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Soon, the three sisters would be together again and Suzanne knew that this year Christmas was going to be perfect.
She was sure of it.
2
Beth
Motherhood was killing her.
Beth was trying in vain to extract her children from their favorite toy store when the call came. For a moment she felt guilty, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
She’d promised Jason no more toys, but she wasn’t good at saying no to the girls. Jason continually underestimated the persistence of children. No one could chip holes in a person’s resolve like a determined child. Please, Mommy, pleeeease—
She found it particularly difficult because she badly wanted to be a good mother and had a more than sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t. There was, she’d discovered, an annoying gulf between intention and reality.
She grabbed her phone and coaxed Ruby away from yet another oversize fire truck, this one with flashing lights and blaring horns that was no doubt the brainchild of a young single man with no children.
The number wasn’t one she recognized, but she answered anyway, reluctant to pass up what might be an opportunity for adult conversation. Since having children, her world had shrunk, and Beth felt she’d shrunk with it.
These days she was willing to befriend anyone who didn’t want to talk to her about problems with eating, sleeping or behavior. The week before, she’d found herself prolonging a conversation with someone trying to sell her car insurance even though she didn’t have a car. Eventually they’d hung up on her, which had to be a first in the history of cold calling.
“Hi there.” Her phone was sticky and she tried not to think about the provenance of the substance stuck to her phone. Melly’s favorite treat? When Beth had been pregnant, she’d resolved neve
r to give her kids sugar, but that, like so many other resolutions, had evaporated in the fierce heat of reality.
“I want the fire truck, Mommy!”
As usual, the children ignored the fact she was on the phone and carried on talking to her. There were no breaks from motherhood. No commercial breaks, no bathroom breaks and certainly no phone breaks.
Her needs were right at the bottom of the pile.
Beth had always known she wanted children. What she hadn’t known was how much of herself she’d have to give up.
She turned away slightly so she could hear what the person on the other end was saying.
“Beth McBride?” The voice was crisp and businesslike. A woman with a purpose, ticking this call off her to-do list.
Once upon a time Beth had been that woman. She’d luxuriated in the glamour and glitter of Manhattan. Energized by the frantic pulse of the city, she’d thrived. It had been like trying on a dress and discovering it fitted perfectly. You never wanted to take it off. You wanted to buy two in case you damaged one and somehow tarnished the perfect look.
And then one day you woke up and discovered the dress was no longer yours. You missed it. You saw other people wearing it and wanted to tear it from their bodies.
“This is Beth McBride speaking.”
McBride.
No one had called her that in years. These days she was Bethany Butler.
“Beth, it’s Kelly Porter from KP Recruiting.”
Beth would have dropped the phone had it not been for the sticky goo welding it to her palm.
Before having children, Beth had worked in public relations for a number of beauty companies. She’d started at the bottom but had rapidly worked her way up, and Kelly had found her at least two of her roles.
“Hi, Kelly. Good to hear from you.” Beth smoothed her hair and stood a little straighter, even though it wasn’t a video call.
She was Beth McBride, someone who took calls from recruitment agencies.
“I have something you might be interested in.”
