It grated on me. That no one would question him moving on. Him marrying and impregnating someone more than ten years hisjunior. Because that’s what divorced men in their forties did. His stock was still rising. His power still intact.
Daniel had become more desirable, and I somehow less so. As if time were paced differently for each of us.
“Do you really think this is in the best interest of Isabelle?” He’d put it out there.Best interest.It was a legal term, and there was no mistaking his use of it.
“Are youthreateningme?”
“I’m not threatening you, I’m just saying…”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“I think she’s been through enough.”
“And you’re pinning that all on me. You’re pinning the divorce on me. You’re pinning Eva and your baby and your marriage on me.”
“None of this would have happened, Solène, if—”
“If what? If I’d just stayed home and been happy? Fuck you, Daniel.”
For a moment he did not say anything, just stood there, staring out toward the street, the hikers in the distance. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you. I’m sorry our family wasn’t enough.” It hit. Hard.
“Figure out what you’re going to do about this guy, before it destroys your relationship with your daughter.”
It was a miserable week. I tried to focus all my energy on the Ulla Finnsdottir show that was opening on Saturday, but it was not easy. Not with the barrage of social media. The 423 new friend requests on Facebook from people I did not know, many of whom appeared to be twenty-something boys. The numerous vile messages on Twitter:
Why r u still around bitch? I thought you’d be gone by now. It’s January.
skanky whore cunt. Aren’t you someone’s mother? Act like it.
Why don’t you just kill yourself and save us the hassle?
Stop fucking with Simon’s boyfriend.
Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die. Die.
The lengthy missives on Instagram: the questioning of my worthiness; the intra-group fighting among Augies; the damaged, the deranged. “Famewhore. You’re only after his money. You’re not even that pretty.” “Be nice to her. If she makes Hayes happy, shouldn’t that be what matters?” “I’m angry okay. I’m angry that I’ve been supporting him for 3 fucking years and then a fucking old bitch comes and ruins everything…” “Step off hayes” “Every time I cut myself I think of you. Hope your happy.”
And even those that were written with the best of intentions scared me, scarred me. “Just remember when you hold his hand, you are holding the entire universe. Please don’t break him.”
In the end, I froze all my accounts.
We hired security for the opening on Hayes’s suggestion. It was a larger turnout than we’d ever had previously. There were myriad girls crowded on the sidewalk in front of the gallery and a handful of paparazzi, who I’m guessing were disappointed to learn that my boyfriend was on the other side of the Atlantic. It was a huge nuisance, but we sold out the show in record time. And Lulit could not complain about that.
On Sunday, Georgia came over to hang out with Isabelle. They locked themselves in her room, and I could hear them laughing, and it sounded to me so sweet, so rare. And I wondered what it was Georgia had said or done to finally bring my daughter around.
Earlier in the week, I’d approached her. When the photos, albeit somewhat sanitized, ran inUs WeeklyandPeopleand the others,I could no longer just pretend it was not happening. I could not imagine the toll it was taking on her at school.
“I need to talk to you about what’s going on,” I’d said, sitting on one of her Moroccan poufs.
“I don’t want to talk about it…”
“I know you don’t, Izz. But it’s kind of a big deal and I don’t want you to have all these emotions bottled up inside. I can only imagine what’s going through your head.”
She looked over to me from her perch on her bed, beneath the “Keep Calm and Carry On” poster, and beside the nightstand where our meet-and-greet photo used to lie. She’d shredded it back in November.
“You’re an adult,” she said. “He’s an adult. You can do whatever you want, right? It’s not my business.”
It was not the response I was expecting. She sounded so mature, so altered. My little bird.
