Alice uncrossed her legs and lay back, trying to look relaxed. “In here, Mouse.”
It had always been such a perfect name for Zoe. She was so small and easy to miss, and inclined to scurry away when someone noticed her. A few seconds went by; then Zoe’s dainty little face appeared in the doorway. “Why are you lying down?” she said.
Alice sat up. The girl didn’t miss a trick. “What? Can’t a woman rest?”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “How was your doctor’s appointment today?”
Alice searched for some truth she could tell her daughter—a truth that wasn’t terrifying. “Nothing to worry about,” she said eventually. “Though I do have to have a small surgery on Monday.”
Zoe’s face paled a few shades. Since she was a child she’d been plagued with terror that something would happen to Alice, and even now, whenever Alice seemed threatened with some ailment—be it a dentist appointment or tonsillitis—Zoe was paying attention.
“What’s the surgery for?”
“Gallstones.” Alice hadn’t planned to lie; it just slipped out. Immediately she felt the weight of it.
Zoe dragged in a breath. “But … aren’t gallstones, like, painful?”
“They can be when they flare up,” Alice said, hoping she sounded authoritative. “That’s why they want to take them out—before they cause me any more problems. I’ll have to stay in the hospital for a few days.”
“A few days?” The rest of the color drained from Zoe’s face. “So I’ll stay here by myself?”
Zoe hated being home by herself, even during the day. It was one of the ironies of social anxiety disorder. Zoe didn’t like being by herself; in fact, she wanted nothing more than to be with people and in places surrounded by chatter and noise. Problem was, when she was in that kind of situation, she became so caught up in what everyone thought about her, she either had a panic attack or had to leave.
Unfortunately, staying at a friend’s place wasn’t an option. Apart from an attempt at a sleepover when she was ten (which didn’t end well), she’d never slept anywhere but in her own home in her entire life.
“Maybe you could ask Emily to stay with you?” Alice suggested.
Zoe’s cheeks flushed.
“Mouse?” Alice pressed. “What is it? Did you and Em have a fight?”
“Worse,” Zoe said. “She wants me to go on a double date.”
Alice’s heart plummeted.
“I mean … I can’t go, obviously,” Zoe continued. “But if I don’t, Emily can’t go either. It’s an all-in kind of thing. I don’t know what to do.”
Zoe was fighting back tears and Alice felt a little like crying herself. Not Emily! she wanted to shout to the universe. Not today. What else are you going to take from us today? The arrival of Emily had been a godsend. Since their friendship had started, Zoe had, well, not exactly transformed, but improved. She’d started sitting in the cafeteria during the lunch hour instead of by herself outside on the lawn, and at home she spent hours holed up in her room with Emily, hunched over their cell phones, like normal teens. Occasionally Alice had even heard Zoe use the lingo, like “douche” or “cray-cray” or “I literally can’t” (though immediately she would blush, giving away the fact that it hadn’t come naturally). On the weekends, Zoe and Emily sprawled all over the sofa watching movies while scrolling through Instagram or Facebook or whatever was hip these days. Once Zoe caught her watching them and called her “creepy,” which only made Alice happier. She was the annoying mom! It was all she’d ever wanted to be. It was unthinkable that it could all be taken away from them because of (the lack of) a double date.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Alice asked.
For years they’d played this game when Zoe was afraid to do something. Alice would ask her to come up with the worst thing that could possibly happen; then they’d compare it to something much worse. (“I could fall over and land on my face,” Zoe might say, to which Alice would respond, “Which isn’t bad at all compared to…” “Drowning in elephant poop,” Zoe would finish.) At worst it made them laugh. At best it gave her the courage to do whatever it was she was afraid of.
“I could be humiliated and lose my best friend,” Zoe replied.
“Which would be terrible,” Alice agreed. “But not bad at all, compared to…”
“… something happening to you.” Zoe stepped forward and gave her a sudden, impromptu hug. Talk of gallstones had obviously affected her. Alice tried to swallow, but her throat had suddenly swollen shut.
Zoe pulled away.
“What if I come with you?” Alice joked. “I can wear a disguise and sit in the row behind.”
“Mom!”
“Or I could hang out in the foyer?” Alice grinned.
“No.”
“Or maybe,” Alice said, her smile slipping away, “you can actually do this?”
Alice nodded at Zoe with what she hoped looked like full confidence. She knew that, at best, Zoe would be back within the hour. At worst she wouldn’t make it out the door.
“Without you, you mean?” Zoe asked.
A lump rose in Alice’s throat. Could Zoe do it without her? Zoe looked at her expectantly and finally Alice smiled and nodded. Yes, you can do it without me, her smile said. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
8
At 6 P.M., Kate looked in the mirror, assessing. Her hair, recently cut to shoulder length, fell in carefully constructed haphazard waves. She wore patterned silk pants, a black top, and ankle boots. An oversize beaded necklace to add some festivity. It was, after all, a special occasion. She was rounder, she decided, around the jaw. She’d gained a little weight—two pounds to be exact. Not much, but enough to make it real.
Lately, it seemed, Kate’s number had been two. There was the husband, who was on his second marriage, with two teenage children of his own. Two years of trying for a baby followed by two years of fertility treatments. Two pregnancies, followed by two miscarriages. But this was the third time. Kate hoped that, as the saying went, the third time was the charm.
She turned to the side and pulled her top down so it was taut over her stomach. “What do you think?” she said to David as he entered the bedroom. He glanced over at her for only a second before heading toward the bedside table.
“You look enormous,” he said without missing a beat. “It’s definitely twins.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not twins.”
“Honey,” he said, “every woman wishes she could look like you when she’s pregnant. When Hilary was pregnant with Jake, she looked like she’d swallowed a watermelon. And that was just in the first trimester!”
This was David’s favorite story about his ex-wife; he sometimes teased her about it when she came to pick up the kids.