I glanced over to the mantel above their fireplace at a picture of Connor and Isabel dressed up at a party; he was holding her waist tightly, and she was smiling only slightly, her lips closed. I’d never have thought anything of it before, but now that I knew the truth about their marriage, I could see how uncomfortable she was with his grip on her, how his expression was more smug than happy. Prick, I thought silently. As nervous as I was, I also felt an odd tinge of satisfaction knowing what was coming his way.
Vanessa let herself in, calling “Knock knock!” as she entered. “Hi, everyone!” she exclaimed, parking her stroller behind ours in Isabel’s spacious entryway, unstrapping Phoebe, and kissing her several times as she lifted her out of it. “Sorry we’re late.”
“So what’s the surprise?” Kira asked bluntly, wasting no time. “I’m not sure if I’m really too keen on another surprise, to be honest.” We all laughed lightly; we were past politeness, past pretenses at this point. It was nice.
Vanessa set Phoebe down next to Miles on the play mat. She took a giant white box out of the bottom of her stroller. “Milk Bar cake! Have you guys had this? It’s seriously the best. Cake. Ever.”
We all stared at Vanessa blankly. A murder cake? I thought to myself. Really, Vanessa?
As if reading our minds, Vanessa said quickly, “I know, I know. This isn’t exactly a party. But—well, sorry to be morbid, but today’s Allison’s birthday. I mean, obviously we don’t have to sing or anything weird, but I want Phoebe to be able to celebrate her.” Overcome with emotion, she suddenly flew a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders shook. We circled around her, each putting a hand on her.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m okay. I miss her so much. But I think she would be happy today. Because we’re going to—” She stopped, remembering our rule about not uttering out loud any specifics. “We’re going to do right by her,” she finished. She nodded. “Thank you, guys. Thank you all.”
We looked at each other, and it hit me then that at some point, we’d become actual friends. Not just mom friends. But real ones.
Vanessa disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, and when she came back, she was holding a cake knife. “Jenn, can you do the honors?” she asked. “I need to make up a bottle for this one.” She gestured to Phoebe.
I started cutting slices. Vanessa looked up from the floor where she was feeding Phoebe and laughed. “Um, if you’d ever had this cake before, you’d know we need much bigger pieces than that! You’re fired. Kira, take over please?” I laughed and put my hands up, surrender-style, and handed Kira the knife, relinquishing my duties.
As fun and shockingly normal as our meeting was that day, the goodbye felt heavy. The hugs were loaded; we knew they were the last we’d give as the women we were at this moment. Next time we dispersed from one another, only a few hours from now in the same place, we would all be changed forever—and our bond would truly be irrevocable, for better or for much, much worse.
Chapter Thirty-One
Monday, October 12
That night as I put Clara to sleep, the fears I’d been pushing out of my mind crept in. As much as I’d been trying to play it cool and stay the course, I could no longer deny that I was terrified. After tonight, I would be a murderer, or at least an accomplice to murder. To first-degree, premeditated murder. I was too scared to google the specific types of murder and their usual prison sentences, for fear of having an incriminating Google search history, but I was pretty sure the type of murder we were committing was the worst one. If we got caught, we’d go to jail forever, or at least what would surely feel like it.
And if we didn’t get caught, would I be different after tonight? Because even though we were murdering someone who deserved it, it was still murder. Would I be traumatized, hardened, unable to be myself ever again?
There was an even worse potential outcome, too: that Connor would overpower us, hurt us, kill us.
I let Clara fall asleep nursing. Stay as long as you want, sweet angel, I thought. I had hours until I was expected at Isabel’s. Clara was zipped up in her fleece sleep sack, so cozy, her cheeks so full and soft against my breast. I couldn’t stop stroking her soft, fuzzy peach head. “I love you so much,” I whispered again and again into her hair. “So much.”
She’d been sleeping in my arms for nearly an hour when I finally put her in her bassinet and walked into the kitchen. Normally I’d pour myself a glass of wine at this moment, but I couldn’t tonight. I needed to be totally clearheaded.