Читать книгу The Wives - Lauren Weisberger, Lauren Weisberger - Страница 8

It was only the beginning of mile two, and she felt like she might die of suffocation. Her breaths came in jagged gulps, but no matter how deeply she took in air, Miriam was unable to slow her heart rate. She checked her Fitbit for the thousandth time in the past sixteen minutes – how could it have been only sixteen minutes?! – and briefly worried that the reading of 165 might kill her. Which would officially make her the only woman in all of Greenwich, or perhaps all the earth, who had dropped dead after running – really, if she were being honest, walking – a single lousy mile in sixteen minutes.

But she had shown up! Wasn’t that what all the feel-good bloggers and motivational authors were always screeching about? No judgments, just show up! Show up and you’ve already won the battle! Don’t expect perfection – showing up is enough! ‘Fuckers,’ she mumbled, streaming massive puffs of steam in the freezing January air. Motivating for a jog at seven o’clock in the morning on January 1 was more than just showing up. It was a downright triumph.

‘Morning!’ a woman called as she raced by Miriam on the left, nearly jolting what was left of her heart into immediate cardiac arrest.

‘Hi!’ Miriam shouted to the back of the woman, who ran like a black-clad gazelle: Lululemon leggings with elaborate mesh cutouts that looked both cool and extremely cold; fitted black puffer that ended at her nonexistent hips; black Nikes on her feet; and some sort of technical-looking hat with the cutest puffball on top. Her legs went on forever, and her butt looked so firm that it wouldn’t possibly hold so much as a bobby pin underneath, never mind a full-size hairbrush, which Miriam had once tucked successfully and devastatingly under her left ass cheek.

Miriam slowed to a walk, but before she could regain anything resembling composure, two women in equally fabulous workout outfits ran toward Miriam on the opposite side of the street. A golden retriever pulled happily on the leash of the hot pink puffer coat while a panting chocolate Lab yanked along the woman in the army green. The entire entourage looked like a mobile Christmas card and was moving at a brisk pace.

‘Happy New Year,’ the golden retriever owner said as they sprinted past Miriam.

‘You too,’ she muttered, relieved it was no one she knew. Not that she’d met many moms in the five months since they’d moved to town just in time for the twins to start kindergarten and Benjamin to start second grade at their new public school. Beyond saying hello to a few moms at school drop-off twice a day, she hadn’t had much opportunity to meet a lot of other women. Paul claimed it was the same in wealthy suburbs everywhere – that people stayed holed up in their big houses with everything they needed either upstairs or downstairs: their gyms, their screening rooms, their wine cellars and tasting tables. Nannies played with children, rendering playdates unnecessary. Housekeepers did the grocery shopping. Staff, staff, and more staff to do everything from mow the lawn to chlorinate the pool to change the lightbulbs.

The heady smell of burning wood greeted Miriam the moment she stepped into the mudroom, and a quick peek in the family room confirmed that her husband had read her mind about wanting to sit next to a fire. It was one of the things she loved most about suburban living so far: morning fires. Otherwise bleak mornings were instantly cozy; her children’s cheeks were even more delicious.

‘Mommy’s home!’ Matthew, five years old and obsessed with weaponry, shouted from the arm of the couch, where he balanced in pajamas, brandishing a realistic-looking sword.

‘Mommy! Matthew won’t give me a turn with the sword and we’re supposed to share!’ his twin sister, Maisie, screeched from under the kitchen table, which was her favorite place to sulk.

‘Mom, can I have your password to buy Hellion?’ Benjamin asked without looking up from Miriam’s hijacked iPad.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Who said yes to screen time right now? No iPad. It’s family time.’

‘Your fingerprint, then? Please? Jameson says it’s the coolest game he’s ever played! Why does he get it and I don’t?’

‘Because his mommy is nicer than me,’ she said, managing to kiss her son on top of his head before he squirmed away.

Paul stood at the stove in flannel pajama pants and a fleece sweatshirt, intently flipping pancakes on the griddle. ‘I’m so impressed,’ he said. ‘I have no idea how you motivated this morning.’ Miriam couldn’t help but think how handsome he was despite all the premature gray hair. He was only three years older than she, but he could have been mistaken for being a decade her senior.

Miriam grabbed her midsection, ending up with two handfuls of flesh. ‘This is how.’

Paul placed the last pancake on a plated pile nearly a dozen high and turned off the stove. He walked over and embraced her. ‘You’re perfect just the way you are,’ he said automatically. ‘Here, have one.’

‘No way. I didn’t suffer through twenty minutes of sheer hell to kill it all with a pancake.’

‘Are they ready, Daddy? Are they? Are they?’

‘Can we have whipped cream on them?’

‘And ice cream?’

‘I don’t want the ones with the blueberries!’

In a flash, all three children had gathered at the kitchen table, nearly hyperventilating with excitement. Miriam tried to ignore the epic mess and focus on her children’s joy and her husband’s kindness, but it was tough with flour covering every inch of countertop, batter splattered on the backsplash, and errant chocolate chips and blueberries spread across the floor.

‘Anyone want some fruit salad or yogurt?’ she asked, pulling both from the fridge.

‘Not me!’ they all shouted in unison through mouthfuls of pancake.

Yeah, me neither, Miriam thought to herself as she scooped some out. She spooned a bite into her mouth and nearly spat it into the sink. The yogurt had clearly gone bad, and not even the sweet strawberries could mask the rancid taste. She scraped the entire bowl’s contents into the garbage disposal and considered hard-boiling some eggs. She even nibbled one of those cardboard-like fiber crackers, but two bites in, she just couldn’t.

‘Live a little,’ she murmured to herself, grabbing a chocolate chip pancake from the top of the pile and shoving it into her mouth.

‘Aren’t they good, Mommy? Do you want to try it with whipped cream?’ Benjamin asked, waving the canister like a trophy.

‘Yes, please,’ she said, holding out her remaining piece for him to squirt. Screw it. She was setting a good example for her daughter that food wasn’t the enemy, right? Everything in moderation. No eating disorders in this house. She had just popped a pod into the coffee machine when she heard Paul mutter, ‘Holy shit.’

‘Daddy! Language!’ Maisie said, sounding exactly like Miriam.

‘Daddy said a bad word! Daddy said “shit”!’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he murmured, his face buried in the newspaper Miriam had set on the table. ‘Miriam, come look at this.’

‘I’ll be right there. Do you want a cup too?’

‘Now. Come here now.’

‘What is it, Daddy? What’s in the newspaper?’

‘Here, have another pancake,’ Paul said to Maisie as he handed the paper over to Miriam.

Below the fold but still on the very first page blared the headline: MADD: MOTHERS ALL-FOR DRUNK DRIVING! SENATOR’S WIFE SLAPPED WITH DUI … WITH KIDS IN THE CAR!

‘Holy shit.’

‘Mommy! You said “shit”!’

‘Daddy, now Mommy said a bad word!’

‘Shit, shit, shit!’ sang Matthew.

‘Who wants to watch a movie?’ Paul asked. ‘Benjamin, why don’t you go down to the basement and put on Boss Baby for everyone.’ Again, there was a mad scramble as they bolted toward the stairs, and then, seconds later, blessed silence.

‘This can’t be right,’ Miriam said, studying the mug shot of her old school friend. ‘Karolina would never do that.’

‘Well, it’s right here in print. Failed roadside sobriety test. Empty bottles of booze in the backseat. Refused to take a Breathalyzer. And five kids in the car, including her own.’

‘There is no way that’s possible,’ Miriam said, scanning the story. ‘Not the Karolina I know.’

‘How long has it been since you’ve spoken to her? Maybe she changed. I don’t imagine things are so easy being in the spotlight, like they both are now.’

‘She was the face of L’Oréal for ten years! The mega-model to end all supermodels. I hardly think she has issues with the spotlight.’

‘Well, being the wife of a United States senator is something else entirely. Especially one who plans to run for president. It’s a different kind of scrutiny.’

‘I guess so. I don’t know. I’m going to call her. This just can’t be right.’

‘You guys haven’t spoken in months.’ Paul sipped his coffee.

‘That doesn’t matter!’ Miriam realized she was nearly shouting and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve known each other since we were children.’

Paul held up both hands in surrender. ‘Send her my love, okay? I’ll go check on the monsters.’

Karolina’s number rang five times before going to voicemail. ‘Hi! You’ve reached Karolina. I’m not available to take your call, but leave me a message and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can. Bye, now.’

‘Lina? It’s me, Miriam. I saw that hideous headline and I want to talk to you. I don’t believe it for a single second, and neither does one other person who’s ever met you. Call me as soon as you get this, okay? Love you, honey. Bye.’

Miriam clicked ‘end’ and stared at her screen, willing Karolina’s name to appear. But then she heard a scream coming from downstairs – a real pain scream, not an I-hate-my-siblings scream or an It’s-my-turn scream, and Miriam took a deep breath and stood up to go investigate.

It had barely even begun, and already this year was shaping up to be a loser. She grabbed a now-cold pancake off the plate on her way to the basement: 2018 could take its resolutions and shove them.