Oh. I thought about this for a long while. Roman and I talked or texted almost every day. He had been out to visit me in LA three times already. And I had visited him in DC twice. His modern condo was sparsely decorated with Cubist art, blown glass, and sharp furniture. Everything about it said, Don’t get too comfortable here, because you won’t be staying long. We went out to a bar one night, planning on playing wingman for each other, like old times. But we got too caught up in our own conversation to look around for prospects. Roman paraded me around his fancy law firm, which seemed to be made entirely of polished mahogany. I saw a man there, and was certain it was the same man in the video who asked Gertrude to support the JDRF. I didn’t ask Roman to confirm because I didn’t need to.
I gazed at the skyline that was still so new to me and answered Ameena. “I guess in a weird way I kind of did end up with him.”
That afternoon, it was my turn to pick Molly up from preschool. I waited in line with the parents and nannies, inching along as each car lovingly scooped up offspring.
Molly wore a yellow dress with pink stripes that day. She would be hard to miss. I watched the other children bound out of school, full of tales and covered in clumps of clay and swipes of Magic Marker. Then I saw her walking out slowly, slumped. Something was very off. I strapped her into the car seat in the back and asked, “What’s wrong, Molly bean?” She shook her head from side to side at first, as if to say, I don’t want to talk about it. But I was good at this game, since it was my job to get people to talk about exactly what they didn’t want to talk about.
By the time we pulled into our driveway I knew all about a little boy named Mason who had been mean to Molly. He called her names, pushed her on the playground, and spit in her hair. Bullying was a hot topic by now. There were school assemblies and public service announcements all about it. The world had gotten better in that way, more aware, but none of this would actually solve the problem.
I looked at Molly and told her, “We can’t stop all the bullies, but don’t be scared. We can stop being the victim.” I saw a flash of strength in her eyes. I knew I wouldn’t need to protect Molly in the same way I’d felt I had to protect Ellie. But I could be a good aunt, and give Molly the tools she needed to protect herself. All the while keeping an eye out for my own bullies to slay.
By the time Ellie got home from work that evening, Molly and I were eating our favorite snack, slices of banana with a little honey drizzled on top, and we were giggling together.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANK YOU:
Josh Turner McGuire. You took a manuscript that was moldering in my laptop and gave me the confidence to dive back in and write a living, breathing novel. You are an incredibly insightful literary manager and a trusted friend.
My editor extraordinaire, Danielle Dieterich. You truly get my voice, and your perceptive guidance elevated this work to heights I could not have achieved without you!
Jess Regel, my literary agent, for taking this on immediately upon reading, believing in it fully, and sharing my passion for murderous antiheroines.
Chad Christopher, my entertainment lawyer, for always having my back.
To my attorney friends, Page Wilkins, Steve Mercer, Sue Mercer, and Allyson Ostrowski, who offered legal advice when I would call them and say, “So if the police thought I killed my husband . . .” and they would say, “Please tell me this is for something you are writing!” And Mike Ferrara, thank you for your legal counsel, but mostly for being a lifelong friend and an indelible muse.
Dr. Stephanie Wells, for talking me through the ins and outs of college cheating. Jennifer Fenten, LMFT, for always being a kind and caring friend, and for walking me through the process of how one becomes a psychologist. Michele Blair and Don Barenfeld, for imparting life-changing wisdom and life-affirming skills fifty minutes at a time.
Randi Barnes, for being my BFF, the angel on my shoulder, and sharing that pi?a colada with me when I finished my first draft. Lisa Dickey, for all the sage advice about publishing, for truly wanting me to succeed, and for helping me spell the hard words.
Dan Bonventre, for reminding me to write a novel. Page one might not have happened without you. Gabe Lewis, for your generosity in friendship and murderous ideas. Thomas Harris, for always believing I could do it. Ashley Platz, for reading an early draft and supporting me mind and body and soul. Hanna Stanbridge and Chris Martin, for always being there to pick me up when I was at wit’s end.
Mother, better known as Susan, for turning me into an avid reader, encouraging me to be an avid writer, and nitpicking to attempted perfection. My siblings, Berns and Chauncey, this is of course a work of fiction, but the loyalty I feel for you certainly helped me imagine.
To all the beloved pets in my life who taught me about unconditional love and unimaginable grief.
My husband, Matt Kay, for supporting me and challenging me and bringing out the best in me. And for loving me when I am at my worst.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sascha Rothchild is an Emmy-nominated screenwriter, who has written and produced lauded shows such as GLOW, The Bold Type, The Baby-Sitters Club, and The Carrie Diaries. In 2015, she was named one of Variety's “10 TV Writers to Watch.” Rothchild has written for LA Weekly, the Los Angeles Times, Elle, and the Miami Herald, and adapted her article, "How to Get Divorced by 30" into both a memoir and a screenplay for Universal Studios. She graduated from the honors program of Boston College summa cum laude, with a major in theater and screenwriting. Blood Sugar is her debut novel.