might be an opportunity for adult conversation. Since having children, her world had shrunk, and Beth felt she’d shrunk with it.
These days she was willing to befriend anyone who didn’t want to talk to her about problems with eating, sleeping or behavior. The week before, she’d found herself prolonging a conversation with someone trying to sell her car insurance even though she didn’t have a car. Eventually they’d hung up on her, which had to be a first in the history of cold calling.
“Hi there.” Her phone was sticky and she tried not to think about the provenance of the substance stuck to her phone. Melly’s favorite treat? When Beth had been pregnant, she’d resolved never to give her kids sugar, but that, like so many other resolutions, had evaporated in the fierce heat of reality.
“I want the fire truck, Mommy!”
As usual, the children ignored the fact she was on the phone and carried on talking to her. There were no breaks from motherhood. No commercial breaks, no bathroom breaks and certainly no phone breaks.
Her needs were right at the bottom of the pile.
Beth had always known she wanted children. What she hadn’t known was how much of herself she’d have to give up.
She turned away slightly so she could hear what the person on the other end was saying.
“Beth McBride?” The voice was crisp and businesslike. A woman with a purpose, ticking this call off her to-do list.
Once upon a time Beth had been that woman. She’d luxuriated in the glamour and glitter of Manhattan. Energized by the frantic pulse of the city, she’d thrived. It had been like trying on a dress and discovering it fitted perfectly. You never wanted to take it off. You wanted to buy two in case you damaged one and somehow tarnished the perfect look.
And then one day you woke up and discovered the dress was no longer yours. You missed it. You saw other people wearing it and wanted to tear it from their bodies.
“This is Beth McBride speaking.”
McBride.
No one had called her that in years. These days she was Bethany Butler.
“Beth, it’s Kelly Porter from KP Recruiting.”
Beth would have dropped the phone had it not been for the sticky goo welding it to her palm.
Before having children, Beth had worked in public relations for a number of beauty companies. She’d started at the bottom but had rapidly worked her way up, and Kelly had found her at least two of her roles.
“Hi, Kelly. Good to hear from you.” Beth smoothed her hair and stood a little straighter, even though it wasn’t a video call.
She was Beth McBride, someone who took calls from recruitment agencies.
“I have something you might be interested in.”
Beth was interested in anything that didn’t squeak, leak or leave marks on the floor, but for the life of her she couldn’t understand why Kelly would be calling her.
She and Jason had talked about her going back to work at some point when the children were older. Now that Ruby was in preschool, it was time to have that discussion again, but Beth usually found herself too exhausted to put together a case.
And then there was the part of her that felt guilty for wanting to leave the girls.
“I’m listening.”
“I understand you’ve had a career break.” Kelly’s tone suggested she classified such a thing in the same group of unfortunate life events as typhoid and yellow fever.
“I’ve taken time out to focus on my family.”
Beth extracted the princess outfit from Melly’s hand with a shake of her head. Melly already had a closetful of princess outfits. Jason would go insane if she bought another one, especially this close to Christmas.
“Have you heard of Glow PR?” Kelly ignored the reference to family. “The team is young, dynamic and making a name for themselves. They’re looking for someone with your profile.”
What exactly was her profile?
She was a wife, a mother, a cook, a cabdriver, a cleaner, a play leader and a personal assistant. She could clean spaghetti sauce off the walls and recite all of Ruby’s picture books without lifting them from the shelf.
On the wall next to her was a mirror surrounded by enough pink and glitter to satisfy the most demanding wannabe princess. The mirror might look like something out of a child’s fairy tale, but there was nothing fairy tale about the reflection staring back at Beth.
She had dark hair, and her few early attempts to dye it a lighter shade had convinced her that some people were meant to be brunette. Right now she had perfectly coordinated dark patches under her eyes, as if nature was determined to emphasize how tired she was.
Beth had once thought she knew everything there was to know about beauty and how to achieve a certain look, but she knew now that the best beauty product wasn’t a face cream or an eye balm—it was an undisturbed night’s sleep, and unfortunately that didn’t come in jars.
“Mommy—” Ruby tugged at her coat “—can I play with your phone?”
Whatever Beth had, Ruby wanted.
She shook her head and pointed to the fire truck, hoping to distract her younger daughter.
Ruby wanted to be a firefighter, but Beth thought she’d be better suited to being in sales. She was only four years old but could talk a person into submission within minutes.
“Ms. McBride?”
“I’m here.” The words came out of her mouth, pushing aside the words she’d intended to say. I’m a stay-at-home mom now. Thanks for calling, but I’m not interested.
She was interested.
“The company is headquartered right here on Sixth Avenue, but they have a diverse network and a bicoastal presence.”
A bicoastal presence.
Bethany’s imagination flew first-class to the West Coast. Today, a toy store. Tomorrow, Beverly Hills. Hollywood. Champagne. A world of long lunches, business meetings where people actually listened to what she was saying, glamorous parties and being able to use the bathroom without company.
“Mommy? I want the fire truck.”
Beth’s brain was still luxuriating in Beverly Hills. “Tell me more.”
“They’re growing fast and they’re ready to expand their team. They’d like to talk to you.”
“Me?” She bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that. She should be projecting confidence, but confidence had turned out to be a nonrenewable resource. Her children had stripped hers away, one sticky finger at a time.
“You have the experience,” Kelly said, “the media contacts and the creativity.”
Had, Beth thought.
“It’s been a while since I was in the business.” Seven years to be exact.
“Corinna Ladbrooke asked for you specifically.”
“Corinna?” Hearing her old boss’s name stirred up a tangle of feelings. “She’s moved company?”
“She’s the one behind Glow. Let me know when you have an opening. I can arrange for you to meet everyone.”
Corinna wanted her? They’d worked together closely, but Beth had heard nothing from her since she’d left to have children.
Corinna wasn’t interested in children. She didn’t have them herself, didn’t want them, and if any of her staff were foolish enough to stray into the realms of motherhood, Corinna chose to ignore it.
Ruby