“You don’t look a day over eighteen.”
Gina feels the pulse in her neck throbbing. It’s flattery, of course. But it still gets to her. She rearranges her expression so that she looks annoyed. “Does that type of line generally work?”
“Wouldn’t know. I’m a married man.”
Gina gets up and fixes him a glass of iced tea: three cubes of ice, one slice of lime, one slice of lemon. It’s his drink, even in the winter. That and gin.
“Speaking of which, is it true?” Nick asks, taking the glass. “Are you two friends now?”
Gina cocks her head to the side. Is that what Alice has told him?
“She’s been great, actually.” It’s true. Alice had helped Gina find an outfit for the Pink October Fundraiser and she had arranged for an Uber to take Gina home after it became clear she couldn’t stay at the party. She hasn’t stopped trying to advance her feminist agenda—just yesterday she had dropped off two books that Gina will never read in a million years: Rage Becomes Her and Bad Feminist. Still, that’s just Alice being Alice. Friends might be a bit of an overstatement, but her sister-in-law has been surprisingly helpful and kind.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Nick says.
“Why? We have enough in common.”
Nick throws his head back and laughs.
“The ASC, your mom, the same last name…”
“Me,” he adds.
“Oh yeah,” Gina says. “I had forgotten.”
Nick stares at her for a while, smiling. She hates it when he does that: stares at her at length, in silence. She’s always the first to break eye contact.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers.
“Don’t.” She looks away, swallowing a smile.
The moment passes. It always does.
“Speaking of unlikely alliances, is it true our au pair is dating Calan?” Nick sips his drink. “They looked pretty chummy at the fundraiser.”
It’s her one good memory of the party, seeing her son happy. It’s why she’d gone to the event in the first place. She had spent the better part of the night watching Calan make his way around the ballroom with Malaika in his arm, looking happy in public for the first time in… how long has it been? The moment would have been perfect were it not for the fact that Gina hadn’t been able to share it with Bobby.
“They’re just friends.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“He’s a teenager.” Gina rolls her eyes. “I can’t be sure of anything about his life.” In reality, Gina is absolutely certain that they are just friends—a mother knows these things. But this is the effect Nick has on her, the effect he’s always had on her: turning her into a looser, more carefree version of herself: Gina unplugged. “You came all the way here to ask about Malaika and Calan?”
“A brother-in-law can’t check on his sister-in-law?” The in-law is always there when they reference their familial ties. They’ve never graduated to calling themselves brother and sister. For obvious reasons.
“You haven’t until now.”
“I figured you’d call me if you wanted to talk.” A beat. “And I heard about Missy.”
Ah, of course. Tish would’ve told him. Or Alice.
Missy had announced her candidacy for ASC president during today’s meeting. Gina had been floored—not just because she hadn’t expected it, but because it became clear, by scanning the faces in the room, that some people had known about it beforehand.
“She has every right to run,” Gina says. “Besides, your mom seems to think she’ll drop out.” Tish’s exact words had been: I won’t stand for a coup d’état.
“No one’s going to vote for her.”
“They might,” Gina says. The realization dawned on her after the meeting: people might not want Gina as president. They might think her unfit, unqualified. The president is always a Dewar wife—and Gina and Bobby aren’t living under the same roof anymore. If they’re already going to break with tradition, why not vote for Missy?
Gina feels silly admitting as much, but she’s never before considered how much of her good standing in town, how much of her personhood, is tied to being a Dewar. Without Bobby, her position is fragile, impermanent. A kite floating in the sky.
“So how have you been, really?” Nick looks at her meaningfully.
“I’m… hanging in there.” A pause. “I was fine until I heard about the pregnancy.”
The truth is that Gina had been optimistic. Bobby had assured her they’d soon have a report from the independent firm, which would conclusively disprove Eva’s allegations. Holly had shared an opinion piece on Facebook where the author argued that, if Eva and Bobby had really had an affair, then she’d be able to come forward with a lot more evidence than her word and a crass email. Plus, the flurry of tweets on social media against Bobby were making her defensive of her husband. Why should the #MeToo hashtag be attached to a man who, at the most, had a consensual affair? It took away from the legitimate #MeToo claims. Surely, people could see that.
“Assuming it’s even real, I mean,” Gina adds.
Eva hasn’t officially come forward with news of her pregnancy, despite the fact that someone leaked an ultrasound with her name on it. Bobby thinks it’s because she’s lying, deliberately leaking misinformation to create chaos at Alma Boots. That ultrasound could belong to anyone. Gina isn’t so sure. No woman announces she’s pregnant in the first trimester. It’s too risky.
Still, that doesn’t explain Eva’s radio silence on social media. Or the fact that she hasn’t filed a lawsuit—against the company or against Bobby. Bobby’s supporters say she’s retreating, that it’s proof she’s been lying from the start. Her supporters say it’s because she’s understandably scared—she’s been getting anonymous death threats. Either way, the story has now grown legs of its own. Eva’s presence is no longer required. Everyone knows about the pregnancy, even if the media is using words like alleged and supposed when referring to it.
They sit in silence for a moment. Then, Gina sighs. “Why is this happening, Nick?”
“I have no idea.” Nick’s jaw is set, and his gaze is fixed
