“I’ve only passed out once in my life and it was when I was pre—” She stopped, and Mary felt the muscles around her eyes twitch. She felt her features slide into an expression; she was giving herself away. Vivienne cleared her throat and finished the sentence. “It was when I was pregnant, Mary. With you.”
Still Mary said nothing, but she knew, she could tell by the change in the atmosphere, that the secret was out. She watched Vivienne’s eyes fill; Vivienne batted at them like a mass of hornets was flying around her. “Are you pregnant?” Thankfully Vivienne lowered her voice to an almost-appropriate level and everyone else in the café was otherwise engaged. Mary nodded, mute.
Vivienne took a minute before she said anything and Mary had the feeling that things could go one of any number of ways.
“This is such bullshit, Mary,” Vivienne said finally.
Or not. There was really only one way it was ever going to go.
“I know.”
“This is such goddamn bullshit. I cannot believe that I’m going to be a thirty-six-year-old grandmother.”
“You’ll be thirty-seven,” whispered Mary. “In January.”
Vivienne didn’t answer that; she folded her arms and would have stared into Mary’s eyes except that Mary kept her own eyes lowered.
“Sorry,” whispered Mary.
The three customers had taken to-go cups. They were dressed for sailing, with rich-people’s caps and belted shorts in tan and navy and white.
Daphne moved toward the table and said, “Everything okay, you two?”
“Yup,” said Mary.
“Nope,” said Vivienne, and Daphne laughed uncertainly and said, “A couple more minutes and we’ll need you back behind the counter, Mary.”
“Of course,” said Mary pleasantly. She had put back on her mask, the mask of a person who was not having this conversation.
Vivienne batted some more at her eyes and hissed, “Shit, Mary, I just got my eyelashes done yesterday, I’m not supposed to cry for twenty-four hours.”
“Sorry,” said Mary again. She was so very sorry, for so many things.
Vivienne blinked wildly and stared at the ceiling, like she was willing the tears to go back where they came from. “Forget it,” she said finally, returning her gaze to Mary. “I did a two-hour process on Trisha from Your Eyes Only last week for nothing but a tip. She can fix up my goddamn eyelashes on Monday.” Then, unexpectedly, she reached over and grabbed Mary in an aggressive hug that nearly took the wind out of her. “Oh, Mary, Mary,” she said into Mary’s hair. “Mary. What are we going to do?”
Mary felt a pang of something: guilt, or regret, or sorrow. But she also felt something else. Inevitability. This wasn’t like talking about it with total strangers at the clinic who saw dozens of teens a day or a week. This was her mother. The fact of Mary’s pregnancy was real now, it was out there, and there was no going back now, only forward forward forward in whichever direction she decided to go.
She didn’t answer the question; she didn’t know the answer. “Want a coffee?” she asked after Vivienne peeled herself away. “Let me make you a cappuccino.” She didn’t wait for a reply and started toward the counter.
“Boy trouble,” she said, in answer to Andi’s raised eyebrow over the coffee machine. Let them think it was Vivienne’s trouble. Vivienne sure thought all the trouble was hers.
16
BARTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Eliza
On the way to the boat on the Fourth of July, Eliza checked Zoe’s Instagram feed without letting Zoe see that that’s what she was doing. The latest post, a photo of Zoe and Sofia jumping together into the pool at the club, both of their bodies squinched up for a cannonball, had garnered eighty-three likes. Eliza wondered who had taken the photo. Probably Evie; she was a secret whiz with the camera.
The comments on the cannonball photo said things like omg you two are awesome and so gorgeous. It seemed a little bit over the top for a simple shot, but when Eliza checked the rest of the feed she saw that all of the comments on all of the posts included similar hyperbole. Then she checked the posts Zoe had commented on and found the exact same thing: lots of hearts, lots of gorgeous this and awesome that over the most mundane of subject matters. She scrolled down more and noticed a comment from @rackleyj02. Jackie used lots of pretty emojis and was super extravagant with the compliments. Little two-faced bitch.
This was like anti-bullying, in a way: instead of putting each other down there was a constant buildup of ego and confidence, confusing in its own way. She sighed. How exhausting it must be, to be young, in this world.
“No electronics on the boat,” said Evie not so long after that, standing bossily over Eliza. She was wearing a two-piece stars-and-stripes Ralph Lauren bathing suit that Judith had bought her especially for the Fourth of July. Judith and Ralph Lauren were both patriotic to the core. Judith had brought one for Zoe too, but Zoe refused to wear it for some unidentified thirteen-year-old-girl reason. “I hope she doesn’t think she’s fat,” Eliza had said to Rob, but she didn’t dare ask Zoe, because what if she put ideas into her head. Zoe currently had the shape and fat content of a straight pin, but of course she couldn’t see that.
“I know, sweetie,” said Eliza to Evie. “I know. But this is important.”
“That’s your rule, Mom, if I’m not allowed to bring my iPad you shouldn’t be allowed to have your phone.”
“Just a second, honey, I’m in the middle of something…”
When Eliza first got back to Barton, Charlie’s health problems had seemed eminently repairable. She had money, she had time, she could fix this! All she needed was some thinking time to figure out how to get him to Boston to see a good doctor, to set up an initial appointment, maybe get him enrolled in a trial. There were always new trials, new treatments. Always.
“Mom.”
“No, I know, you’re right, Evie, you really are right. I’ll put it away. Look! I’m powering it all the way down. I’m putting it down here, not in my pocket. You’re right, it’s my rule, I should follow it.”