In the kitchen, Maya and a couple of other moms sit at the island eating turmeric overnight oats and buckwheat flax pancakes. When I walk in, they scramble to roll up what look like blueprints for the topfloor of 527 Park. The penthouse. The moms smile at me and then at one another.
I go to make a coffee and hear sobbing in the next room. Olivia walks into the kitchen, straight to the fridge, crying. She can’t find something. “Fuck me,” I say, handing her a jar of raw almonds. Ever since she got laid off, it’s been like this. The tears. Booze in the day. Edibles in the evening. Raw snacks throughout. Olivia leaves with the jar, crunching on almonds, still sobbing.
“I thought you’d be, um, busy,” Maya says to me, snickering a bit as she sticks her spoon in a chia pudding parfait. She’s overdone it at the complimentary Botox bar. I can see my reflection in that forehead.
“I’m just so glad Audrey is on the mend,” I say.
“Are you?” Maya says. The moms muzzle odd little looks.
I stare at Maya, luminous, cool Maya. Why are they looking at me like that? What are they planning? What do they know? Did Daisy tell them I had no friends in college? Or maybe she told them what she does for a living? Who really owns the condo? Where all of this comes from?
“You’re right. I don’t have time for you, Maya. Ladies. Enjoy your day. Don’t forget about the tie-dye party in the playroom at noon.”
I give a big hospitable grin and then go straight to find Viktor. Instead, I see Daisy stepping off the elevator from the penthouse. She is wearing a men’s gray alpaca cardigan with leather elbow patches and nothing underneath, her chest still wet with sweat, her hair falling in waves over her collarbone, the curves of her breasts exposed.
“Where have you been? I think Jasmine’s shoplifting in the name of ‘liberation.’ And I don’t know what’s up with Maya today, but she was such a bitch to me just now.”
Daisy finds Viktor on his way out of an electrical closet. “Viktor, dear.”
“Yes, ma’am?” He tries to stop his eyes from drifting down.
“Remove Maya and her friends from the premises.”
He nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
I smile at Daisy. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her kick someone out, and definitely not someone as inner circle as Maya. Something about it feels powerful. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Daisy says. “And if anyone else disrespects you, they can fuck right back to Mr. Pete.”
—
Several hours later, the apartment has mostly cleared out. I go to the kitchen for a boxed water. When I flick the lights on, Olivia is there, alone at the island, lit only by a scented candle. She’s been crying. Not a couple of tears—the full-body silent kind.
“Hey,” I say, worried she’ll blow. “It’s late.”
She blows. “JESUS CHRIST. CAN I HAVE ONE FUCKING SECOND ALONE?”
I freeze, then start to back out. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”
She hurls a mason jar across the tile. It explodes—almonds, glass, the whole performance. The sound is too loud. The silence after is worse. We both stare at the mess like there might be a Rorschach in there.
Her shoulders are shaking. Hard. She’s gone somewhere, and I don’t know if I can bring her back.
“Okay,” I say, hands up. “What can I do?”
Olivia bends down and picks up a sliver of glass, as sharp as a razor blade, and holds it to her neck.
“Nothing,” she says. “Nobody can do anything.”
I step forward. Just an inch. “Olivia. Hey. It’s going to be okay.”
She starts crying so hard it barely sounds human—all throat and breath and collapse. The glass presses deeper. Too deep. Blood wells, quick and bright.
“Olivia.No. Don’t—”
“What?” she spits, soaked in sweat and snot. “You gonna say my babies need me? That my prick of a husband loves me? That I’ve got so much to live for?”
I don’t move. I’m running every possible option in my head and every single one feels wrong. I think of the therapist I hired from that mental health appTranquil Moments. She’d started hosting postpartum support groups and DMed all of us a PDF tip sheet for this type of thing. But I can’t remember a single talking point.
