Die die die die Baby Bean die.
THE MAID’S DIARY
Last night was curtain call forThe Three Lives of Mary. I will no longer wear the costumes of Mary, or be her in her different lives. I feel oddly empty. I should’ve gone out with the others to celebrate, but I asked Boon to tell them I was unwell. I came home alone instead. I know he’s worried about me. He has been since we scattered my mom’s ashes. He senses something. I haven’t told him about the new clients, though. He knows nothing about Rose Cottage. My silence says a lot—ordinarily Boon and I share pretty much everything about our lives. So what does this say, Dear Diary? I already know from my snooping that what people choose to hide from others tells you the most about them.
I did try to speak to Holly yesterday when I went into the office to collect my pay. She was busy. I lost my conviction and walked out.
Which means I am off to the Rittenbergs’ home today. I have missed my window to back out. I am now committed.
I wake up extra early, take some scraps out of the fridge to feed Morbid, the one-legged crow who visits me on my balcony, then I plop onto my sofa, peel open a red lollipop, stick it into my mouth, and fire up my iPad.
I have two hours before I must be at Rose Cottage.
I start with Facebook.
I can’t find an account for either Jon or Daisy Rittenberg. I open Instagram and search for “Daisy Rittenberg.” Guess what? “Daisy” plus “Rittenberg” is apparently a rare combo—try searching it yourself. Only two names pop up. The first is definitely not my Rose Cottage Daisy. The second is. While she has registered her account using her real name, she goes by the handle @JustDaisyDaily.
Sucking on my lollipop, I scroll quickly past the more recent posts (I’ll return to those later) until I come to a photo taken in Colorado. It shows Jon and Daisy Rittenberg sitting at a rustic picnic table on a massive wooden deck. They’re in the alpine, surrounded by snowcapped peaks and blue sky. A sign behind them says “Silver Aspens Ski Resort.” They both have deep tans. Both wear sunglasses. Beer bottles beading with droplets stand in front of them. They’re dressed in ski gear. I peer very closely at Jon.
He resembles a caricature of the athlete he once was. Softened in body, yet his complexion has coarsened. His face seems larger, a little puffy. Lines bracket his mouth. I can’t see his eyes behind the shades.
I study the caption.
A day in the mountains with my guy. Spring snow. Fast skiing.
#Perks #SkiIndustryLife #CanadiansInColorado #ColoradoDays #InteriorDesignerLife #BestRunsOfTheSeason
My emotions slide into some dark, dank place. The world around me fades.
I go through post after post. Going backward in time. Beautiful Daisy doing this. Beautiful Daisy doing that. At yoga. Out with the girls. Wine night. Painting night. Bookclub. Shopping and lunch. New shoes. A trip to Denver. Visiting vineyards. Glorious meals. More vacations in far-flung places across the globe. India, Australia, a safari in Botswana, and a trip down the Nile.
A buzz grows loud inside my head. I’ve always longed to travel. Ever since I was eight, when I saw a show on the Knowledge Network about the Serengeti and all those animals. I wanted to go to Kenya. The Galápagos. The Amazon. Indonesia. I always thought I would. All around the world. Not just to Nicaragua with Boon’s film crew when I got a part as an extra.
But this dream was before I dropped out of school. My dreams became out of my reach for all sorts of complicated reasons that I prefer to not dwell on.
But here—Daisy and Jon, Rose Cottage, their little baby on the way—it’s cracking open that heavy old chest with the secret longings that I have buried deep in my soul. I can feel the contents rising, unfurling slowly inside me. Like a visceral ooze seeping up from the bottom of a lake, because with the rising dreams comes a slimy detritus—things I don’t want to see. Or feel.
I scroll more. Faster, sucking on my lollipop more urgently.
#ColoradoDays #BabyNews! #NewJobForJon #GoingHome #VancouverHereWeCome #FarewellParties
#MovingDay!
#BackHomeInVanouver #NewHouse #RoseCottage #RevisitingWhistler #SpringSkiing #JonsOldStompingGround
I learn from Daisy’s account she joined a mom’s yoga group.
#PrenatalYogaForMomsInThePark
I learn she loves #ThePiBistro. She’s posted photos of tarts she bought there. Another photo shows Daisy and a pregnant girlfriend lunching at the bistro.
#DiscoveredGreatNewPlace #FewBlocksAway #DangerousForMyWaistline #HungryAllTheTime
I feel ill.
I stop because I need a breath. Iknowit’s fake. No one’s life is that perfect. It’s a curated illusion. Smoke and mirrors. Misdirection. Just like my @foxandcrow account. I’m letting this get to me.
But here’s another thing about reality and perception. Like Mary in my play, when you choose your Story, you’re in fact also choosing your life. We are—or we become—what we pretend to be, so we must be very careful who we pretend to be.
