When Life Gives You Lululemons (14 page)

“Help get my son back. And also? Help me nail that asshole to the wall and show the whole world that he's a fraud and a monster,” Karolina said.

“Karolina, darling.” Emily smiled widely and gave a half-bow. “It would be my pleasure.”

“M
ommy? Mommy?” Miriam tried to gauge the desperation in Maisie's voice, half-heartedly praying her daughter would miraculously forget what she wanted and go to sleep, which of course was ridiculous. “MOMMY!”

Miriam took a deep breath and reminded herself to be patient. The child was only five. Bedtime delay tactics were a fact of life. “Yes, sweetie?” she asked, opening Maisie's door ever so slightly and peeking her head in.

“I need you.”

“I'm right here, love. What can I do?”

“Come here.”

“Sweetie, we read three books and sang two songs. You have water. We found your mermaid PJs in the hamper and changed into them. I
took the scary Gruffalo off your shelf and checked under your bed for foxes. It's time to sleep now.”

“I want a cuddle,” Maisie cooed in her sweetest voice. The child was no dummy—she'd learned long ago that it was the one thing to which Miriam would never say no.

How many years more would her girl beg her to snuggle? She climbed under Maisie's covers and pulled her daughter's warm little body into her own. So she wouldn't have time to put on makeup for the Moms' Night Out? Big deal. She inhaled her daughter's still-damp hair and smiled. She gave her daughter one final kiss and murmured “I love you” and then was able to tiptoe out of the room and close the door without further protestation. Maybe she'd have time to do her makeup after all.

Her phone bleated with a text from Ashley saying she was in the driveway.

“Dammit.” Miriam caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror: not great. She'd managed to dig out a clean enough turtleneck sweater in a nice shade of light blue, but the leggings were pilled, and her effort at a chic messy bun had resulted in a ratty-looking topknot. She still hadn't figured out what she was supposed to wear around town.

Whatever
, she thought. This wasn't some gala. It was a Thursday night in the suburbs, and all the invited guests were women. Ashley had been vague about the theme of the get-together, but she'd insisted it would be lively and there would be plenty of wine and lots of nice women. Who was Miriam to say no when she barely knew anyone in town? It would be fun.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. Maisie was clingy tonight,” Miriam said, hearing her own breathlessness as she pulled the passenger door shut. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Of course, honey! Look at you—so cute!” Ashley cooed. She was also wearing a turtleneck sweater, but hers was camel-colored and looked like it was spun from the eyelashes of baby lambs. She had paired it with tight white jeans, the most delicate diamond pavé jewelry, and a
pair of gorgeous black leather boots. Her blond hair looked professionally blown out. She even smelled delicious. Everything about her just glowed.

“How do you get your hair like that?” Miriam asked, touching her own bun. She'd recently gone to a guy in the city who was renowned for cutting kinky, curly hair—he styled without wetting it and called it “The Diva Cut”—but it had looked fantastic for only thirty-six hours before all signs of diva-ness had exploded back into a frizzy disaster.

“Oh, this? Please. I haven't washed it in a week. I go through so much dry shampoo, I can't even tell you. Lucy told me the other night that it smells.”

Miriam laughed. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I found a drawing of me in Matthew's folder from school. When I asked him to tell me about it, he took great pride in pointing out the three deep lines running horizontally along my forehead and the shading under my eyes. ‘Like when you're really tired, Mommy,' I think was what he said.”

Ashley laughed. “Classic.”

“So, who's going tonight? I brought a bottle of Malbec, but I wasn't sure what else . . .”

“No, no, that's perfect! Just a fun group. We'll do some drinking and a little shopping. You'll love everyone.”

A little shopping
. There it was. Miriam smiled to herself as Ashley weaved through the dark, winding roads. She should have known—she'd heard all about these events in the suburbs: all-female “parties” where the hosts provided wine and nibbles and then, in a feigned-relaxed but actually hyper-aggressive way, tried to sell you whatever product she was now a “stylist” or “consultant” for. Ashley once told Miriam she had bought everything from stackable bangles to workout wear to wrinkle cream at events that were initially presented as book club meetings or Girls' Nights Out.

When they arrived at their hostess's home, all the women were gathered in the family room, sipping and chatting in front of a gorgeous
fire. Miriam recognized a few from the baby shower and a few more from the kids' school, but mostly they were strangers: beautiful, confident, coiffed strangers.

“Hey, everyone! Some of you might know her, but for those who don't, this is Miriam Kagan. She has the cutest twins in kindergarten, Maisie and Matthew, and also Benjamin in second grade. They just moved here from the city.”

Miriam could feel the heat rise from her neck to her cheeks. She desperately wanted to disappear. After over a decade knowing exactly where she fit in city life, she was finding this harder than she would have thought. But all the women smiled kindly at her and gave little waves and then went right back to their conversations. Almost immediately, Ashley vanished, and Miriam found herself standing awkwardly alone in the kitchen. She helped herself to a glass from an open bottle of merlot. Then, unsure what to do next, she popped a small chunk of Parmesan into her mouth and looked around.

The home was spectacular, of course. Vaulted ceilings, a double-high fireplace, enough fur throw blankets and accent pillows to open a boutique. The rug under the live-edge coffee table was made from animal hides, all shades of gray and white and carefully stitched together to create a kind of modern floor quilt that stood out starkly against the trendy gray-washed wood floors. Diptyque candles burned everywhere. Low, sexy music played from invisible speakers. Women with long hair and long legs floated between the rooms, kissing each other's cheeks and inquiring after each other's children, workout regimens, and vacation plans.

“You're Miriam, right?” An elegant woman with a jet-black bob and porcelain skin offered her a smile. “I'm Claire. I'm so glad you could make it tonight.”

“Claire? Oh, this is your home, right? It's beautiful, I was admiring your taste. I love everything.”

Claire's smile widened. “Thank you, darling. So, Ashley said you have three little ones, all in elementary school?”

Miriam nodded.

“And you stay home with them?”

Miriam opened her mouth and then closed it again. “Yes, I do. I haven't always, but it's been really great having these last few months to—”

“It is, isn't it?” Claire interrupted. “Hey, maybe you want to join me on the board of Opus? It's not an enormous financial requirement—although all the money does so much good—and we put on great events. Plus, the funds raised make such a stunning difference in the lives of children who live so nearby yet suffer so much.”

“Hmm, that sounds so interesting,” Miriam murmured. It did—who didn't want to help children?—but she wasn't clear on what Claire was suggesting.

“Hello, girls,” Ashley trilled as she approached and refilled her glass. “I'm glad you two have met. Claire, it's been so great having Miriam as co–room mom with me. I just knew you two would love each other.”

“You were right, of course!” Miriam said, perhaps a bit too loudly.

A brief moment of awkwardness followed before Ashley leaned in and stage-whispered to Claire, “You look amazing. I can't even believe you're only a month out.”

Miriam pretended not to hear, but Claire looked at her and said, “I got the full mommy job a few weeks ago: boobs, belly, and vagina. It was torturous but definitely worth it.” She gently ran a hand over her concave stomach. “I've had so much sodium today
and
I should be getting my period momentarily, and look: flat as a board.”

Ashley gazed at Claire's midriff. “I
so
regret not doing my stomach when I did the boobs. And not to do the vag! I wasn't thinking. What, just because I had three C-sections didn't guarantee my entire pelvic floor wouldn't get demo'd. Tampons fall out when I do jumping jacks.”

“I hear you.” Claire nodded. “Sex was like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. I didn't care so much, but my God, Eddie could not stop bitching about it. I mean, like, two perfect children aren't enough, now he wants me tight as a teenager?”

“Of course he does. They all do. And he got what he wanted!”

Claire feigned embarrassment. “He sure did.”

Miriam laughed along with everyone, but inside she felt a stab of panic. Was that why Paul had seemed so uninterested lately? She'd had a vaginal delivery with Ben and then a C-section with the twins. She didn't outright wet herself when she laughed or sneezed or jumped—wasn't that enough? Or was she missing something crucial?

Claire glanced at her watch and gasped. “Oh my, nearly eight-thirty.” Then, in a louder voice to the crowd: “Ladies? Join me in the living room?”

The doorbell rang before they could all take a seat. Someone gave a little squeal. Miriam wondered who could be so exciting. Maybe someone famous? She'd heard a rumor that Blake Lively had moved to town, but nobody seemed to know for sure. She'd overheard someone mention that Karolina, the senator's wife, was hiding out in Greenwich, but thankfully the subject had changed almost immediately.

When a woman appeared at the door, Miriam recognized her as one of the moms from Ben's second-grade class. She had a little girl, if she remembered, with fiery red hair and what Miriam's mother would definitely call a “fresh mouth.” Sage. That was the woman's name. Sage wore a flowy maxi dress topped with a cashmere cardigan and a tangle of delicate gold chains. Her red hair was loosely braided into a crown that framed her face, and her skin was nearly translucent, flawless, and devoid of makeup. She looked like she belonged at Coachella, where she could take a long, sensual drag off someone's joint, shake off her sweater, and languidly dance the night away with desert bonfires and younger men with pierced tongues. Sage offered a smile to the room of lovely women and, in a surprisingly baritone voice, announced, “Let's get this party started!”

“Oooh, I can't wait to see what she brought this time,” Ashley said, pulling Miriam's arm toward a prime spot on the couch. “I hope you brought your credit card.”

The rolling suitcase Sage tugged behind her seemed rather large for
jewelry, but what did Miriam know? She sipped her wine while Sage settled herself.

“First of all, a huge thanks to Claire for hosting tonight's . . . festivities. Honey, I promise not to get lube on your linen.”

Laughs all around.

“Isn't she a pediatrician?” Miriam whispered to Ashley, who didn't take her eyes off Sage's suitcase.

“Was. Not practicing anymore. The call schedule was hell, apparently.”

Miriam nodded. Sage looked around the room. “Ladies, first I'll tell you what I'm not going to do. I am not going to play some asinine icebreaker game. I am not going to push you to buy chocolate body paint. Or anything, for that matter. And I am most definitely not going to pull out some disgusting plastic dildo and tell you why it will change your life.”

A few women laughed, but to her relief many looked as uncomfortable as Miriam felt.

“Think of me as your intimacy concierge for high-end luxury products only.” Sage paused dramatically. “How many of you expect your husband to stay interested?” she asked, looking around.

Some called out, “I couldn't care less,” but most of the women tentatively raised their hands.

“And how many of you put every effort into making that happen?”

Silence. No hands.

“Can anyone remember the last time she wore a proper negligee to bed?”

“If by ‘negligee' you mean an old T-shirt from college and a pair of my husband's boxers, then I would have to say last night,” a woman called out.

Everyone laughed. Miriam quickly took another big sip of wine, worried that she'd laughed a little too hard.

“And dare I ask when was the last time anyone in this room gave a blow job?”

“To my
husband
?” Ashley screeched.

That elicited laughs from the entire group.

Sage shook her head as though the women had greatly disappointed her. “I guess I don't even have to ask about anal. But I will say, you're really missing out on a hot spot of female pleasure.”

The lone pregnant woman in the group said, “My husband just can't get enough, especially with this.” She rubbed her enormous belly and grinned. “Who doesn't love some good pregnancy hemorrhoids? Or the fact that I talk about how constipated I am over dinner?”

Suddenly things didn't seem so dire between her and Paul.

Sage held up her hands in mock defeat. “You, Leesa, are the only one with an excuse. But the rest of you—if you're not going to put in the time and effort to keep your husbands satisfied, they're going to look for it somewhere else.”

“Promise?” asked a petite woman in jeans and a leather jacket.

The women laughed and a few even clapped, but Sage ignored them and began pulling tubes and jars and bottles from her bag. They were beautifully packaged, like the kind of products at Barneys makeup counters. “Here we have our bath-and-body product line. Bath salts, aromatherapy diffusers, scented massage oils, and hydrating moisturizers. Everything is paraben-free and made exclusively in the U.S. using formulas developed by world-class cosmetic dermatologists. Nothing here will give you a yeast infection or cause your skin to break out, but they're specially formulated to appeal to men.”