I didn’t expect an answer until morning.

My phone buzzed four minutes later.

EMMA. YES. Monday. 9 a.m. I’ll send you the address. I’m so happy I could scream. Actually I just did. My husband is asking what’s wrong. — R.

I put my hand over my mouth.

And for the first time all night, I laughed.

Then I turned to a fresh page in my old notebook.

I picked up a pen.

And I started making a plan.

It took me until almost three in the morning.

By the time I was done, I had two pages, typed up and printed out on our home printer, as quietly as I could, so it wouldn’t wake anybody.

The next morning, my husband was going to find out that I could be a lot more expensive than he’d ever imagined.

Daniel came into the kitchen at eight-thirty on Sunday morning while I was making pancakes.

He was in his sweatpants and an old college T-shirt. His hair was sticking up in the back. He looked a little sheepish.

He came up behind me at the stove and kissed my cheek.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “Sorry about last night. Didn’t mean it.”

I flipped a pancake.

“Everything’s fine,” I said.

He looked relieved. His whole body relaxed. Like he’d been bracing for a fight and was glad he didn’t have to have one.

“Good,” he said. “Great. Coffee ready?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “But first, I have something for you.”

I reached into the pocket of my bathrobe and took out the papers. I’d folded them in thirds, like a letter.

I slid them across the counter to him.

Daniel picked them up. He unfolded the first page.

He read it out loud. Slowly. Like he wasn’t sure he was reading it right.

“Two Weeks’ Notice. Position: Unpaid Household Manager.”

He looked up at me. Then he laughed.

“What’s this?”

“My resignation,” I said.

“From being a housewife?”

“From being your unpaid housekeeper,” I said.

I put two pancakes on a plate and set it in front of him.

His smile disappeared.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Very funny. Who’s going to hire you, Emma? You’ve been home for eight years!”

“Remember Rachel?” I said. “My old boss?”

He frowned. “The one with the earrings?”

“She owns her own event-planning agency now. Kim and Company. It’s doing really well. She’s offered me a paid trial. Two weeks.” I poured his coffee. “Starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Daniel said. “Emma, we have children!”

“Exactly,” I said. “Which brings me to page two.”

He turned to the second page.

It was a schedule. A weekly schedule, Monday through Sunday, in a neat chart. I’d made it the way I used to make event timelines for weddings. Color-coded. Every task. Every time.

He read it out loud.

“Monday: Pick up kids from after-care at six. Cook dinner. Tuesday: Laundry. Kids’ clothes and yours. Wednesday: Help Lily with her school project…”

He looked up at me.

“And that’s just the beginning,” I said. “There’s more on the back.”

He flipped it over.

Thursday: Grocery shopping. Noah’s dentist appointment at 4:15. Friday: Clean bathrooms. Pay the electric bill. Sign Lily’s reading log. Saturday: Noah’s soccer at 9. Lily’s birthday party invitation for Maya at 2 — buy a gift. Sunday: Meal plan for the week. Update the shared calendar.

Daniel put the paper down.

“I’m not coming home from work to cook!” he said.

“Then we can hire someone,” I said calmly. “I calculated the market rates.”

I handed him the third page. I’d saved it for last.

It was a chart. On the left side, every job I did in our house. On the right side, what it would cost to hire someone to do it. I’d looked up the real prices in our area. Nannies. Housekeepers. Personal chefs. Laundry services. Tutors. Personal assistants. Drivers.

At the bottom, I’d added it all up.

The weekly total. The monthly total. The yearly total.

Daniel studied the numbers for a long time.

His face changed a few times while he read. First he looked annoyed. Then he looked confused. Then he got to the bottom of the page and looked at the yearly total, and his mouth fell open a little.

“That’s ridiculous!” he said.

“Those are the services I’ve been providing,” I said. “For free. For eight years.”

“We’re not paying strangers to do things you can do!”

“Then we share them,” I said.

Daniel pushed the papers away across the counter.

He sat there with his arms crossed, staring at his pancakes. Just staring at them. Like they’d personally betrayed him.

I waited.

Finally, he picked up his fork.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. How hard can dinner and laundry be?”

I smiled.

“Wonderful,” I said.

That was only the first part of my plan.

I’d saved the real surprise for later.

Monday morning, I put on a blazer I hadn’t worn in eight years.

It was navy blue. I’d bought it for a big client presentation the year before Lily was born. I’d found it in the back of the closet on Sunday night, in a dry-cleaning bag, still with the paper tag on the hanger. It was a little tight across the shoulders now. I didn’t care.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and looked at myself.

Mascara. I hadn’t worn mascara on a Monday in eight years. Earrings. A little lipstick.

I looked like someone I used to know.

“What if I’ve forgotten everything?” I whispered to the mirror.

“Forgotten what, Mommy?”

Lily was standing in the bathroom doorway in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a bird’s nest.

“How to do my old job,” I said.

She looked at me in the mirror. Then she grinned. Her two front teeth were still growing in, too big for her face.

“You remember everything for us,” she said. “You remember when my library books are due. You remember Noah’s shark’s birthday.”

Bruce the shark’s birthday was March fourteenth. We had a small party every year. With a cupcake.

I laughed.

“Let’s hope so,” I said.

She came into the bathroom and looked up at me.

“Mommy,” she said. “You look important.”

“Let’s start with employed,” I said.

Daniel appeared in the doorway behind her. He was in his suit, holding his coffee. He looked at my blazer for a long moment. Something moved across his face that I couldn’t read.

“Remember,” he said, “I’ve got a late meeting tonight.”

“Then move it,” I said. “Pickup’s at six. It’s on the calendar. And the dinner ingredients are on the grocery list on the fridge.”

He opened his mouth.

I kissed him on the cheek, grabbed my purse, and walked out the door.

Kim & Co. Events was in a renovated old brick building downtown, above a coffee shop. There were big windows and exposed brick walls and long wooden tables covered in fabric swatches and seating charts. Somebody was playing music. Six people were working, typing, talking on phones.

Rachel saw me in the doorway and screamed.

She actually screamed. Everyone in the office turned around. She ran across the room in her heels and threw her arms around me.

Her earrings were even bigger than I remembered.

“You came,” she said. “You actually came. I was so sure you’d chicken out.”

“I almost did,” I said. “Twice. In the parking lot.”

“Well, you’re here now,” she said. She took my arm and pulled me into the room. “Everyone! This is Emma. She’s the best coordinator I ever worked with. She once got a wedding cake across town in a snowstorm in the back of a minivan with the seats taken out. Don’t let the hiccups fool you.”

Hic.

Everyone laughed. Even me.

 

Click here to continue reading PART 3: My Husband Always Paid For His Friends Until I Taught Him A Lesson