happen for him with this graphic design lesson.
“Just line it up,” Rachel encouraged. “Don’t overthink.”
Most days, her uncanny ability to find solutions to client issues was outweighed only by her inability to deal with her own crap. Sometimes she even considered taking up the joke-cracking schtick that worked so well for her brothers and parents.
“I can’t get it. I’m telling you,” he replied, frustration lacing his tone.
Man, she did not have time for this. She had to get out the door. They’d need to reschedule for later, which stunk because she didn’t have time later.
Hell, she didn’t have time now.
“Okay, wait, I think I did it.” James sounded as relieved as she felt.
Thank goodness. She glanced at his work-in-progress on the screen of her laptop. Oh, thank, thank, thank goodness. Yes, he had it. She released a long breath.
“I can’t believe I got it.” He laughed, switching the video monitor from the graphic design program on the screen to his webcam. “You’re the best, Rachel.”
He gave her two thumbs up.
Even though he couldn’t see her, Rachel couldn’t help it…she smiled. One more happy client. She’d been working with him for the past hour so he could create his own graphics for his start-up company. He’d finally figured out how to copy and paste and now he knew how to move the images around. Perfection by degrees. Her motto in process.
“I’ll practice some more and then we can chat in a few days,” he said, the pleased tone of his words causing that bloom of pride she adored so much in her job.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Rachel said, raising her voice into the speaker of the MacBook placed precariously on the edge of her dresser. She’d set down the computer so she could simultaneously apply her eye makeup while observing his progression on the screen.
They said their goodbyes, and she closed the laptop. Then she yawned. Last night had been another doozy. Could she get away with crawling into bed to sleep for the next eight hours? No. She could not.
Because the load of shit that needed to be done would not do itself.
That was the answer to that.
Accepting her newest client (the Australia guy) was the perfect supplement to her income. Unfortunately, she’d never been good at pulling all-nighters. Not even when she’d been an undergrad or when her twins were teeny tiny, itsy-bitsy, cutie patootie babies.
One step at a time, one project at a time, one client at a time, she was making all the things happen all the time. After all, the difference between boiling water and hot water was only one degree.
The difference between crossing the finish line in first place or second place was usually a matter of millimeters.
And the difference between “horribly late” and “let’s just reschedule” was nearly always separated by Rachel’s underestimation of time management.
“Rach?” her best friend Molly called from downstairs. “C’mon, hustle up. We’re going to be late.”
Yes, they were. But what was she supposed to say when James had needed an extra hour this afternoon? She did what she always did. Solved. The. Freaking. Problem.
“Coming,” Rachel hollered, hoping her voice carried out the door and down the staircase.
“Late,” Molly called back.
“Two seconds,” Rachel called again. Rubbing the remnants of concealer over the dark bags that seemed to have permanent residence under her eyes, she quickly pulled her hair up into a twist, securing it with some corkscrew bobby pins her mother-in-law insisted she try.
Former mother-in-law.
The meemaw to her twin boys.
The momster who usually always got whatever she wanted, even though Rachel couldn’t quite figure out how she did it.
A quick pop on the scale on her way out of the bathroom and she’d be on her way. One swift step. She could do this. Gah. She hated this part of the day.
She closed her eyes when the digital display blinked, and she considered whether the three cookies she’d eaten after lunch were going to prove to ruin her afternoon. Deep breath and she opened her eyes, glancing down.
Shit.
Damn, that thing was being a total asshole.
For the record, she’d eat the cookies again just to spite it.
Also, they were really yummy and a gift from a client. They’d arrived at her doorstep warm—with bonus ice cream—and what was she supposed to do? They were meant to be eaten warm. So she ate them…warm. That was what one did with divine cookies.
“Rachel, seriously,” Molly called, but her tone sounded as though she’d just discovered the remnants of a