Page 32 of Merrily Ever After
“You can just have it in the new year,” Megan says, shooting him a look. “Honestly, Zo, it’s not a big deal. And this way, we can come, too,” she adds.
Christian nods. “It’ll be grand.”
“I guess.” I blow out a breath. “Yeah. You’re right. I didn’t order the cake yet and I can ask the other parents to—”
“Remember what I said about taking it easy?” Christian interrupts. “Maybe do that first.”
I’m about to clap back before I stop myself, aware that he’s only nagging me because he cares. They both do.
“I know,” I say. “And thank you. For everything.” I gesture to my sling. “A few more days of this thing and I’ll be back to normal.”
“And in the meantime, you’ll rest,” Megan says, looking worried.
I smile at them both. “I will. I promise.”
Chapter Four
I lied.
I haven’t rested a day in my life and it’s not like I can do it when I have a child whowon’t stop climbing on things.
“Tiernan,” I snap. “If you’re going to get on top of the cabinet at least tell me to get my phone so I can film your fall for the internet.”
I lift him off, ignoring his protest as I set him down on the ground for the third time since lunch. It’s more than a little difficult with only one hand. “You can’t sprain your arm, too,” I tell him. “That’s my thing. Find your own thing.”
Honestly, I thought I’d have until his teenage years before all the rebellion. It’s like the kid delights in defying me in every way he can. But I can’t blame him too much. I know he has cabin fever. No nursery and miserable weather have left him bored out of his mind, and there’s only so much I can do to keep him entertained while I also feel like climbing the walls. I never knew how much I thrived on routine until it was taken away from me, and it’s kind of scary how quickly everything can collapse without it.
The apartment looks like a tornado’s gone through it. Dishes on the counter. Bins needing to be taken out. I’m behind on laundry. There are toys everywhere. Leftovers from everything I’ve been doing to try and distract Tiernan. Paints and crayons and Legos and dinosaurs.
On top of that, it’s been a week since the accident and my arm still hurts, the painkillers have given me a headache, my period’scoming in four days and I think my zit is growing another zit on top of it.
People keep telling me to rest, but rest would mean a proper night’s sleep, professional childcare, and my morning walk to work. Rest is routine. Not whatever the hell this is.
“I just think you need some help,” my mother frets down the phone. “Just for a little while. Maybe I should come over.”
“Everyone’s come over,” I say, nudging Tiernan toward the television while I take my phone from between my ear and my shoulder. “Sinead’s been over. Christian’s been over. My neighbor’s been over. Sinead’s been over again. I’m fine. Why does no one believe me when I say that?”
“No man is an island, Zoe.”
“I know that. That’s why I got a Roomba.” I lean against the counter, closing my eyes. It’s not that I don’t want help. I just don’t need it right now. It’s always been a bugbear of mine, people underestimating me. Especially when I’ve spent my life proving them wrong.
“Well, I certainly can’t do everything by myself,” Mam continues. “Just today, I found out that Dunnes don’t have the type of cheese your father likes, so I have to go into town and get that and then pick up the dry cleaning. All of that before visiting the girls for tea and dropping your father off to—”
“I can do that,” I say quickly. I can do that because I can do anything. “I’ll pick up the cheese. It’s my side of town. It will save you the trip.”
“You can’t—”
“Ican.” I say the words through gritted teeth. It’s like she purposefully chose the exact words to rile me up. Or maybe that’s exactly what she’s doing. “Wait?” I ask. “Is this reverse psychology?”
“What?”
“Never mind. I can get the stuff. Visit your friends.”
“But—”
“Just text me the cheese.”
“If you’re sure.” She sounds doubtful, but I know she needs the help when she folds in the next second. Almost as soon as we hang up, my phone rings again.
