Daisy glances at me, registering my mood. “You were always like this.”
“Like what?”
“Afraid. Afraid of everything, timid, scared little Emily. Anything that’s worth it comes with some risk, Em. You can’t live your whole life like a sad little virgin.”
I look at Daisy. As much as I want to hate her, she’s right.
—
After I pick up the stack of grants that Veronica has left with the receptionist at the Elevate Comprehensive Grant Writing Company, I get back in the Mercedes. Daisy is in the back seat playing with Holden, squeaking Sophie at him to sound like “Für Elise.” She puts the giraffe down and sighs. It’s four p.m. She doesn’t feel like going home. What about the Campbell, a hidden bar inside Grand Central Terminal?
An hour after our fight, we are sharing oysters on the half shell as if nothing ever happened.
“Is it true that oysters are an aphrodisiac?” I ask Daisy, assuming that she knows the answer. She opens a bag of oyster crackers for Holden.
“It’s the zinc. It impacts your dopamine levels. It’s in all bivalve mollusks, but you have to eat a lot of them.”
I flag down a waiter. “Another dozen oysters, please?”
“East or West Coast?” He glances at my ears, annoyed that I still have AirPods in.
“Both,” Daisy says. She smiles, the smile that I could live in forever.
—
The next day, I am slightly hungover, attempting to FaceTime with Sue on a bench by the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park. It’s almost one in the morning in Melbourne and Sue’s lit only by the phone and the flashing lights of Gigi’s vital signs. I hold the phone up to Holden. He’s all wrapped up in his 7AM Enfant removable down stroller blanket, only his rosy cheeks and smile showing like a happy caterpillar. He has a dimple in exactly the same spot as his dad’s. I put Aquaphor on his cheeks and they are glowing and dewy. Sue could cry. She’s shattered that she’s missed all these months with him. I tell her that Holden is hitting all of Dr. Brooke’s developmental milestones, maybe she can plan a visit soon? A rat, matted and slimy, sprints across the clearing, stopping to stare at me, a predatory look. It’s a sign. Sue isn’t coming to help. No one is.
Carleigh calls for the third time. We say goodbye to Sue. It’s always too quick. Carleigh tells me she’s worried. I missed another PT session. She’s going on vacation for the next few weeks, for her wedding and honeymoon. They settled on an all-inclusive in Playa del Carmen. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Carleigh says.
I feel touched by the genuine concern in Carleigh’s voice, but also confused about how to answer. Am I okay? Are any of us? I tell her I am fine. I apologize for not showing up for our past couple of appointments. It’s just that lying on her torture table made me feel like a gutted deer—when I could be at 527 Park getting ritual face sculpting or taking an Impressionist art class with my baby. “It’s just, I’ve been really busy now that I’m back at work full time.”
“I totally get it. I already told Troy that I don’t know if I even want to work full time after we have babies. It’s just…we were making progress, and—” Were we making progress, Carleigh? Really?
“Yeah. I’ve had some issues with my insurance…” I need to find the most practical way out of this.
“Diane called Dr. Weatherstone. She wrote you another referral, so you’re all set. Derek’s seeing my patients while I’m out.”
“Thanks. I’ll schedule something next week,” I say, even though I will not, under any circumstances, be spreading for Derek again.
“Sweet. We didn’t come this far to only come this far, right?” Carleigh quotes the inspirational poster hanging at the STAR Physical Therapy and Rehabilitation Center. Normally, this would annoy me, but there is an earnestness to Carleigh. Here she is headed to her dream wedding on Long Island, worrying about my lady parts. It’s hard not to appreciate that level of job commitment. Whatever you are, be a good one. I make a mental note to get her the air fryer off her registry.
“Thank you, Carleigh. Hey, I hope Troy came around on the seafood tower and you have the happiest day and life together.”
“Thanks, Emily.”
I hope that when Carleigh has babies, it is easier for her. I hope that for Carleigh, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.
Chapter Thirty-Three
• • • • •
When I get to527 Park at eight a.m., Louise and Naomi are doing morning sun salutations. I follow the low hum of a Dyson to a bathroom. A breastfeeding mom looks up, a glassy smile. In an adjacent bedroom, I find Jasmine and several women I don’t recognize ripping through stacks of designer athleisure like it’s the Barneys warehouse sale. I notice that the tags are still on. Lately, I’d heard whispers about 527 Park moms taking Daisy’s “revolution” to the streets. Last week, in the drop-off line outside the 92nd Street Y, several stealth 527 moms had stuck “Education Is Not a Privilege” stickers on the row of black SUVs. And there were rumors that a couple of other moms had pried open lockers at Tracy Anderson and replaced a mortgage payment’s worth of La Mer with empty tubs of Similac.
I pull Jasmine aside. “Did you rob an Alo Yoga?”
“We liberated what we needed,” Jasmine says, an obedient look.
“Nope.” I gather the sports bras and skorts back into bags. “You need to return all of this.”
