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The question on everyone’s lips now is, what is Harper going to do about it? Is she going to turn a blind eye, or can we look forward to some fireworks?
Dish,
Ferris Biltmore
* * *
I haven’t been in love with my husband for years. It’s hard to give your heart to a man who’s busy sharing his man parts with other women. Having said that, I’ve been grieving hard for the last six days since the boinking heard around the world.
Every night, the second I get the kids off to sleep, I crawl into bed, dead tired. But I can’t turn my brain off long enough to actually sleep. I wind up staying awake watching the Home Shopping Network until the wee hours. Not only is this an enormous waste of time, but I’ve purchased some pretty dicey stuff. It’s only two in the morning and I’ve already bought a toaster oven, an Ab Rocket, and an automatic apple peeler. But no more. I’m done for the night. The credit card is going back in the wallet until tomorrow.
Oh! Meat Shredder Claws are half-off for the next twelve minutes. No, Harper. No good could come from owning shredding claws, not now. The temptation to misuse them would be too great. My cell phone buzzes. It’s Prisha Choudree, my best friend on this planet, and maybe on Mars too. She’s also my PR manager and—other than my lawyer—the only person in this town I actually trust. I answer with, “I know whyI’mup. Why are you still up?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Is it ‘don’t marry Brett?’ Because you’re a tad late on that,” I say, before flopping back onto the mountain of pillows I’m using to fill up his side of the bed.
Before my friend has a chance to answer, I add, “Oh, Prish, the family I envisioned my children growing up in is no more. Christmases will now be every other year; probably the same with birthdays unless Brett and I can figure out how to be civil around each other. The best we can hope for is one slightly-awkward, yet all-encompassing, party instead of two half-assed ones.”
“Or even worse. Two huge parties.” Prisha is very big on helping me remember the perils of spoiling my children and I love her for it.
I kick my feet out of the covers and dig my heels into the mattress. “Poor Liam and Lily are going to end up with entitlement issues. You know that jackass went ahead and bought them those hoverboards? He had them sent to the house yesterday.”
“You mentioned that earlier today. Twice. Listen, sweetie, I don’t want to keep you. I know you’re probably just about to sleep, or, you know, put in a bid on the Hope Diamond …”
“I won’t fall asleep for another four hours,” I tell her, dreading another night of insomnia.
“You’re not buying anything else on the Home Shopping Network, are you?”
“Not withmycredit card,” I say with satisfaction. “I figure I need to find a way to make Brett really pay. Did I tell you that I ordered forty pizzas to be delivered to his hotel room at midnight?”
“Do you feel better?” she asks with her signature calmness.
“I did for about ninety seconds.” I sigh like I’m trying to blow out a hundred birthday candles. “What if he marries Justine? That would totally screw the kids up.”
“Don’t even think like that,” she answers in a firm voice.
“I have to, because it might happen.”
“It won’t be Justine. Brett will get bored of her now that the fun of sneaking around has disappeared,” Prisha says.
“How did I marry that man? Also, are you sure you don’t want me to buy you some fur-covered toilet seats? They look really soft.”
“Gross, on so many levels. I’ll text you my wish list when we get off the phone, but please be assured that anything with fur will not be on it.”
“Oh, right, on account of Sheila and her PETA membership.”
Sheila is Prisha’s lovely wife—an artisan who has an adorable pottery shop in Old Town Pasadena.
A wall of grief suddenly hits me. “I’m going to miss half of Liam and Lily’s childhoods. Half, Prish,” I say, tears filling my eyes. “I feel like someone wearing meat claws just dug into my heart.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. If I weren’t so scarred by my recent binge watch ofOrange is the New Black, I would totally offer to knock him off for you.”
I bet she’d still do it if I said pretty please.
“After everything I gave up for him. I could have been Daenerys Targaryen onGame of Thrones, Prish. The freaking mother of dragons,” I moan. “In hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t, since she went all burn-the-entire-city at the end there, but still. Until season eight, it would have been an incredible ride. But did I take that ride? No. Because Liam was on the way, and I wanted to put my children first. Not that I regret having my kids. I don’t. I just want to know why Brett gets it all.”
“You’re a wonderful mom,” Prisha tells me.
