The two of us are puttering around the store this morning getting things ready before the doors open. Kitty’s stocking candy on the shelves while I organize the licorice display. We chat and giggle like two teenage girls while we work.
“You’re so lucky, Sansa. You truly have no idea,” she says in a dreamy voice.
“What do you mean?” I ask with a smile.
“You live a dream life. You own your own candy store, and your husband is soooo gorgeous.” I laugh a little because I never thought I’d be the envy of a pretty young woman like Kitty. But then my assistant stops.
“By the way, are you expecting?” she asks. “Forgive me for being so nosy, but you’re positively glowing these days, Sansa!”
“Oh, no. No baby,” I quickly respond even as my heart flutters. But Kitty just giggles knowingly.
“OMG, how come? I would be making babies with that man as fast as I could if I were you!” she squeals with laughter.
I turn away, my face flushing. “It’s just not the time,” is my mumble. I hate lying to my assistant, but Kitty has no idea my marriage is fake, and I can’t let on. As far as I know, Frank hasn’t retired yet, so I need to hang on until that happens. But my assistant is in La-la-land and continues dreaming out loud.
“I wish I were married to a CEO. Your life must be so luxurious,” she swoons in a sing-songy voice. “Do you take baths in champagne? How about showering in milk?” I snort ruefully.
“Eeew, that’s gross, and no, I’m not married to the CEO,” I tell her. “At least not yet. Brent is still Executive VP at Carson’s Sporting Goods because it’s my father-in-law who runs the company. You know the old guy who stops by sometimes? Frank.” But then, Kitty’s face crinkles in confusion and she cocks her head at me.
“No, I don’t think so. Don’t hate me for stalking, but I googled your family and a news article came up about your husband being named CEO. Of course, I could be wrong, but let me check again.”
Kitty must be dreaming because Brent would have told me if he’d been named CEO, right? After all, this is what we’ve been waiting for; this is the come-all, be-all. My assistant fumbles for her phone and types something in, her eyes squinting. Then she holds up the screen triumphantly.
“See?” she crows. “I was right. Your father-in-law stepped down, and it’s your husband who’s CEO now. Isn’t that Brent, right there?” she asks, pointing to the handsome man smiling at me on the screen.
I snatch the cell from her and my hands are shaky. What’s going on? Is Kitty mis-reading the article? But sure enough, the headline states, “Frank Carson relinquishes CEO position of Carson’s Sporting Goods to son Brent Carson.” The article goes on about Carson’s stock price, as well as some other business tidbits, but I’m too shocked to read it. My face drains of blood and I stumble over to a bench to sit down.
“Are you okay, Sansa?” Kitty asks, confusion weighing heavily in her voice. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I just thought…”
“No sweetie, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I reassure. Silence reigns for a moment before curiosity takes over. Kitty turns to me, her expression confused.
“But surely you knew, right? Why wouldn’t Brent tell you that he’s the new CEO? Wouldn’t it be a cause for celebration? I swear, I saw this article ages ago. Oh right. Here’s the date: it came out three months ago.”
My heart races as I reach for the phone again. Sure enough, the article was published in the spring, which means that Brent became CEO almost immediately after we were married, and he never said a word. Why?
Because now comes divorce.
The statement rings in my mind and suddenly, I feel nauseous. I sprint to the bathroom, making it just in time to hurl wretchedly as tears fill my eyes. My stomach clenches in on itself and then the nausea comes again, and I let out another stream of horrific brown and green chunks. Meanwhile, Kitty’s footsteps carefully approach from behind and I can feel, if not see, her presence at the doorway.
“Are you okay, Sansa?” she asks nervously. “Do you want some water?”
I shake my head feverishly, reaching for some toilet paper to blot my foul-tasting mouth.
“Yes, I’m alright. You go back to work, and finish getting the store ready to open,” I tell her through heavy pants of acidic breath, but I don’t hear her move. “Don’t worry about me.” Meanwhile, a chilly bead of sweat runs down the center of my back, making me shudder.
But Kitty hesitates.
“Maybe you’re pregnant?” she asks. “Could that be it? I don’t mean to offend you, boss, I’m just saying. My mom had me, and then four more kids, so I know what morning sickness looks like.”