Page 7 of A Wolfe in the Woods
I exhaled slowly. I didn’t feel any better, only defeated. “I’m done. I’m sorry.”
“You’re allowed a pity party. Gods know I’ve thrown myself more than a few—and not exactly in secret either.” She gave me a look. “You’ve always been there for me, and that’s why I’m here for you.”
“I’m sorry…I know I’ve been distracted lately.”
“Respectfully, Bee, you’ve been distracted for the last year now. Ever since Erik took over, I’ve watched you slowly wilt. Where’s the girl I used to know? I get that it’s hard to be alone and you miss your grandmother. But we’re all we have right now…and I don’t want to lose you,” she murmured.
A sharp pain zinged in my chest, my eyes flickering to the bookshelf, at the gold foil on the spines of the books. Meg believed I had, quote, “super-unhealthy guilt” about my grandmother’s death…and she was probably right. She wanted me to go to therapy, had even booked me into appointments with a Dr. Gene Weismann that I’d ended up later canceling.
She continued, “But this can’t go on. This job isliterallykilling you, and I can’t bear to watch it anymore.”
This talk again. I didn’t need to hear it tonight.
“It wasn’t always so bad,” I argued, slouching down. “And it’ll get better. It’s just right now, with the Vulcan partnership…”
“It wasn’t so bad when Eldritch was in charge,” Meg corrected. “But he’s not anymore, and things are going to get worse, not better. I know you’re tired of hearing me say this, but youneedto consider quitting this time.Seriously.”
“Megan…no,” I sighed, a snap of irritation roiling my belly. She didn’t understand.
“Did you ever think that maybe all of this is happening for a reason?” Megan asked, eyes narrowed like she was reading my fate in the creases of my exhausted expression. “Like the universe, or whatever you believe in, is nudging you onto a different path. A better one. One where you’re not collapsing in boardrooms and ending up in hospitals.” She softened and continued with, “You could do anything, Bee. Just…move forward. For you.
“Take a temp job. Come work for us. I’ll ask Father—you know he adores you, like you’re one of his own. It’ll cover things until you figure it out.” Then, with a sheepish smile, she added, “I’d just give you the money, but I know how much you hate feeling like a charity case.”
That was easy for her to suggest. Megan Banks had never wanted for anything in her life. Anything and everything she wanted, she got. People fell over themselves, scrambling to open doors for her. She was like a princess in Willowmere, the affluent district in the heights of Graymore.
“And just give up the eight years I have with Skoll?” I asked, my tone sounding hollow. “No. Just another two and I’m at my ten years. Erik promised me a promotion, and that will fix all of this. I can’t give up now. Not when I’m almost there. I don’t want to be stuck here forever.”
“You know what promises are when they’re never fulfilled?” Megan asked, her violet eyes stripping me down to bone. “Lies.”
That last word echoed between us. I could never hide anything from her.
“I can’t quit, Meg,” I said quietly. “I just can’t.”
“You can. You just won’t,” Meg corrected. “Maybe someday you’ll see that.”
She was never one to give up. I’d been fighting with her about my job ever since that night a year ago, shortly after Erik had been appointed CEO, when she’d found me hysterically bawling on the couch after an awful day at work. Erik had humiliated me in front of the entire office floor that day. And that had beenbeforemy grandma had passed.
I peered around my dim living room. The TV was off, and I could see the string of glowing fairy lights in its black reflection.
“So much for our celebration,” I said, not wanting to talk about it anymore.
“No. Fuck that. Who says we still can’t celebrate? You survived Graymore General, and that’s a victory in itself. Have youseentheir hospital gowns? Besides, I brought cupcakes,” Meg declared, popping up from the couch and floating over to my kitchen counter gracefully. “From Pixie Crust.”
I perked up a little, my spine straightening. “The…lemon-ambrosia ones?”
“Of course,” my friend replied, plopping the lilac-colored box onto my lap. “Open it.”
When I pulled the satin ribbon off the box and popped open the lid, a surge of emotion swelled in my chest, tears pricking the backs of my eyes.
Megan had the cupcakes decorated to spell outCONGRATS. The pastel buttercream icing was peppered with small blooms and edible flower petals that I knew melted on the tongue like snow. They were elegantly pristine and beautiful. A thoughtful gift.
“Oh, Meg,” I said quietly, looking up at her with watery eyes, a lump in my throat. “This is so sweet.”
Gratitude made me wipe at my eyes, but my tears were also because I knew I’d fucked everything up. A part of me felt like I didn’t deserve her gift, that I’d not only let myself down but her too. I knew I was disappointing her. She tried to help me so much, and I never accepted it.
“Uh-oh, I know that face. Don’t cry on me, Bee—this is cashmere,” she joked, settling back onto the couch, touching my shoulder. “What’s wrong now?”
She’d spurned her usual clothes in favor of wide-leg sweats and a cream—cashmere—lounge top, baring her taut midriff, a result of her daily Pilates class and blessed elven genes. It was supposed to be a movie-and-sheet-mask night, and she’d dressed for the occasion—though I knew she’d much rather doll up to head out, not dress down to pig out on lemon-ambrosia cupcakes.
