue, more like Cosmo. Yeah, Cosmo.

  “Kind of.” I hold my bag in front of me with both hands clasped to the handles.

  “I’m Chelsea. I started working on the twenty-first floor with a non-profit a couple months ago. What floor do you work on?”

  I smile. “Twenty-first.”

  She points. “The assistant?”

  I nod.

  She adjusts her bag up onto her shoulder and extends her arm out toward me. “Hi. I’m the marketing manager. Chelsea Walsh.”

  I shake her hand. “Victoria Clarke.”

  “Nice to meet you. Hannah hired me two months ago and we’ve been trying to do a lot of it ourselves, but I’m so happy you’ll be joining us. I’ve been busier than a five-dollar hooker.”

  I smile, not sure what to make of her comment when the elevator dings open and we file in. She presses the button and we wait.

  She checks out my hands. “No ring. Single?”

  “Divorced.”

  She nods. “Me, too. Not the best club to be a member of, but more often than not, it’s a happy club. Am I right?” She elbows me like we’re a bunch of guys razzing each other about who will win the super bowl.

  I smile.

  “Isn’t dating a let down? I went out with this guy recently because he had a motorcycle. Yeah, I love the bad boys. You’d think my ex would’ve ruined that for me. Sadly, still think I can change them.” She waves off her last comments like they’re nothing important. “So…this guy picks me up on his motorcycle and yeah, I know it’s Chicago and cold but what am I going to say? Pick me up in your Honda? No way.” She inhales a breath and I can see where she might be lightheaded with the way she’s talking so much. “I thought we’d go along the lakefront or something, but he drives me to some upscale bar in the suburbs to hang around outside with his other wannabe bad boy biker gang, minus any SOA vibes.”

  “Bummer.” I’m not sure what else to say. I’ve never met anyone as open as this woman is with a practical stranger.

  “Bummer’s right. It turns out the bike wasn’t even his. It was his dad’s. Can you believe that? The kid—and I say kid because he lied about his age. He was twenty-one.” She holds up her hand. “I’m all about dating a younger guy, but there’s no way this kid who stole his daddy’s bike was going to know his way around the erogenous zones. Am I right?”

  “You’re right.” I look up to the elevator buttons. Thankfully, it lands on twenty-one and the doors open.

  “I wanted to ask him
for his daddy’s number.”

  She laughs and we both step off the elevator into what is our new office.

  Small is right, but it’s quaint and cute. There’s a small reception area for guests to wait with leather chairs and a couch. Magazines are fanned out on a coffee table with a cooler full of water bottles in the corner in case they’re thirsty.

  “What are you talking about?” The woman I’ve only seen through a video appears from down the hall. “Victoria!” she exclaims like I’m some long-lost sorority sister.

  “Good morning, Ms. Crowley,” I say, and she stops dead in her tracks. Her arms falling to her sides and her exuberant expression falling.

  “No, no, no. Call me Hannah. You need to forget everything Jagger ever taught you.” Her arms stretch and embrace me in a hug that I lightly reciprocate with a few pats on the back. She pulls away probably sensing my timidness. “Welcome.” A soft smile crosses her face. “What are you carrying on about?” she directs her question to Chelsea.

  “Well, it’s Monday,” she singsongs, her head bobbing back and forth.

  “Oh yes, divorcee dating recap?” Hannah rolls her eyes in a cute, playful manner to say she secretly enjoys them.

  “You guessed right.”

  “You’ll have to fill me in in a bit.” Hannah says, leading me over to a desk situated near a window. “Here’s your desk.”

  My desk is gray and has a large screen monitor on it, a holder full of pens, notebooks and a phone. Everything looks all set for me to start.

  “Looks great. Thank you so much.”

  Chelsea smiles on from across the desk. “Hannah, did you know she’s divorced, too?”

  Hannah nods “And she’s got a daughter. Jade, right?”

  “Yeah.” I take out the picture frame from my bag and place it on my desk. Whether or not I get fired, this time I’m not ashamed to be a single mom. I should be proud to raise a daughter and not thinking my boss will perceive me as someone who will constantly be calling in sick.

  “She’s adorable.” Chelsea wastes no time to pick up the frame and inspect it. “She looks just like you.”

  Poor Pete. We both hear that all the time. But I see a lot of him in her, especially in her character.

  “We’re like the modern-day version of the First Wives Club.” Chelsea places the picture back down. Both Hannah and I look over at her, not understanding. “You know, that movie with Diane Keaton, Goldie Hawn and…” she snaps her fingers. “What’s the other one’s name?”

  “Bette Midler.” I chime in.

  She places her hand up in the air. “Are you a movie lover, too?”

  “Oh, that one where they seek revenge on their ex’s?” Hannah asks.

  “That’s the one. We’re kind of like them except we’re not going to extort our ex’s,” Chelsea says. “Though I would’ve if mine had had anything worth having.”

  “Mine is probably dating someone half his age,” Hannah says with disgust in her voice.

  “Mine is probably in jail right about now,” Chelsea adds.

  “Mine is a workaholic.” My story doesn’t sound nearly as bad as these two. “But I do have to have constant communication with him because we share a child.”

  They both laugh.

  “True.” Chelsea says. “I thank the heavens I didn’t end up knocked up with my bastard of an ex. No offense.”

  “None taken.” I look down at the picture of Jade, knowing Pete in my life isn’t half as bad as having Jade not in it.

  “Hold on girls.” Hannah walks down the hall.

  “There’s a small break room down there,” Chelsea says.

  Hannah returns a minute later with a bottle of champagne and three coffee to-go cups.

  “We’re going to celebrate. To the kick off RISE. To us starting our lives over. To being free of controlling males.”

  She pries the bottle open easier than I could’ve and pours us each a drink. Placing the bottle down, she holds up her cup. “To a clean slate and new adventures.”

  Chelsea and I knock our paper cups against hers. “To a clean slate and new adventures,” we say in unison.

  As the bubbles from the champagne tickle my throat, I smile, knowing I made a good decision coming here. Surrounding myself with a duo of empowering women, helping my mom and raising my daughter without a man in my life sounds like the perfect way to start over.

  Looking back, that sentiment seems laughable given what happened the following week.

  THE END

  Can Victoria start over when she runs in

  to the BEST MAN from her wedding

  at morning drop-off?

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  Chapter One of Manic Monday

  My hand slams down on my alarm, but instead of shutting the bloody thing off, the screaming banshee slides off my nightstand and drops to the floor. I peek out one eye and the immediate sight of the clutter of clothing and boxes in the makeshift bedroom makes me want to squeeze it shut again. The piercing sound of my alarm still rattles inside my head as its cacophony continues from the floor. My palm continually slaps the wood, hoping to make contact with the cord so that I can yank the damn thing up and shut it off.

  “Mom?” my daughter Jade calls out to me.

  I swivel my head in the direction of her voice and there she stands in her poop emoji pajamas with my alarm poised in her hands like she’s offering me a gift.

  “Turn it off,” I groan and bring the pillow over my head.

  Her small feet pad along the hardwood floors, squeaking right at the edge of my bed. The pillow gets plucked from my grasp, and seconds later the overhead light flickers on, blinding me temporarily.

  “You’re going to be late.” My mom’s voice adds to the mix from down the hall.

  I dream of being woken up by some suave foreign man who doesn’t speak a lick of English, while he uses his soft, roaming hands and sprinkles kisses over my flesh to stir me into consciousness. Instead, I get my seven-year-old daughter and my mom to orchestrate my Monday morning trip to Crazyville.

  Jade turns off the alarm and sets it down on the nightstand. “It’s seven,” she says in a completely unalarmed tone.

  “What?” I sit up, chip crumbs falling to the rumpled sheets.

  “Eating in bed again?” She giggles, and I snatch her up by her waist pulling her onto the bed with me, using my fingers as an instrument to torture her. Torture by tickle.

  “Mom, no!” She laughs and squirms.

  “It’s only six-fifteen.”

  She wiggles enough to slide away and I release her because I’m later than I usually am, but it’s Monday and since I made a deal with Jade that every Sunday is our day, it meant a late night of studying after she went to bed.

  “I’ll turn on the shower.” She walks out of the room and straight into the small bathroom of our three-bedroom bungalow—the house I grew up in. Jade now sleeps in my old bedroom, while I’m shacked up in my mom’s old sewing room. She doesn’t sew much these days, anyway.

  “Thanks, and then—”

  “I know. Brush my teeth, get dressed, and comb my hair.”

  I smile at my independent daughter even though it causes a familiar tug on my heart. She should have had the luxury of having a mom who picks out her clothes and does fancy hairstyles with ribbon and curls before school. A mom who wakes her up with the smell of bacon and pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice. A dad who pulls her mom in close to say goodbye and promises to be at her soccer practice as he kisses the top of her head.

  Instead, she’s got a dad who didn’t blink when I told him we were moving back to Chicago and leaving him in Los Angeles. A mom who gave up her own education only to pursue her degree later in life while she’s working a full-time job. A mom who moved her halfway across the country, leaving behind the beach and sunny weather for concrete and dreary rain-filled days.

  To her credit, my tough girl never gave me a guilt trip wh
en I sat her down and explained that Grandma needed us. She packed her boxes and hid the tears. I guess people are right when they say she’s the spitting image of me.

  I get up from the bed, staring at my phone to make sure my new boss, Hannah, hasn’t sent me anything urgent. It’s not something she expects me to do. But it’s been a hard transition from my last boss, Jagger Kale, who expected an answer to any question whenever he asked it. Old habits die hard.

  Setting it down, I grab my robe and head out of the cocoon of soft sheets, warm blankets, and quiet space to start my week.

  Forty-five minutes later, my heels click on my mom’s linoleum kitchen floor.

  My to-go cup of coffee is placed next to my purse and my computer bag, while Jade is shoveling Lucky Charms into her mouth, leaving her banana untouched. My mom is still in her pajamas reading the paper mindlessly nodding and agreeing with Jade on the latest second-grade drama at her new school.

  “Then Brian told Peter that he liked Valerie and—”

  “Whoa,” I stop her, sliding my arms into my jacket. “Like? You’re talking about friendship, right?”

  Jade rolls her eyes and I glance over my shoulder because surely, she’s not rolling her eyes at me.

  “Mom,” she sighs.

  My mom curls the corner of the newspaper to eye me over her reading glasses.

  “You shouldn’t be liking any boys.”

  “I don’t.” Jade notices me getting ready, stands, takes her bowl to the sink and grabs her jacket.

  I hold out her backpack for her and she slides her arms through it.

  “Good because—”

  “Boys only detour you from obtaining your dreams. Make your own path for yourself before you allow others to walk beside you,” she says in a deadpan voice beyond her years.

  “Sorry.” I bend down and kiss her cheek. “It’s the truth though,” I whisper.

  Again, the paper peels back, my mom’s face showing her displeasure over what I’m teaching her granddaughter.

  Jade wraps her arms around my mom’s neck, pressing her lips to her cheek. “Love you, Grandma.”