“Then challenge accepted. Tell me everything.”
“There’s not a lot else to tell other than gossip and hearsay, which, while entertaining, probably isn’t going to cut it for this purpose. Give me a day, and I’ll dig around and see what I can come up with.”
“You’re the best, Kels.”
“Yeah ... yeah. I know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, girl. Get your beauty sleep so I don’t have to spackle concealer all over dark circles under your eyes.”
“I will. Promise.” She can’t see that I’m crossing my fingers as I lie to her, but she knows me too well.
“Liar.” She makes a kissing noise and hangs up.
I lower my phone and then take it and my laptop and head for my bedroom. It’s an over-the-top feminine space, with pale yellow walls that soothe me when I’m stressed out, a cream, pale blue, and dove-gray bedroom set and coordinating drapes, mixed with antique furniture and fluffy pillows that are delicate enough to send any man running.
I suppose I can see why Chadwick isn’t a fan, but that doesn’t mean I’m changing a thing. I like my space. I love coming in here after a long day to unwind with a drink and whatever work I didn’t finish. Which is exactly what I’m going to do tonight—review financials on my laptop, withCharlie’s Angelson the TV for background noise, and as an incentive, a little bit of social media time to catch up on my favorite accounts.
But, first, I head to the bathroom. The color scheme extends in here, with cream subway tile, light gray paint, and cheery yellow and blue towels. After showering and applying my skin care regime—something my mother taught me from a very young age—I tug the belt tighter on my thick cotton robe and pop on my blue-light-blocking glasses and fix the messy bun about to tumble down my face.
Now I’m ready for bed, or rather, to work in bed. Welcome to the glamorous life of being an entrepreneur. Always more to do, and never enough hours in the day to get it all done.
After moving the decorative pillows, I burrow under the duvet and cue up an episode. I should dive right into numbers, but first things first ...
I pick up my phone and tap the app of my favorite social media platform, the one I like to consider my window into everyone else’s worlds. I think I love it the most because I’m a visual person, courtesy of my mother. I also love the ability to search hashtags to get me to exactly the content I want to see. And tonight, like almost every other night, I type in my favorite:#LifeIsMessy.
I have to scroll down the feed a little way before I start to see what I’m looking for. Three toddlers covered in flour, one with her hands in a bowl, one proudly holding up a ball of dough, and the other staring at the wall.
Oh my God. They’re getting so big.
Yes, I know I sound like a stalker, but the account is public, and I absolutely love the Winston triplets. Their mom, a thirty-something woman named Tina who lives in North Carolina, doesn’t have many followers, but that’s not what she’s about. I click on her handle, MomOutNumbered, and smile when I see a photo of Tina with her hair in a messy bun that looks a lot like mine, except she has three toddlers using her body as a jungle gym.
The caption reads:
I don’t know what day it is, what time it is, or what I’m supposed to be doing right now, but I don’t care. #LifeIsMessy #MomOutNumbered #TripletLife #EnjoyEveryMoment
A shot of longing rips through my body.
Families living messy lives are my weakness. They’re not my target market. They truly don’t give a damn about staging the perfect photo, or algorithms and engagement, or likes and followers. They’re justreal.
In my world, that’s a rarity. The people who run in my circles are obsessed with appearances and image. They only show something “real” when the post is designed to elicit shock and awe and a massive comment tally.
So, why do I do what I do? Because I love it. It keeps me trying to come up with new and original ideas. It makes me work harder and think outside the box.
Still, I have to have my daily dose ofrealto keep me grounded. Because lifeismessy, and this reminder keeps me focused on where I’m headed. Not perfection, because that doesn’t exist. But my own little slice of messiness that’ll fuel my soul to take on the next challenge.
I’ll have what Tina Winston has someday. Well, likely not triplets, but when I’m ready to take the plunge ... I want a messy family too. Whenever that might be. Withwhoeverthat might be.
I should be thinking about Chadwick and making a real go at things with him when I peep in on the account of a young couple in Brooklyn who just had their first baby.
Rona’s been posting hilarious stuff with the hashtag#WhatTheyDontTellYouAboutBabies,and her authenticity is inspiring. I’m also slightly terrified to have a baby now becausegood Lord, do they ever stop with the bodily fluids?No wonder she loves#LifeIsMessybecause it’s appropriate. So appropriate that I can’t imagine Chadwick getting spit-up on his suit and tie and being okay with it. Luckily, Rona has Ben, who is a great sport and gets up to bring her the baby for nighttime feedings. I think I’m a little in love with him just for that.
Again, the thought of Chadwick doing anything remotely like that results in a totally blank image in my brain. I just can’t picture it.
Which is fine,I remind myself.I don’t have to figure it all out tonight.
I spend a few more minutes checking other accounts for updates before I finally tear myself away from the phone.
Enough fun stuff. Now, work.
I yawn, wondering how long I’ll be able to go tonight. It’s my personal mission to beat my productivity from yesterday, so I push through the fatigue and stare at numbers, making notes until my eyes cross.