“Also, just, like, ask for help. She’s rich. If you can’t handle the baby, get a nanny. Duh.”
“Totally! She’s loaded! She could have five nannies! And if you’re that depressed, see a doctor? I don’t really get any of it. I’m jealous of how much weight she probably lost, though. Maybe I should do that, too.”
“Ha, same! But really, it’s so bizarre. Or listen, maybe she made up the whole thing. Maybe she was, like, off with her boyfriend for a week and created this whole thing as a cover.”
“In that case, good for her!” They both laughed. “Do you want to get coffee on our way to the park?”
I shot them a death glare, which they didn’t seem to notice, and walked out of the gym before they did. “Sorry about that, Clara,” I murmured as we walked down the sidewalk, not totally sure what I was apologizing for but feeling that it was warranted nonetheless. She smiled up at me.
Her good mood didn’t last, though; she started wailing as soon as we reached the corner. “Shh, shh,” I begged. “It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.”
A woman standing next to me as we waited to cross the street said dryly, “Oh man. Those newborn cries transport me right back. Hang in there. Mine are in school now, but I still remember those first few months.” She shuddered in an exaggerated, funny way. “It gets better. You’re doing great.”
My eyes filled with tears, but I didn’t feel embarrassed, as I would have merely weeks ago. I felt validated and genuinely appreciative. Empowered by the solidarity and strength of the mothers around me.
And grateful to have mom friends who would kill for one another.
Chapter Thirty
Monday, October 12
Later that afternoon, Kira met me outside my apartment, and we walked over to Isabel’s together, single file up Eighty-Eighth Street with our strollers. The street was decorated extravagantly for Halloween: huge inflatable spiders on that fluffy white cotton that could be either a fake spiderweb or fake snow, depending on the holiday. Bats glued to windows. Massive pumpkins with elaborately carved, expressive faces. Upper West Siders go all out for Halloween.
Isabel answered the door. “Hi, girls! Come on in!” She seemed breezy and unbothered, loose cashmere sweater hanging over her thin frame, Naomi on her hip. Selena was already there, sitting barefoot on the floor while Miles gummed Naomi’s shaker. She waved to us and smiled, but I could see the worry on her face.
There was a spread on Isabel’s farm-style table of Orwashers’ sandwiches cut into fourths, their amazing chocolate chip cookies, and of course, two bottles of cold rosé.
“It’s so good to see you guys. I’m happy to be back,” she said, with a wink. We’d wanted to have one last meeting so that we could see each other in person and make sure we were all feeling okay, or as okay as possible, leading up to tonight: essentially, to confirm that no one was backing out. To lead each other off our respective ledges and offer comfort, just as we always had in our group meetings; this time, it just happened to be about something other than our babies. But we’d also agreed to try not to discuss our plan openly again, even behind the closed doors of her home. We had gone over it in Montauk, and we knew what we were doing. It wasn’t worth the risk of accidentally having any type of evidence on our phones or on her Nest cam or having anyone overhear anything at all. We were being careful.
“Vanessa’s on her way,” Isabel informed us, “and she has a surprise.” At that point, I was a hard pass on any more surprises. But her lightness was reassuring.
I poured myself a generous glass of rosé. It would be my only one, though, I promised myself; it was going to be a long day. And night. I needed to stay clear for what was to come. But it was far enough away from nighttime that I thought one glass should be fine. My nerves certainly needed it. “Anyone else?” I asked. Everyone nodded emphatically.
“Connor’s at work, I assume?” Selena asked.
“Of course. He’s not thrilled with me for the media attention.” She smirked. “He values his privacy, after all.”
“Did he . . . buy it?” I ventured cautiously, mouthing the final two words of my sentence.
“I don’t think so, but it doesn’t really matter,” Isabel said with a shrug. “And there’s so much attention on us right now that he can’t take his frustration out on me. He’s on good behavior.” She was right about it not mattering—any opinions Connor had about the true nature of her disappearance would be irrelevant in a matter of hours.