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Goddamn it. I was supposed to be there. I should be there.
Not him.
Tears well up in my eyes, I will them away. It’s pointless. I refuse to let this or my wife’s antics get to me. You can’t win that way.
There’s a video. I shouldn’t watch it. But how can I not?
Look who learned to swim.
She sounds so much like her mother. It makes me want to scream.
I close the browser, punch the wall, and head down to hear the piano man play.
Chapter Seven
Vanessa
Initiation Night starts out like all the rest of them. Even before we lived in Austin, Sean always made a point to fly in for things like this. After my initial training, it became something that was no longer simply a nice thing to do but something that was required.
I take my rightful place in the circle, careful to stay on the fringes. Not entirely outside, but not in the center either. It’s a good vantage point from which to watch and gather information. The most important things are rarely spoken.
It doesn’t take long, the opening ceremony. Members new to the Women’s Alliance are introduced and presented with their handbooks, while prospective, hopeful future inductees look on. There are older members, too, perhaps feeling nostalgic for a time when they were allowed the pleasure of being so naive.
I remember my first Initiation Night. Sean and I had been married all of six days. It wasn’t here in Austin, of course. It was back where we came from, back when New Hope was a little more grassroots. I
can’t say that I fell in love with my husband’s church or his ideals right away, but I can say I found them both intriguing. Mostly, I had one goal, two at most: to get away from my family and to move to the city. I wanted an education, something that was practically nonexistent for girls who grew up back home. Sean promised that, and in the end, I guess he delivered.
It’s a packed house tonight. It helps that everyone brings a friend. That’s your ticket in. A lot of what we do within the church is done in secret. The rest we do for show.
Tonight is the same as all the rest. We recite the rules stated in the agreement. The inductees sign on the dotted line and take their oaths.
And then we celebrate.
Even when the former founders are mentioned and prayed over, the air remains light and cheerful. You won’t find the heavy stuff here. Champagne flows, and there’s dancing and decent music. We don’t want to scare anyone off just yet. After all, who doesn’t love a good party? And of course, there’s plenty of banal gossip to go around.
It turns out to be the perfect Texas early fall night, the kind where a bit of summer lingers in the air although it’s long since gone. I chose a casual sundress with sandals and added a cardigan for warmth, my hair in a high pony. I kept my makeup subtle on purpose. The natural look suits me best anyhow, but it also helps compensate for the fact that half of my hair is fake extensions, dyed back to honey blonde again. The eyelashes are false as well, as is the matching youthful spirit.
Searching the crowd for my mark, I spot a few familiar faces. They’ll want to chat, but tonight is about work, and I’m determined to stay focused so I keep my eyes glued to my phone. “Sorry,” I find myself saying several times. “It’s the sitter. She’s new…” No one questions this, and everyone understands. As for my mark, either she’s late or she’s not coming, and I really hope it’s the former.
Earlier, after Matty was bathed, I scrolled her social media feeds. What I learned is pretty basic. She’s smart online, for the most part. Aside from the fact that she counts down to her vacations, runs marathons, and enjoys a good working dinner, I didn’t find a whole lot to run with.
But I know a few things: Aruba and Europe are her go-to trips. Lots of pictures with location tags. Thank God for that. I gather she isn’t solely humble-bragging; she’s not simply trying to show she’s of the class who can afford frequent international vacations. With her, I can tell there’s a little more to it than that. She isn’t doing it to brag about her status in life. She doesn’t have to. She was born that way.
I gather, based on what little she posts about day-to-day stuff, that she’s genuinely proud of her family and that vacations seem to be the only time she spends any quality time with them. I suspect that nannies do a fair amount of the child rearing in her household— something she will most definitely feel guilty about.
It’s clear in her feed that she wants to be seen for her accomplishments. She’s overcompensating for something. I can tell by the way she enjoys showing off her fit lifestyle. And aside from health and time off, it seems she wants to be known as the cool, relaxed, take-it-as-it-comes mom, when in reality, she’s probably the furthest thing from it. She’s at an age where she has to work hard to have a body like she does, and people with that much discipline in any area of life are rarely happy-go-lucky in others.
Nonetheless, she plays the part well. Particularly where her work is concerned. She’s well-connected, into happy hours and luncheons and late dinners. She’s always smiling, always happy. But I can see beyond that. There are small tells in her photos. I see them in crooked smiles, the tilt of her head, in the crease of her brow. She’s tired. She’s trying to keep up. Like the rest of us, I suppose. Only she’s a tad different. She’s the kind of tired that says she might just walk away and leave it all, if presented with the right offer. Her captions are upbeat and positive. But you’d have to know people—you’d have to know the nuances of body language to truly understand. I sense weariness in the slope of her shoulders, just under the surface, that begs to say: I’m like you but not.
But then, Mrs. Louis isn’t like you or like me. Her husband is a patent attorney, and she’s C-level at a research firm. Even without her better half’s annual salary, Marcia Louis is in the top fifteen percent of all wage earners in the United States. In addition, she was born with more money than most people will earn in an entire lifetime.
She’s not your average bear.
Except where it counts.
She has her weaknesses, too.
Chapter Eight
