Page 24 of Because of Them

The song builds to a final chorus and when it ends, Maisie and her friends erupt into cheers and giggles. Lights flicker to life around us, and as the room grows brighter, the party host steps out from behind her little DJ desk.

“Who wants to play pass the parcel?”

Somehow, the squealing gets louder. As the party host, in her rainbow tutu and silver top, helps the kids form a circle, Cassidy and I slink away.

“Here,” a deep voice comes from behind me.

I turn as Callum stands from the chair he was sitting on. One arm gestures for me to sit, the other wraps around Cassidy’s waist. He pulls her in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

“Thanks for the chair,” I say when he finally comes up for air.

“Of course.”

I relax into the seat, stretching my feet out in front of me. “I’m exhausted all the time. Already. I can only imagine how hard it’s going to be when I’m in my third trimester. Or when the baby is actually born.”

I realise after the words spill out that I’ve assumed Cassidy has told Callum. I figured it was a given. And, thankfully, from the way Callum doesn’t miss a beat with his response, it seems I was right.

“Whatever you need, we’re here to help,” he says.

Callum excuses himself to go chat with some of the other dads, and Cassidy finds a lone chair to pull up beside me. Pass the parcel has ended and the party host has directed the children to a game of musical statues. None of the kids are playing properly, but the stop-starting of the music is giving me a headache.

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, holding my head in my hands to press my thumbs against my temples.

“You okay?” Cassidy asks.

I can feel the air from her hand hovering by my shoulder, like she isn’t sure if she should put it down. I never imagined I’d feel such kindness from my ex-husband’s girlfriend, but I want more of it. I want to be her friend, I want to be able to confide in her and I want her to confide in me. Every friendship needs a little shove, so I innocently lean back a little until my shoulder rests against her hand. Her fingers stiffen as she sucks in a sharp breath, but then she relaxes into the touch, rubbing her fingers lightly on my shoulder.

“Just thinking about all the open houses I have to run this week. I’ve got one on Wednesday while Maisie is at dance class, and then a whole heap over the weekend.”

She pulls her hand back and twists in her chair to face me.

“You don’t sound thrilled.”

Sitting up, I sigh. I’m not thrilled. Not even a little bit. I’ve signed on as many houses as I can handle. Maybe a few too many, considering what the next week looks like. But all these houses will earn me a commission to go towards what I hope will be an extended maternity leave. It just feels so exhausting, and I’m not even halfway through my pregnancy. Thinking about keeping up this pace as the pregnancy progresses leaves an uncomfortable tension in the back of my neck.

“I’m worried I’m burning myself out,” I admit. “After Maisie was born, I worked so hard to be in the position I’m in now, but with this baby coming, I can’t help but feel it was all for nothing. My boss is already talking about the right time to have other agents shadow my sales, ‘just in case’ I go on maternity leave early. They’re ready to kick me to the curb just because I’m having a baby. So, I keep adding more houses to my roster, thinking if I can prove myself now, I won’t have to start from scratch again after my maternity leave.”

A second party host wheels a tray of hot party food into the room and the music stops. The silence leaves a ringing in my ears. I rub firm circles against my temples with my thumbs, trying to steady the pulsing that keeps creeping into my head.

“The more houses I add, the more monotonous it feels. It used to feel amazing, selling all these unique high-end homes. But now, they all blend into one and I really don’t care if it sells for a hundred thousand less than the house up the street. I think I’m done, but if I’m done, what then?”

I surprise myself, saying the words. I hadn’t really thought them until now. But it’s true. After years and years working my way up and up, becoming so close to being the top real estate agent in my area, being named one of the top women in real estate in all of the country, fighting to be seen and heard in a sea of male colleagues, I’m done. I officially want out of the rat race. And not just because I’m pregnant and tired, but because I’mjust tired. Of the hustle, of the fight. Of forcing myself out of bed every morning to work a job that no longer brings me joy.

“Could you do something with your painting instead? You could start with my commission piece.” Cassidy’s voice surprises me, reminding me that I’m once again opening up to the woman I should dislike. But it’s impossible to dislike her, and maybe I’m sick of following all the so-called rules of life. Mine never seems to go to plan anyway.

Not long after she found out I was a painter, Cassidy had sent a text outlining the artwork she wanted to commission for her floristry cross cafe. Australian native flowers with coffee beans scattered throughout the petals. Big, too. The size of a big theatre room TV. I never responded, still unsure if I should, if I could.

I’ve never sold a painting before. I’ve given them away to friends and family, I’ve donated them to charity auctions and kindergarten fundraisers, but I’ve neversoldone. I wouldn’t even know what to charge. Besides, it takes me months to complete a piece.

“You deserve a career that sets your soul on fire,” Cassidy continues, her arm reaching across the small gap between us to rest on my leg. “Plus, you could work the hours that suit you, rest when you need it, and have more flexibility when the baby comes.”

“I could, but it would also be so irregular and inconsistent. I don’t know how I’d be able to make a living off it.”

It would be fun though.To work for myself, doing something I’ve always found so much joy in. But look where fun has got me already. Pregnant, and stuck in some kind of baby daddy situation-ship that I can’t make heads or tails of.

“It’s hard, but plenty of people have done it before. Or if you’re not ready to take the leap you could look at art studios or supply shops? They might need people, even something casualto boost your income while you build a name for yourself as an artist?”

I sit back, leaning against the dark curtained wall. Lights sparkle around me, reflecting off the sequins on the wall and enveloping me in a rainbow of stars. Cassidy’s not wrong, but it’s hard to admit she is right. I’ve spent so much of my life building my real estate career. Just because it’s not serving its purpose right now doesn’t mean I should give it up completely.

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