But alas, it’s not like I can say that to her.

“I can sense that you’re not comfortable talking about it,” she says. “That’s okay⁠—”

“Oh no, I’m comfortable having this conversation.” Panic surges through me because I can see the disappointment in her face. “Just, uh, wasn’t expecting to have such a magnificent mind at my disposal.”

Magnificent mind? Tone it down, girl.

“That’s so kind of you to say. Sanders really does wonders. Let me just text him real quick.”

Oh, she’s just going to do that, right now? When we should be having a meeting?

She pulls out her phone from her pocket, and yup, she starts texting.

“Would nine tomorrow morning work for you?”

“Tomorrow?” I nervously say. “That’s, uh, well, I’m working.”

Ellison waves her hand in dismissal. “You can take a break for this.”

“Great.” I swallow the saliva building up in my mouth.

“Oh perfect, he has an opening tomorrow morning at nine a.m.”

“Ooof, nine a.m., that might be hard with the hubby’s job.” There we go, blame it on the husband.

“Oh, he says he can do seven thirty in the morning for you so everyone gets to work on time. You’re so lucky. He rarely offers the seven thirty appointment.”

7:30 a.m.? Jesus, aren’t people mainlining their coffee and getting their faculties together at that hour? Not to mention, if he’s the best in the Northeast, doesn’t he have a waitlist? Usually takes six months and your first unborn child to make an appointment in the city, not a quick text.

“Why don’t you check with your husband?” She encourages me with a head nod.

“Uh yeah, let me, uh, let me just text him.”

I hold my phone, straight up so she can’t see my screen, and I tap away on it, pretending to text, all the while in my head saying, Beep, boop, bop, texting my husband, beep beep, bop, my nonexistent husband.

“What does he say? Seven thirty or nine a.m.?” She bounces in excitement as if her happiness relies on this moment and this moment alone.

And it seems like I’m not getting out of it. No backing down, not at this point. We have dug the grave, might as well try to find a way out of it…and a way that doesn’t require me to be out of the house by seven.

Smiling at Ellison, I say, “Uh, nine works.”

“Wonderful. I’ll let him know right now.”

As she texts her husband, I glance down at my screen, where I pulled up my solitaire app rather than texting a real-life person. I can tell you right now, this is not going to end well.

“You’re set for nine a.m. I’ll email you the details of where to find his office. He’s looking forward to working with you.”