I looked down to see a text from Emerson. Call me when you get a few minutes. That really was strange. It was only seven a.m. in LA. My little Emmy was never up that early. She had probably started some new aerial yoga or zum-barre-lates something or other. I had started to dial her when I heard the bell tinkle yet again and had to end the call.
At first, I thought the man walking through the door was a tourist, which was rare this time of year. He was a little bit overweight, and had a ruddy, dark complexion, that particular mixture of too much sun and too much alcohol that makes a face look aged yet somehow youthful, as though the wearer of said face was still squeezing every square inch of fun out of life. “I’m Sheldon,” he said. I instantly remembered the phone conversation from the day before and realized that while, no, he wasn’t someone I would call a friend, I had definitely seen Sheldon around.
“Oh, of course,” I said, walking out from behind the counter. “The fifty-three Huckins Linwood. Thanks so much for getting in touch with me.” Sheldon had called to let me know he had a boat coming in for an extensive rebuild. It had been badly damaged in a recent hurricane off the Florida coast, and Sheldon was one of the foremost experts in the country in its particular make and model. While he was taking care of the structure of things, he asked me if I’d like to come alongside and take care of the, as he put them, “girly parts” of the boat. I would have preferred the term “aesthetic elements,” but, quite frankly, it was winter, business was slow, and I could use the cash.
I could tell already that my new buddy Sheldon was a man of few words. He motioned his head to the door and said, “Well, you want to see it?”
“Oh, now?” I said, grabbing for my jacket and hanging my camera around my neck, thinking that now wasn’t really great, as I had two daughters to call. But this shouldn’t take too long. I could redesign three staterooms and a salon in my sleep.
Little did I know that, after today, sleep wasn’t something I would be getting much of for a long, long time.
TWO
supermodel husband stealer
caroline
I have always, always, for my entire life, wanted to be a mother and nothing more. My sisters find this odd, which I find odd. I mean, sure, I’m honest. But that doesn’t make me unmaternal. I don’t say things to my daughter Vivi like “Don’t eat those Oreos, or you’ll turn into a big fat cow.” I say things like “Sweetheart, too much sugar isn’t healthy for you. It will ruin those beautiful teeth and that perfect complexion.” It’s still true, but it isn’t quite as cutting.
From the time I was a baby, I was always dragging a doll around with me. So when Sloane was born, even though I was only two, I was probably the most excited anyone has ever been. I still remember going to the hospital, climbing into bed with Mom and tiny Sloane, seeing her for the first time, and knowing that my whole life had changed in the best way. Mom says I can’t possibly remember. I’ve just seen so many pictures that I think I remember. But she is wrong. I remember.
Sloane and I have always been close, despite the fact that our lives are scarcely relevant to each other.
So Sloane was the perfect person to drop the bomb on first. She was so selfless. I knew she would soothe my very damaged nerves. We didn’t deserve her, Emerson and I.
The problem was, I couldn’t quite find a way to tell her about James. Instead, I heard myself saying, “I found this little indoor tent that I thought the boys would love, but I didn’t want to spring it on you because I know it will take up a lot of room.”
“Oh, they would love that,” Sloane gushed. “There’s plenty of space in the playroom.”
My phone beeped. “Oh, wait!” I said. “There’s Emmy.” This would be better. I’d tell them together, only have to taste the terrible news in my mouth once. “Hang on a minute, and I’ll merge us all together.”
“OK,” Sloane said. “But don’t cut me off, because I have to tell you—”
Too late.
“Hi there, little Em,” I said. Oh, I loved that girl.
“The best thing has happened!” You could practically hear her glowing from across the miles.
That could mean that she had downloaded a great new song or had found the best new manicurist. Em was overly dramatic on both sides of the spectrum, which is a good quality for an actress. I’ve often envied her ability to get so excited over the smallest things, but the joy wouldn’t be worth how upset she also gets over practically nothing.
“Hold that thought,” I said. “I have Sloane on the other line.”
I merged the calls and knew they were both there when I could hear Emerson’s giggles and Sloane saying, “I know, love bug. But we don’t eat candy in the morning.”
The woman was a saint.
I looked out the window of my apartment. The view of Central Park was going to be hard to leave. I still couldn’t believe I was actually going to do this, move back to a place I couldn’t stand and couldn’t get out of fast enough. But I would love to be in a place for a while where no one had ever heard the name Edie Fitzgerald—or at least didn’t care who she was. Bitch. With her three feet of shiny black hair and eight-foot-long legs.
“What’s going on?” I heard Sloane say.
“I have to leave LA.” Emerson practically cheered, although I couldn’t figure out why that would be a good thing, unless, of course, she was leaving LA for New York. Then it would be the best move ever.
“Oh, my gosh!” I exclaimed. “I’m leaving New York!”
“What?” Sloane chimed in. “Can you breathe if you aren’t in Manhattan?”
When I laughed, it felt like a reflex, not true joy. I knew I could be real with my sisters. I knew I could relay my devastation to them, that they would be able to feel it no matter how nonchalant I acted. But I couldn’t go there yet. I had to be strong just a little bit longer. “We’ll see,” I said breezily. “I’m flying south. I have been the victim of a supermodel husband stealer.”
“No!” Emerson gasped. “But Caroline!” Her elation had turned to devastation on a dime. “You’re pregnant.”
The baby kicked right at that moment, as if knowing that he or she was being talked about. I rubbed my belly. I was excited that we didn’t know what this one was. We. It was depressing to realize that “we” just meant Vivi and me now. No more James. I felt my throat go thick. Nope. He didn’t deserve my tears.
I looked down at my shoes, wondering if they were actually as cute as I’d thought they were in the store. Of course they were, I decided. But once the man who is supposed to be your forever leaves you for a supermodel, you start to doubt every choice you make. What if I’ve been drinking almond milk but I should have been drinking cashew? What if we find out in twenty years that casein really is good for you? Every small decision is suddenly under the microscope, another example of how acutely I have mismanaged our lives.