“Said the most successful to the least successful.”
“For the last time, your award was for still looking the same, which is meant as a compliment. You haven’t aged a day since you were eighteen. You should be flattered!”
“Flattered? Just look at them.” I motion toward no one in particular. “They know I haven’t lived up to their expectations. I was voted most likely to succeed in high school yet my biggest accomplishment is what? President of the PTA? No, wait, I’ve got something better than that: I won the brownie bake-off at Sophie’s school two years ago.” I glare at John, still watching us from a safe distance. I think of the headhunter I’d secretly met with just days before finding out I was pregnant with Charlotte; the résumé we’d crafted; the excitement I’d felt as I thought of working outside of the home again.
I hated to admit it, but having another baby had changed us. Suddenly we were fighting about everything: who would get up with her, who should get up with her; another college tuition on a single income; my refusal to let John continue with his weekly poker night because I needed help. I don’t remember it being this hard before, but then again, it was sixteen years ago and I was a much different mom and wife back then; more patient and less exhausted.
“No one here is thinking you aren’t a success except you. No one is pitying you except you. Don’t tell me you’re actually jealous of this?” Casey waves her trophy in front of me. “You want it? Take it!” Casey tries to push it into my hand, but I step back and it falls on the floor between us and a group of classmates looks our way.
“I don’t want your award. It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You have everything you ever wanted.”
Casey shakes her head. “Okay, fine. You want to have this out. We’ll have this out. Why don’t you have everything you ever wanted? Why didn’t you ever go back to work? Why did you give up?” Casey challenges.
“You think having a baby is giving up? God, you have no clue what you’re talking about. It wasn’t as simple as you thought it was. You think I could’ve finished college while I was pregnant and then gotten a job at some TV station all while trying to take care of a newborn?”
“If you wanted it bad enough,” she says, her words slicing through me.
“You just don’t get it. You’ve never actually had a baby.”
Casey scoffs then looks away, sadness crossing her eyes. And then I know I’ve gone too far.
“Okay, you two, let’s end this thing right now,” John says in a hushed tone as he walks up with the bartender, who is carrying two drinks. “These are from our friend Brian,” he says. “He wisely suggested you two need to drink these and let go of whatever it is you’re fighting about.”
Brian smiles broadly, eyeing the two shot glasses full of a bright purple liquid. “I made these extra special for the two of you.”
Casey rolls her eyes. “You think it’s so simple. Like a couple of shots can make us forget all the BS that’s gone on tonight? A lot’s been said.”
John puts his arms around both of us. “You guys have been fighting like sisters for years. Angry one minute, best friends again the next. Why should tonight be any different?” He gives me a supportive look, “It’s just a high school reunion, right?” He kisses me on the cheek. Then he turns to Casey, “Just knock back one of these and call a truce.”
Brian holds out the shots proudly. “C’mon, ladies. I promise these will make you both realize how silly you’re being.”
“Fine,” I say, grabbing one of the shot glasses.
“Whatever.” Casey takes the other.
“We might as well make a toast while we’re at it,” I say.
Casey lifts her shot glass and says sarcastically, “To your perfect life.”
“No,” I say, clinking my glass against hers. “To your perfect life.”
CHAPTER 5
* * *
casey
“Mom!” A girl is screaming. Am I dreaming? Or is that one of my neighbors? It’s probably that kid who just moved in, the star of that new Disney show. She’s always fighting with her mother about something. I swear children should not be allowed to be in show business; it’s hard enough when you’re an adult. Temples pounding, I pull the pillow over my head to block out the sound and make a mental note to complain to the homeowners’ association about the thin walls in this place.
Next come stomping footsteps that sound so close. She couldn’t be inside my apartment, could she?