P.S. You’re Intolerable: Chapter 10

TO ME, THERE WAS nothing beautiful about birth. The things that came out of my body had been truly shocking, and I’d been terrified out of my mind.

But then, her.

Josephine March Warner.

The prettiest girl to ever land on this planet.

I would never forget the events that came before her, but her very presence made the pain, grossness, and terror fade into a distant memory. I would have done it a thousand times over to relive the moment I got to meet my girl.

We’d been home for six weeks, and she was my only up. The rest had been down, down, so fucking far down, I had no idea how I’d claw my way back to the surface.

First of all, Liam was a thieving motherfucker.

I’d learned this the day after Joey and I had come home from the hospital. The contractor Liam had hired had knocked on my door, demanding payment for the work he’d done and materials he’d bought.

“Sorry. I can’t continue working until you pay the next third.”

He didn’t sound sorry. There was no sympathy behind this man’s hard, black eyes, even as I bounced my fussy, hungry baby on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Can you explain what you mean? Liam paid for all of it. I gave him—”

“He paid for a third of the estimate. The second third was due a month ago, but I gave some leeway, seeing as you’d just had a baby. Leeway’s over. Need the next installation so I can continue the job.”

I shook my head. “No. That can’t be right. Do you have a contract I can look at?”

To make everything easier, I’d given Liam the money for the renovations. Since he hadn’t completed it on his own, he’d used it to pay the contractor he’d hired without consulting me.

It hadn’t been a small amount. Tens of thousands of dollars. Everything I’d had to my name. While it might not have covered everything, it should have been enough for the work that had been done, which was why I was utterly confused.

Jack, the contractor, cleared up my confusion quickly.

According to the contract he gave me, he was telling the truth. Liam had only paid a third of the estimate. I had no idea what to do. That money was gone, the account emptied. I’d been worried about it, sure, but I had trusted Liam to do right by me. After all, this house was supposed to be for our future.

“I’m guessing by your expression you don’t have the money.”

I looked up at Jack, trying with all my might to hold back the panic churning in my gut, and shook my head.

“Liam told me he paid you.”

His face twisted with bitterness. “He lied to us both. Unless you have the cash, I’m going to have to take back the materials I used on your place and hope I can recoup my losses.”

And so, he did. Jack showed back up the next day with a group of workers and stripped my home bare. The floors, bathroom fittings, most of the kitchen, pipes, electrical fittings—all were carried out and loaded onto their trucks.

By the time they’d left, I was down to one bathroom and my and Joey’s bedrooms. My living room floors were plywood, and my kitchen consisted of a fridge, toaster, and microwave on a rolling cart.

I was in a mess.

The house was almost unlivable, and I was barely scraping by with the massive mortgage payments. I had no savings left and only a meager salary coming in since HR had never moved me from a contract employee to full time.

I’d gone to talk to them the week before I’d given birth but left in a panic, without saying a single word, at overhearing a conversation about an employee falsifying references on his résumé.

My fears they’d uncover the lies Liam had included on my résumé were probably irrational, but I couldn’t kick them or force myself to go back to rectify the situation. If I lost the modest income I had, things would go from dire to devastating.

Joey was fed, clean, growing, and cared for. She didn’t need more than she had, but I roamed my broken house for hours while she slept, racked with guilt over bringing her into the situation and terrified of what would happen if I couldn’t fix it soon.

I was completely on my own in finding a solution. Liam, my best friend for years, partner, father of my child, had ghosted me.

He hadn’t responded to Joey’s birth announcement. Not even a “she’s so cute.” And when I’d texted him about the money he’d stolen from me—I’d finally accepted that was what he’d done—he blocked me. Not just my number but every social media.

Liam wasn’t coming back. Not ever.

This was my problem to solve.

More than once, my fingers had hovered over the contact information that had sat unused on my phone since I’d left home at eighteen. I stared down at the number, as close as I’d ever been to hitting “call.” I never would have considered calling my parents before, and I hated that I was now. But I would do anything for my daughter, even sacrifice parts of myself to give her a good life.

We weren’t there yet, though. I exited my contacts and exhaled heavily.

I was staying afloat.

I just had to find a way to get rid of this house and plot out my next move.

Just. Ha.

As if it were as simple as that. I barely had the bandwidth to shower daily. Figuring out how to sell this house and not come out worse for wear was so daunting I hadn’t even tried.

My phone vibrated with a notification, and I frowned at Elliot Levy’s name. I’d heard more from him while on maternity leave than when I’d been in the office every day.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Catherine,

Daniel cannot find the contact information for David Sinclair. He claims he’s looked high and low, and now he’s given up.

Did you properly file that information? Or is the glorified intern you chose just grossly incompetent?

Please reply as soon as you get this.

Yours,

Elliot

No hi? How are you? How’s your day going?

Classic Elliot.

I wasn’t supposed to be working, and I certainly didn’t have to check my email at all hours. But something in me was compelled to reply when Elliot reached out.

Which was often.

He was crankier than usual, and I felt awful for Daniel, my temporary replacement. I pictured him marking off the days he had left on his sentence with a sharpened shiv on the underside of his desk like a prisoner.

Since Joey was happily occupied with the light-up play mat Davida had gifted her, I replied to Elliot’s email. Hopefully once he had his answer, he’d leave poor Daniel alone.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Elliot,

Hi, how are you?

If you mean Sinclair Davis, please let Daniel know he can find Sinclair’s contact information in the Davis subfolder within the surveyor folder. It’s also in your contact folder under Sinclair Davis. Check the Ds.

I hope my reply was soon enough for your liking.

Sincerely,

Catherine

P.S. You are the human equivalent of spilling a bag of freshly pumped milk.

I carefully deleted the postscript before sending it, but stamping out those words had made me feel marginally better. Even if Elliot wouldn’t have understood them had I sent them, I did, and they pulled a smile from me.

Nothing was solved, but as always, taking out my frustration on Elliot provided me with desperately needed relief.

Of course, that relief didn’t last long. He replied almost as quickly as I’d sent my email.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Catherine,

Thank you. I’ve found it.

So you’re aware, I’m seconds away from firing Daniel. He shakes when I speak to him. It’s untenable. I need an assistant, not a leaf.

You’ve never shaken in my presence. Not once.

Aren’t you bored at home? What could you possibly be doing for all these weeks?

I would like you to come back as soon as possible. I don’t think Daniel’s going to make it much longer. He’s currently vibrating at his desk, and from what I understand, the human body cannot sustain constant vibration. He will eventually crumble. Do you want that on your conscience?

Think about it.

Yours,

Elliot

Laughing at how utterly unhinged his email was, I scooped Joey off her mat and nuzzled my nose against the side of her head. She smelled like baby shampoo and pure, fresh lovebug. I had never pictured myself as a mother or felt any kind of longing when I saw a random baby in public. Motherhood had been an abstract concept that had nothing to do with me.

But this girl, my girl, had drawn me in from her first breath.

Something inside me had recognized her immediately. Oh, it’s you. Of course it is.

She really was the sweetest thing. Even on her bad nights, she wasn’t bad. Two weeks ago, she’d started smiling at me and basically hadn’t stopped. It had made it impossible to feel resentful when she woke me up forty-five minutes after I’d put her down.

Deliriously tired but never resentful. Not when my sweet girl smiled up at me from her bassinet the second I came into her eyeline.

We sat on my bed, and I lowered my tank. Joey immediately latched on to me, like I’d been starving her for days. In reality, she’d eaten an hour ago. I was pretty sure she was going through a growth spurt. That was what my Googling had told me about her sudden need to nurse around the clock.

Since Joey had been born, there’d been a hundred times I’d wished I could have called my mother to ask questions or be reassured I was doing the right thing. But I couldn’t open that door. If I did, there might not have been any closing it—not when my parents found out they had a granddaughter.