“The Facebook page administrator is this older guy, Jeff Crosetti. Lives on Brookdale. Want me to try and reach out to him?”
“Please, Leah, can you? I need this taken down before anyone sees it.”
“Too late for that. There are like a dozen—wait, hold on.” I hear clicking in the background. “There are like twenty-five responses. It’s like the whole neighborhood is on this thread.” A sharp intake of breath. “Oh no, this isn’t good.”
“What? What is it?”
“Can you come over? You need to see this. I’d come to you, but David’s working late, and Dustin’s not home yet to watch Ava.”
“I’m out at dinner. I can come by after.”
Right after we say our goodbyes, I realize I never figured out how she learned about my fake Tinder account. I hear the bathroom door swoosh open and the sound of high heels click across the tiled floor. I peer under the stall door and recognize Caitlin’s nude pumps.
“You in here, Allie?” Caitlin calls out in her singsong voice.
I flush the toilet, giving myself a few extra moments to pull myself together. “Yup, right here.”
I open the door to see my sister-in-law preening in the mirror. She has Mark’s coloring—dark brown hair and eyes, and the kind of skin that turns bronze while walking from the car to the house. She styles herself after Jackie Kennedy circa 1960—bobbed hair, pearls, and sheath dresses. “You’ve been in here a long time. We were getting worried.” She takes out a tube of pink lip gloss and begins applying it.
At the sink next to her, I pump one, two, then three foamy globs of hand soap into my palms and take my time washing my hands, hoping Caitlin doesn’t notice they are trembling.
She doesn’t. She’s too busy baring her teeth in the mirror, looking for food. “I found a great therapist for you and Mark.”
My jaw drops open.
She turns from the mirror to me. “Oh gosh, I hope you’re not upset that he told me you guys were having problems.”
“We’re not having problems,” I say calmly, but inside, I am roiling. The thought of Mark discussing our problems with his sister galls me.
“I mean, I’m honestly so happy that you even made it this far. We always thought he would end up with Molly, you know?”
I blink hard. The name Molly stings. She was Mark’s college girlfriend, an award-winning equestrian from an old-money Virginia family. There was talk of an engagement, but she broke it off.
“Mmmm,” I say and pretend to search my bag for my lipstick.
“But then whoopsie!” She smacks her lips at the mirror. “An accidental pregnancy. I really applaud you guys for trying to make it work.”
“Thank you.”
“Seriously! At first, Mother and I were like, what is the deal? This girl gets pregnant right when Mark makes partner. Hello, gold digger alert!” Caitlin lets out a shrill laugh and pops her lipstick back in her bag. “Kidding! You know we’re crazy about you and Cole. That’s why we’re worried.” She turns and makes a frowny face.
“Well, I’m fine, thanks.” One last look in the mirror tells me I’m doing a good job of hiding the rage building within. Mark needs to know he should not be talking to Caitlin about our private business.
“Cole looks adorbs in those teeny khakis,” Caitlin says. “He’s like a mini-Mark.”
“We’d better head back. People will think we got lost.” I’m done with being fake nice. I move toward the door, but Caitlin takes a quick step to block me. A former Division I field hockey player, Caitlin moves with grace and speed. She leans in to my face, so close I can see the powder collecting in the pores of her skin.
“Just a heads-up—when you and Mark get divorced, I’m going to fight to get Cole.”
I jerk back, startled.
Caitlin throws her head back and roars. I can smell the wine on her. “Kidding! You should see the look on your face!”
21
On the drive home, Cole jabbers on about Piper, a girl in his class who has been keeping him from the monkey bars on the playground. Mark offers gentle guidance on how to handle bullies. I don’t join in. My mind is swimming with thoughts of the forged Facebook post, the fake Tinder account, and Caitlin’s confrontation in the bathroom.
When you and Mark get divorced. That’s what Caitlin said. Not if, but when. She’s just needling you, I tell myself. It’s not personal. It’s who she is.
Before I wrangle Cole upstairs, I remind Mark that we need to talk. He glances up at the large clock in the kitchen that looks like it belongs in a nineteenth-century railway station and sucks his breath through his teeth.
“I have a nine p.m. call with the Singapore office.”
I try not to rush Cole, knowing that doing so will backfire. He’s already acting out, tired from being up later than usual.
“I want to pick out the photos for my family tree.”
“It’s after eight, Cole. We can do that tomorrow.”
“No, you’ll forget.”
Worn out, I let him wear the same clothes he wore all day to bed. We’ve just finished speed-reading Pinkalicious when my phone buzzes. It’s Leah asking if I’m still planning on stopping by.
It’s almost eight forty-five. I text her that I will be there soon, nine thirty at the latest. I still need to talk to Mark.
Cole bats at my phone with a stuffed bunny. “Mommy, stop looking at your phone. I want cuddles.” I tuck my phone in my pocket and lie down next to him. He scooches into me until the backs of his knees are pressed against mine, his head just beneath my chin, and his curved spine against me, a small spoon nestling into the bigger one.
“I love you,” I whisper into his ear.
“But I love you more.” He yawns. After a few moments, my shallow breaths begin to steady, matching the easy rhythm of the rise and fall
