“No,” he said, even though she could tell he was tired. Amelia was lying on the floor, her head in her hands. “Where’s Daddy?” she said, echoing Owen. “I want Daddy to put me to bed.”
She and Dan had never had an explicit conversation about Sabrina being in charge of almost everything related to the kids. Maybe it was because she had been a stay-at-home mom for a while, and they’d just fallen into this pattern that was growing increasingly difficult to break. Sabrina didn’t blame Dan, exactly, for the way things were now, but she couldn’t help but think that someone who was more supportive, more attuned to her needs, would have realized that even if she wasn’t completely miserable, she was stuck in a rut that there was no escaping. Her sophomore-year roommate at Wesleyan had founded a huge flash-sale website and was worth millions. Every so often Sabrina ran into her in the neighborhood—she and her husband owned a penthouse apartment on Prospect Park West—and she would look at Sabrina with what seemed to be a mix of concern and pity. In college Sabrina had been the smart and pretty one. Now she was the tired one.
And the poor one. Yes, they technically had more money coming in than when she’d been staying at home, but somehow it seemed to get eaten up at an even faster rate. It felt like she was only working to pay the nanny and Amelia’s school.
But there was something else, something that she had yet to confess to Dan or Natalie or anyone. Her shopping habit had started gradually, with things that the kids needed, like boots and winter coats. Then there were things, like clogs in three different colors from the No. 6 store, that she wanted. That she deserved. She didn’t miss being a stay-at-home mom, but now that she was working, it was so easy to look back nostalgically on having time to do the laundry and go grocery shopping, even take the occasional yoga class or have coffee with a friend. The only thing that brought relief was going on her phone and clicking through on the dozens of emails she got each day from Madewell, or Saks, or Creatures of Comfort, or, really, anywhere. When they arrived, the purchases weren’t hard to hide; she was always the first one to get the mail, and she quickly got rid of the packaging in the building’s trash room. The clothes and shoes were quietly camouflaged in their shared, chaotic closet. And it wasn’t like Dan would ever notice that she had a whole new wardrobe because she rarely actually wore most of the stuff she bought, the $120 super-soft Vince T-shirts and the $450 Rachel Comey ankle boots and the $55 Wolford tights so silky and sheer that she was afraid to take them out of the packaging. It just comforted her to know that they were there.
Shit. It was almost nine and Owen and Amelia were still in the living room. “C’mon, guys,” she said. “Time for bed. Daddy will come say good night when he gets home.” They were too tired to resist as she pulled them up from their seats and half dragged them into their shared bedroom. When they fell asleep, she allowed herself to entertain the idea of actually going to Andrew Shepard’s dinner party tomorrow. Drinking a couple glasses of wine. Eating a delicious meal. Having conversations with people who weren’t Dan or her coworkers, Isabel excluded. She was so comfortable in this fantasy that she didn’t realize she had fallen asleep on the couch until she woke up with a start when she heard a key turn in the lock. “Who’s there,” she said with the confusion of the half-asleep.
“Ssshh,” Dan said, slinking into the room and quickly closing the door behind him. She could smell the alcohol from ten feet away. He was walking toward her when he tripped on the pair of clogs she’d left in the middle of the living room, and she had to suppress a laugh. “Real funny,” he said. “Would it kill you to put your shoes away?”
“Sorry. You’re the first person who’s tripped on them.” He glared at her. “I need a favor, by the way,” she said. “There’s a work thing tomorrow night that I have to go to. Can you be home by six?” She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to go to the dinner party until she saw her husband walk in the door, bringing with him every resentment toward him she’d ever felt.
Dan sighed. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot going on at work.”
“I have literally not once asked you to be home before me since I started work,” she said. She was trying to keep her voice down because she didn’t want to wake up Owen and Amelia, but she really wanted to yell at him and throw something, preferably a clog. “It’s one time. Please?”
Dan was looking at her as though trying to judge how much he could push her. He sighed again—dramatically, she thought. “Fine. But really, couldn’t you give me more notice next time?”
“It was a last-minute thing. Anyway, thanks, I really do appreciate it.” Dan went into the bedroom without saying another word. She took out her phone and emailed Isabel that she was in for the party.
7
Pitch Perfect