I placed Clara in the stroller and buckled her in quickly, then practically had to run through the WSWC lobby to catch Kira, leaving Selena and Vanessa behind, just outside our meeting room, still chatting and easing Miles and Phoebe into their respective stroller and wrap.
“Kira! Wait up!” I called, nearly crashing into a statuesque brunette woman in a herringbone blazer as I speed walked toward the exit.
Kira halted her headlong rush for the door and turned. “Oh, hi, sorry. Didn’t mean to run out, but I feel like Caleb’s about two minutes away from losing it.” Caleb was in his stroller happily sucking on his shoulder strap, staring at the ceiling. “Anyway, what’s up? How are you?” Her eyes flashed between Caleb and the door, never quite settling on me.
“Yeah, fine. Weird week. Long week. Already. How are you doing?”
“I’m all right. Haven’t been getting much sleep, that’s all, because of a certain someone in purple.” She gestured toward Caleb, as if worried she’d offend him by calling him out directly. “And I’m also very worried for Isabel, too. Goes without saying.”
I nodded in agreement as we exited the WSWC and started walking south on Central Park West. The bright sunlight and crispness of the day were in stark contrast to Kira’s dark undereye circles and mood and the distressing news about Isabel’s rings that we’d discussed inside. “I was curious,” I began. “What do you think of Vanessa’s Montauk invite? Do you think you’re going to be able to go?”
“I don’t know. It sounds great, but I mean, realistically, there’s no freaking way. Plus it’s weird she asked us to go so last minute. If I was going to do a girls’ trip, I would need to prep Jack for, like, weeks ahead of time. I can’t just pitch it to him the day before.”
I knew it wasn’t fair to spring it on Tim, either. And yet, God, I wanted to go. I needed a change of scenery, a palate cleanser, some salty air. Maybe if I went, I would return from Montauk a new woman. That’d be a win for all concerned, wouldn’t it?
“Do you think your mom would help, like Vanessa said?” I pressed, cautiously.
“I’m sure she would be happy to help, and then when I get home, I’ll be subjected to a tirade of criticism masked as ‘helpful advice.’ When she babysits him for an hour, she suggests about fifteen things I should be doing differently with his schedule, his room, his clothes. Can’t imagine the kind of feedback I’d get if she stayed with him for a whole night. So I’m not really jumping at the chance to invite even more of that than usual; I can only take small doses at a time.” I tried not to show any reaction on my face, but what I would have done for any-size dose of my mom—with or without criticism. “And anyway, I’m really not sure how relaxing this night away would be for me. I’d just be worrying the whole time. It’s probably not worth it. It’s easier if I just stay and take care of him myself.” She sounded like me; as hard as it was to do things without help, it was easier, too, in a damning sort of way. She started walking faster, as if she were getting heated as she spoke.
“Are you okay?” I asked her, struggling to catch up again. “You seem . . . stressed. I mean, obviously, all of this”—I gestured vaguely at the babies, back toward the WSWC, the world in general—“is stressful, but you don’t seem like yourself, and we’ve barely talked since Isabel disappeared. I’m—” I stopped myself at telling her I was worried about her; the last thing I wanted to seem was condescending, as if I had my shit together and she didn’t, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. “I just want you to know you can talk to me, if you need to.”
Kira gave me a long look, eyeing me, as if determining how much she could open up to me. Apparently she decided to go for it, because she said, hesitantly, “Do you want to get a drink after all? I could definitely use one.”
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday, October 7
We walked a few more blocks south to Vin Sur Vingt, a cute French wine bar that was usually fairly quiet in the afternoons and surprisingly welcoming of strollers and babies given that it was a French wine bar （though restaurants that weren’t kid friendly around here tended to be quickly and viciously skewered on Upper West Side Moms, a fate I imagined they all wanted to avoid）。
We sat down outside to make stroller parking easier, and since we were both in sweaters and it wasn’t too cold out. We each ordered a Chablis, which appeared moments later in large, cold glasses. Kira took a long sip of her wine—half the glass, practically. Caleb and Clara were both happily sitting in their respective strollers, kicking their legs from under their blankets, seeming to enjoy being outside looking around. Caleb didn’t seem on the verge of a meltdown at all, as Kira had implied while we were leaving the WSWC.