“My face?” Amanda had asked.
“I mean, no judgment, but you’re drooling. Don’t worry, that was my reaction, too, the first time I saw Sebe.” She’d turned to Maude, who’d been focused on her phone. “It’s like a joke, how good-looking your husband is, Maude. And talented and charming and he births babies. And now he’s doing that tech start-up thing with the online genetics testing, what is it called again? Digital DNA or whatever. Sebe will probably also end up a billionaire. It’s almost too much to take.”
“First of all,hedoesn’t birth the babies,” Maude had correctedgood-naturedly. “Thewomengive birth. Also, he’s only a medical adviser to that company. There’s not going to be some huge payout. Anyway, he still won’t pick up his socks. Husbands are husbands, no matter what they look like.”
“Just make sure you’re seated, Amanda, if you ever see Sebe without a shirt on,” Sarah had warned, ducking away as Maude swatted at her. “Ow, it’s true. We were at the beach when I first saw Sebe shirtless, and I almost got taken out by a rogue wave.”
A waiter appeared before Amanda sat down. He was bearded, short, and overconfident. Amanda noticed the two beers already on the table. The people of Brooklyn were big on craft beers. Among her friends in Palo Alto, it had all been cocktails.
“An IPA, please,” Amanda said.
The waiter nodded begrudgingly, as though she’d saddled him with some unreasonable obligation, and then disappeared.
“We were just discussing how our rotten children haven’t written to us from camp yet,” Sarah said. “Have you heard from Case?”
“Case’s camp probably makes them write,” Amanda said, treading lightly. “It’s one of those extremely touchy-feely places, very West Coast.”
Many, but by no means all, Park Slope children were gone by now. Most of the others would leave later in the summer for shorter stints at sleepaway camp. Amanda had been dead set on flying to the West Coast with Case, to get him settled. But he’d insisted on going alone. Amanda hadn’t flown on an airplane until she met Zach, much less halfway across the country alone at Case’s age. But off he went. Her son had already had such a different life than hers. He lived with the expectation that the world was a safe place. And that was a good thing, Amanda reminded herself. A very good thing.
As soon as the first letter arrived, there was no denying Case was happy. He’d written two full pages about how exciting the flight had been and then all about how he was having the very, very best time. His only worry seemed to be that Amanda might be missing himtoo much, which made her feel dreadfully guilty.
She’d already written several letters back intended to show Case how absolutely great she was doing on her own, even though that was hardly true. Amanda felt so lost without her son, that was the honest truth. But in the letters she’d insisted otherwise, writing all about how they’d have plenty of time together at the end of summer to share stories. At Sarah’s suggestion, Amanda had already rented a house in Wellfleet for the last two weeks of August, and it would almost certainly end up being only Amanda and Case. Zach didn’t like the beach. Or vacations.
Sarah looked over at Maude and rolled her eyes.
“I told you, Maude. Of course Amanda has already gotten letters. Case is so sweet and perfect and adoring. Honestly, Amanda, it’s disgusting,” Sarah huffed. “He holds your hand!”
Amanda thought of Sarah’s youngest son, Henry. Sarah was right: Henry was neither adoring nor sweet.
“You may have the best-looking husband, Maude,” Sarah went on, “but Amanda has the most perfect son. So spill it: exactly how many letters has Case sent you?”
“Oh, I don’t know … six, maybe …,” Amanda said, though she knew exactly how many.
Eleven. She’d gotten eleven letters in the eight days Case had been gone. It was excessive for a child to be writing home that much, but the letters were all filled with such joy and not an ounce of homesickness. It was hard to be too concerned.
“Sophia has written a couple times from Costa Rica,” Maude said, her voice suddenly shaky. “That’s not the problem.”
“Wait—am I the only mother here who didn’t get a fucking letter?” Sarah cried.
“It’s what Sophia’s letterssaidthat was the problem. She just—” Maude’s voice broke off in a way that was unusual and alarming. “Sophia doesn’t sound like herself. She sounds … depressed.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Sarah said. “Listen, Jackson wrote mehorrid letters when he went on that backpacking thing in Glacier National Park. He kept begging me to come get him. Of course, he did end up sick as adogand in the hospital with that crazy sepsis. But it was a good experience for him anyway.”
“Sepsis?” Maude’s eyes widened. “Why are you telling me that?”
Sarah clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” She reached forward with her other hand to grip Maude’s arm. “I didn’t mean—Sophiadoesn’t have sepsis, obviously. The place I sent Jackson was essentially a penitentiary. It was his scared-straight summer, remember? They had to, like, catch their own fish, clean it, and then cook it. He probably didn’t wash his hands once the whole summer. Anyway, the camp you sent Sophia to isnothinglike that, Maude. It’s run by Country Day, and youknowhow uptight they are. Besides, Sophia isnothinglike Jackson. I mean, she might finally be acting like a regular pain-in-the-ass teenager instead of your best friend, but I’msureit’s nothing to worry about.”
Maude took another sip of her beer and smiled, though she did not actually look any more relaxed. “I hope you’re right.”
“I’m definitely right.” Sarah squeezed Maude’s arm once more. “Now, can we please change the subject off our children and onto something actually interesting?” Sarah’s face brightened mischievously. “Like your Sleepaway Soiree, Maude. Do you need any help?”
“I think we’re all set,” Maude said distractedly. “The invitations have gone out, and we’re using those same caterers from Red Hook. They’ve done such a good job for so many years now. At this point, they probably don’t even need me to show up. To be honest, with everything with Sophia, this party is really feeling like—”
“The perfect distraction?” Sarah said. Then she fanned herself dramatically. “It’s worth it to see the caterers alone. With all their tattoos and beards and hipster plaid. I’m telling you, the two brothers who own that place are everything I should have married.”
Amanda hadn’t been invited to any party. She was sure that she hadn’t been. She shifted in her chair even as she willed herself tobe still.
“Come on, Sarah.” Maude laughed for real. “I adore them because they do a great job. But those two guys are like peacocks, always preening. You’d hate that. You like doting. Like Kerry, who is attentiveandadorable.”
