Revenge Wears Prada (31 page)

“So I’m guessing it was good?” Stacy asked.

Sophie raised her eyes to the ceiling and groaned. “Good? It was
fantastic.
”

A few of the girls cheered. Sophie showed the slightest hint of a smile before smacking her forehead rather aggressively with the inside of her palm. “It’s never going to happen again. Do we agree it would be worse to tell him just to relieve my conscience than it would to pretend it never happened?”

“Of course you should not tell him!” Sandrine announced regally. “Don’t be such a prude.”

A few of the other women nodded in agreement, although it wasn’t clear if they agreed with Sandrine because she was right or because she was French.

“I just feel so guilty. I love Xander, I really do. But I’m starting to wonder what this means . . .”

“Well have you decided what’s going to happen the next time you see . . . what’s his name?” Anita asked, always the practical one.

“Tomás. Tomorrow in class. Of course I told him it was a mistake and it could never happen again, but I can’t stop thinking about him. And . . .” Sophie paused here, looking around the room nervously. “He e-mailed me. He said he can’t wait to see me. Am I the worst person ever?”

One of the babies began to wail uncontrollably, and yet another breast was freed from its zip-up sweatshirt. The cries quieted.

“Give yourself a break, Soph,” Andy said while she draped Clementine across her knees and rhythmically pounded her back. “You’re not married, you don’t have kids, you’re attractive as hell. Live a little! You can all hate me for saying it, but I think
you should go right ahead and give Tomás a test-drive. And then you should come in here next week and tell us every detail.”

Once again, everyone laughed. What was it about not exchanging vows with someone or creating an offspring together that suggested Sophie’s relationship with Xander wasn’t as serious as their own? Andy wasn’t sure. She felt a little guilty encouraging Sophie to cheat, but not as much as she probably should have. Sophie’s little exploratory make-out with Tomás (sexy-sounding from just his name, no less) sounded exciting, adventurous, the exact kind of wild fun you were supposed to have before conversations about breast pumps and stool softeners and diaper creams claimed your life. Sophie would figure it out—either she’d return to Xander more confident in what they shared, or she wouldn’t. Maybe Tomás was right for her, or maybe it was someone totally different she hadn’t even met yet. Andy knew it was a double standard, was acutely aware that someone—namely, Xander—stood to get very hurt, and yet she couldn’t help but think the stakes just weren’t that high.

A couple more babies started fussing as the time drew close to three o’clock, and Lori announced that the session was over for the week. “Some interesting things to think about, ladies,” she said as everyone began packing up bottles, pacifiers, teething rings, burp cloths, blankets, nursing covers, and stuffed animals. “Next we’ll have a sleep specialist from Baby 911 in to tell us how and when to set the little ones up on a schedule. Please let me know by e-mail if you can’t make it. As always, I’m inspired by all of you! Have a great week.” She left the room to give them all a few moments to talk among themselves.

The moment the door closed, Andy heard one of the women next to her groan audibly.

Bethany muttered, “Does she really find it so inspiring that we sit around in our sweatpants all day covered in puke and baby shit? I mean, seriously.”

“Did you see her face when I said we’d made out? She was
definitely searching for an inspirational quote about that one,” Sophie said.

Andy packed up Clementine and said good-bye to the other women. Already they were starting to feel like friends.

Andy didn’t notice Max was home until she wheeled the stroller into the living room and began to unpack.

“Who do we have here?” he asked, giving Andy a peck on the cheek and immediately turning his attention to Clementine. In response, Clem gave her daddy a wide, toothless grin and Andy felt herself instinctively grinning back. “Look at this happy girl,” he said, hoisting Clementine out of her stroller and tucking her snugly into the crook of his arm. He lightly kissed her nose and handed her back to Andy.

“Want to take her for a little? I’m sure she’d love some daddy time.”

“I really need to lie down for a few minutes,” Max said, heading toward the bedroom. “It’s been the longest week. Very stressful.”

Andy followed him and deposited Clem on the bed. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I could really use thirty minutes to take a shower and maybe eat a bowl of cereal.” She kissed her daughter and laid the baby on Max’s pillow.

“Andy,” Max said in that tone he sometimes took with her. The one that conveyed through a single word that he was
this close
to losing his patience. “I’m under a lot of pressure right now.”

“Well, there’s nothing better than some baby gurgles to cure that. Enjoy your daughter,” Andy said, and closed the bedroom door behind her.

She rinsed off quickly in the guest bathroom and got back in her yoga pants and fleece. There wasn’t any milk left in the refrigerator, but she made herself a peanut butter and banana sandwich, grabbed a Diet Coke, and collapsed onto the couch. How long had it been since she’d watched a show without a baby hanging on her breast? Or eaten a meal uninterrupted? It was
bliss. She must have nodded off, because she woke to Max and Clementine beside her on the couch. Max had pulled open Clem’s pajamas and was tickling her belly. As a reward, Clem was giving the best, most beautiful smiles imaginable.

“You okay?” Max asked as he tickled under Clem’s arms.

“I am now,” she said, feeling infinitely more relaxed than she had before. That’s how it always seemed these days with the mood swings: highs and lows, ups and downs.

Clem punctuated her toothless grin with some sort of delighted squeal.

“Was that a laugh?” Max asked. “I thought she was too young to laugh.”

Andy squeezed his arm. “It sure sounded like a laugh.”

She’d always imagined herself head-over-heels in love with her child, but she’d never pictured her husband every bit as smitten. Max was a wonderful father—engaged, involved, affectionate, and fun—and there was little she loved more than watching her husband and daughter interact. Andy knew nothing was wrong, despite little territorial skirmishes like the one just witnessed. Everything was right, actually, for the first time in so many months. Her daughter was healthy and happy, her husband was sweet and, for the most part, solicitous, and she was enjoying these few exhausting but priceless months of being with her newborn baby. Mrs. Harrison’s letter to Max, the fact that Max had seen and hidden the fact of seeing Katherine—these were distant memories. Whatever lingering anxiety she felt was from the hormones, or the sleep deprivation, or both. She turned her attention to her family. They were together, tired but happy, enjoying their new baby, and she was going to savor every second.

“Are you almost ready?” Max called from the living room, where Andy knew he was leisurely enjoying a bottle of root beer. She could picture him draped across the couch in his dark European-cut suit and expensive Italian loafers, sipping his drink and idly checking his iPhone. His hair was newly trimmed and his face freshly shaven, and he would smell of shampoo and minty aftershave and, inexplicably, of chocolate. He would be excited for the party, eager to get there and begin making the rounds of people he knew and liked. Perhaps his foot would be tapping impatiently. Meanwhile, down the hall, Clementine was being fed by Isla, the twenty-two-year-old Australian babysitter Andy had
hired based on a recommendation from the mommy group and a Google background check. In other words, a complete stranger.

The doorbell rang. For a moment she thought it was the television, but when Stanley started barking and a quick glance at the baby monitor showed Clem and Isla snuggled together on the glider, she figured it was a food delivery of some sort. For Isla, probably. The landline rang and Andy grabbed it.

“It’s okay to send them up,” she said hurriedly into the phone.

“Oh, Andrea? Sorry, I just wanted to let you know that—”

A shrill voice from inside Andy’s foyer interrupted the doorman. “Hello! Anyone home? Hello . . .”

“—Mrs. Harrison is on her way up. She said you were expecting her.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you,” Andy said, glancing down at her own nakedness. She heard Max greeting his mother in the hallway outside the bedroom. A moment later, his head popped in the door. “Hey, so my mom’s here,” he said, almost like a question. “She was invited to a gallery opening tonight and it’s just around the corner. She thought she’d stop in and say hello to the baby.”

Andy stared at him, noting his sheepish smile. “Seriously?”
I need your mother like I need two broken legs right now,
Andy thought.

“Sorry, baby. She was literally around the corner. And she’s got some other event uptown that starts in like thirty minutes, so it really is just a quick hello. I thought we could all have a drink together before both parties.”

“I’m not even dressed, Max,” Andy said, waving to the tangle of towels, black dresses, and support undergarments on their bed.

“Don’t worry about it, she’s here to see Clem. Take your time, I’ll pour you some champagne. Come out whenever you’re ready.”

She wanted to scream at her husband for not consulting with her on this most unwelcome surprise, but instead she just nodded and motioned for him to close the door. She could hear Max introduce
Barbara to Isla—“Oh, Australia, you say? What an
interesting
place”—and then their voices faded as they headed toward the living room. Andy turned her attention to a pair of nonmaternity Spanx shorts, size small. She worked them inch by inch over her thighs, and they resisted every step of the way. Clearing the widest part of her leg was cause for celebration, but it was short-lived: she had to focus on getting them over her butt and stomach. They dug and pinched up and down her entire lower body, and by the time she had finally yanked them into place, beads of perspiration ran uncomfortably down her back and between her breasts. Her hair, professionally blown out for the first time since Clementine’s birth, now stuck to her face and neck. Grabbing a magazine to fan herself and clad only in nude-colored, too-tight shaper shorts and a heavy-duty nursing bra, her body spilling out of both, Andy started to laugh. If this wasn’t sexy, she didn’t know what was.

Her cell phone rang from the nightstand. She rolled like a greased piglet across the bed and grabbed it.

“Bad time,” she said automatically, the way you could only do when you were a new mother.

“I’m just calling to wish you good luck tonight.” Jill’s voice was warm and familiar, and immediately Andy felt herself calm ever so slightly.

“Good luck being a postpartum, leaking, lactating, overweight cow among a sea of gorgeous people, or good luck leaving my baby girl with a stranger I essentially found on the Internet?”

“Both!” Jill said brightly.

“How am I going to do this?” Andy moaned, acutely aware she was already late.

“Same way everyone else does: wear all black, check your cell phone every four to five seconds, and drink as heavily as the situation will allow.”

“Good advice. Drink, check. Cell phone, check. Now I just need to cram my ass into the long-sleeved black dress. Remember,
with the cutout in back? The one I used to wear all the time pre-baby?”

Jill laughed. Not nicely. “You’re barely four months out, Andy. Don’t expect a miracle.”

Andy stared at the dress laid out next to her on the bed. Depending on whether she was a four or a six, it either looked elegantly fitted or sexily curve-hugging, and depending on accessories, it was perfect for everything from a quick drinks date to a ballroom wedding. Tonight, however, it looked better suited for a doll, or maybe a tween.

“It’s not going to happen, is it?” she asked, her voice a near whisper.

“Probably not. But who cares? You’ll be back into it in another couple months, what’s the difference?”

“The difference is I don’t have anything to wear!” Andy didn’t want to sound hysterical, but her sweating had increased and the clock was ticking. Dress-wise, there was no Plan B.

“Of course you do,” Jill said, her tone the same one she used with Jonah when he was being particularly petulant. “That black dress, with the three-quarter-length sleeves? That you wore to grandma’s brunch in March?”

“That’s maternity!” Andy wailed. “Not to mention it was appropriate for an eighty-nine-year-old’s birthday party.”

“Think of how much thinner you’ll look in it now.”

Andy sighed. “I’ve got to run. Sorry I can’t ask anything about your life right now. Plus Barbara’s here to visit Clementine. I swear it’s on purpose, the one night I cannot afford to get upset because I’m already a wreck—” Andy stopped herself. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Everything’s fine. Get rid of Barbara, and go have fun. It’s your first night out in ages, not to mention a hugely exciting professional night, and you deserve it.”

“Thanks.”

“But remember—keep drinking.”

“Got it. Black, phone, booze. Good-bye.” She hung up and smiled at the phone. She missed her sister desperately sometimes, especially on nights like these.

Max appeared in the doorway. “You’re still not dressed? Andy, what’s wrong?”

Andy grabbed a damp towel from the floor and held it up to her chest. “Don’t look at me!”

Max walked over and stroked her sweaty hair. “What’s going on with you? I see you naked every day.”

When Andy didn’t say anything, Max pointed to the dress beside her. “That one looks too corporate,” he said kindly, although Andy knew he must have overheard at least part of her conversation and probably said
corporate
when he meant
small
. He opened her closet and rifled through her dress section. He pulled the exact same dress Jill had suggested. “Here,” he said, holding it aloft. “I always love you in this one.”