And men know this—Alice is sure of it. They know it and they’re terrified. Which is why they hold on to their power, why they’ll do anything to promote other men—not women—thus ensuring the status quo. They don’t want women at the top. Having women at the top would mean getting called out for their problematic behavior.
Alice had witnessed this firsthand when she stood up to Professor Keyes. Despite the administration’s unsubtle urges, she had refused to drop her complaint. Back then, she had been certain that the truth would prevail. She had told Jeremy, her boyfriend at the time, about Professor Keyes’s advances right after it happened. She had run to him, crying, visibly shaken. She had told some of her friends, too, on that same night, though they hadn’t seen her like Jeremy had. When she asked them to corroborate her story, their friends said they weren’t comfortable with the attention. They sympathized with Alice, but they feared the backlash. Jessie had been the only one to speak on Alice’s defense, but she had been out of town when the incident happened, which meant that her opinion was swiftly disregarded. And Jeremy—well, he had proven to be a world-class liar and asshole. He came forward, but he flat out denied that Alice had ever mentioned getting assaulted. To make things worse, he claimed she was prone to hysterics, to delusions. That, more than anything, had been the thing that undid her. The reason why she left Wharton two months shy of graduating, forfeiting a degree from one of the most respected MBA programs in the world. It wasn’t just that Alice couldn’t have continued attending Professor Keyes’s lectures; Alice couldn’t bear sharing a space with her traitorous classmates. Not after she was painted as an unstable, untrustworthy woman.
It was only after she left that she realized her mistake. Without a degree, the last two years had gone to waste, at least as far as her resumé was concerned. Alice wasn’t even able to get a recommendation letter from Chris, her former boss at JP Morgan. Things seem really uncertain right now, Alice. We can’t be associated with someone who’s been accused of fabricating outlandish stories. Jeremy, meanwhile, got a job at Professor Keyes’s think tank right after graduation.
Looking back, she wishes she hadn’t been so naive. She should’ve been more cunning. Should’ve gone to see Professor Keyes again, recorded his behavior. Should’ve found a way to trick him into exposing himself as the predator that he was. Alice had made the mistake of assuming she would be believed—she was telling the truth, after all. But women don’t have the privilege of being believed.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Antoinette says, leaning against the railing. “Do you think Bobby would talk to me? On the record, I mean.”
Maybe if you had a Y chromosome, Alice thinks. Instead, she says, “I can ask.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” She looks at Antoinette, thinking back to her both sides to every story comment a few moments ago. “Is this because you think she’ll agree to talk to you? On the record, I mean.”
It’s a confidential bit of information that Antoinette has shared: last week, she reached out to Eva Stone as both a journalist and a new resident of Alma, offering to help tell her side of the story with compassion and impartiality. It’s a long shot—every media outlet has requested an interview with Eva Stone and, so far, she’s refused them all. Alice has mixed feelings about Eva’s circumspection. On the one hand, she understands her strategy—especially given that she’s been receiving threats. Plus, the fact that Eva isn’t seeking out the media reduces the credibility of those who have accused her of coming out against Bobby simply to get her fifteen minutes of fame. On the other hand, Alice wishes she’d go on the offensive, guns blazing. It’s what Bobby deserves. It’s what all abusive men deserve.
“She told me she’s thinking about it,” Antoinette says.
Alice turns to face Antoinette. “She got back to you?”
“She did.” Antoinette smiles. Her tone is hopeful.
Alice feels the same way.
Thirty-One
Gina
Tuesday, October 15th
Gina has a breakfast to prepare. Caroline is finally coming back from her trip.
The contents of her refrigerator stare back at Gina. What should she make? Caroline will be hungry after such a long plane ride. Blueberry pancakes, of course. They’re Caroline’s favorite. And eggs Benedict. Or a frittata—a frittata sounds fun.
A rumbling emerges from her stomach. Hunger. Gina is hungry. It’s been a while since she had an appetite in the mornings. Ever since Bobby left, to be precise.
For years, Gina and Bobby would get up at six-thirty on the dot. Bobby would shower while Gina prepared a breakfast fit for royalty—orange juice, a choice of blueberry pancakes or French toast, and eggs (poached for her, scrambled for him). Bobby would come down just as she was laying the spread on the granite island. They would take their time eating: savoring each bite, reading the newspaper to each other. It had been the perfect start to each day. Their sacred time together, just the two of them. Calan has never been a morning person—breakfast isn’t something he enjoys, it’s something he grabs to-go: a bagel, a piece of fruit, yogurt.
The tableau she’s in—woman wrapped in a pink robe, alone in her kitchen—isn’t one she’s used to. She doesn’t have the big family she’s always hoped for, but their trio had been a close one. They’ve kept her busy. It brings her joy, having people to cook for. Food is togetherness. It’s love. Should she try to take up running again? It’s been so long—too long, perhaps—but maybe her body will remember the euphoric release of the track. Maybe she can spend her mornings doing that instead of cooking breakfast.
She really does miss her morning routine.
She misses Bobby. Misses their life together.
Gina pours herself a cup of tea, wondering what breakfast is like at Nick’s. Do they sit down to eat
