“I guess.”
“But you’re mad at me anyway?”
“A little.” She sighs. “Okay, that’s just the tip of iceberg.”
“I know. And it’s understandable if you don’t want to be around Eliza. In fact, maybe we could plan it so that your paths never cross.”
“Or, maybe …” Paige gets this slightly diabolical look, kind of like the time she sneaked a lab rat into Britney Rolland’s locker in middle school. “We could plan it so they do.”
“You want to see Eliza?”
“Maybe …”
“What exactly do you have in mind?”
“Nothing exactly … but maybe by next week I will.”
“It won’t be anything illegal, will it?”
She laughs. “No, of course not.”
“Or dangerous or stupid?”
“I’m not a fool, Erin.”
“Right …” I remember Paige’s irresponsible behavior when she got drunk in the Bahamas and couldn’t film our show the following day because of her hangover. Not a fool? Wasn’t that, like, just a couple of weeks ago?
As she drives us home, I think I can see the wheels spinning beneath her perfectly coiffed blonde head, and I’m feeling a little worried. Then I decide it might be best if I’m in the dark about the whole thing. Ignorance might very well be bliss.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be sitting home alone on a Friday night,” Paige says once we’re home.
“But you didn’t mind before,” I say as we go inside.
“Before — when I thought I was still engaged.”
“So does this mean you’re really not getting back together?” I point to yesterday’s bouquet of flowers. “If that’s the case, maybe you should let Dylan in on it too.”
“Oh, he knows how I feel.” She drops her purse on the table with a clunk.
“How do you feel?” I ask. “I mean, sometimes it seems like you two are finished for good. And sometimes I’m not too sure.”
“I told Dylan that if he can prove his love to me, if he can convince me that he was never with Eliza, then there’s still a chance for us.”
“How can he do that?”
She frowns with one hand on the fridge. “I’m not sure. In fact, he keeps asking me the same thing.” “And what do you tell him?”
“That he’ll have to figure it out.” She pulls out a pitcher of iced tea.
“Maybe it’ll help to go to New York,” I say as she pours a glass. “Maybe you guys can sit down and talk it out.”
She looks skeptical as she takes a long sip. “Maybe.”
To change the subject, which is beyond me anyway, I tell her about the reality show that Ben’s invited Blake to participate in.
“How do you feel about that?” she asks. I shrug. “Okay … I guess.”
“Seriously?” She frowns. “I thought you couldn’t stand Ben.”
“I don’t hate him. I just hate some of the stunts he’s pulled.” “And it doesn’t bother you that Blake’s still hanging with him?”
I press my lips together.
“It does bug you, doesn’t it?” she challenges.
“Yeah. It does.”
“I knew it.”
“Not that there’s much I can do about it.”
“Did you tell Blake how you feel about the show?” She sets her glass on the counter and looks at me like she’s suddenly turned into a relationship expert.
“I think I did.”
“Then it seems like he’d want to rethink it.” “But it’s a big opportunity for him.” I pour myself a glass of tea as well. “And besides, the show might not even happen.” “Why not?”
“Celebrity Blind Date?” I frown. “It seems a little hokey, don’t you think?”
“I actually think it sounds like a solid idea.” Her brow creases. “In fact, I’m a little surprised Ben came up with it.”
“Why?”
“Oh, you know, he always seemed more like a face — not exactly the brains behind things.” She peers curiously at me and changes the subject. “You didn’t tell Blake about Dylan and me, did you?”
“No, of course not. Why would you think that?”
“It’s just that I’m a little surprised Ben’s including Blake.”
“Why wouldn’t he? I mean, they are friends. And Blake’s been there for Ben a lot this past year.”
“Yes, and that’s nice on Blake’s part, but it doesn’t exactly qualify him to be on a TV show.”
I frown. “It’s a reality show, Paige. What qualifies anyone for that?”
“It’s just that sometimes I wonder if Ben might be using Blake.”
“Using Blake? For what possible purpose?” “To get to me.”
Normally, I’d point out how narcissistic that kind of thinking is, but because Paige is still pretty beat up over this Dylan dilemma, I decide not to mention it. “So what if Ben is using Blake?” I say. “Does it matter?”
“I guess not. As long as Blake is aware of Ben’s motives.”
“How could you possibly know what Ben’s motives are?”
She gives me her “duh” look. “Because I know Ben. I know how that boy’s mind works. Everything with Ben is all about Ben.”
I just nod. Although I hate to admit it, and I’d like to think she’s evolved a bit more than this, I think that in some ways Ben and Paige are not all that different.
Chapter
4
On Saturday morning I call Mollie and offer to babysit Fern so Mollie can have some time off. But after I get there, Mollie has decided she doesn’t want to go out. “I don’t really have anywhere to go,” she says.
“You can use my Jeep,” I urge her. “The top’s down. Just go out and drive around if you want.”
“No, that’s okay.”
I study her. She’s wearing rumpled sweats and her hair is pulled back in a scruffy ponytail. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine. I just don’t feel like going out.” “Have you even had a shower today?” She frowns. “What? Do I smell?”
“No. You just don’t look like yourself. Really, are you okay?”
She starts to cry.
“Mollie?” I question her. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” She reaches for a tissue, sniffling.
“Did Tony do something?”
“No. Tony’s been great.” Now she’s sobbing.
“Mollie?”
“I’m sorry — I can’t help it.” She blows her nose. “I just feel so sad.”
“Did something happen today?”
“It’s not just today, Erin.” She wipes her eyes. “It’s every day.”
“Every day?”
She nods, blowing her nose again. “It’s not that I don’t love Fern.” She strokes her baby’s head. “I do. It’s just that I’m so sad. Maybe I’m grieving.”
“Grieving?”
“You know … for doing this all wrong.”
“Doing what wrong? You’re a great mom, Mollie. You’re doing it really right.”
“No … I mean having a baby without being married. Fern — she doesn’t even have a daddy.”
“She has a daddy, Mollie. Tony’s her—”
“No, I mean she’s —oh, you know what I mean.” Now she’s crying really hard, and Fern is starting to fuss too. I wonder if Fern’s just reflecting her mom’s sadness. I want to break this cycle.
“Mollie,” I say in a firm tone. “You go take a shower and get dressed, okay?”
“But I —”
“Just do it!”
She blinks. “All right.”
While she’s showering, I go to her laptop and quickly google postpartum depression—or what they call the baby blues. I remember reading a brochure about this while Mollie was in the hospital with Fern. At the time I thought nothing of it, but after reading online a bit, I wonder if this is what’s troubling Mollie.
I carry Fern upstairs, hoping Mollie’s mom is still here. She looked like she was getting ready to g
o out when I arrived. Fortunately, she’s still in the kitchen and it sounds like she’s trying to get off the phone. I wait for her to hang up then ask if she has a minute.
“Sure.” She makes a cooing sound at Fern. “How’s my little princess?”
“I’m worried about Mollie,” I tell her.
“Mollie?” She looks oblivious.
“I wonder if she might have postpartum depression.”
Mrs. Tyson frowns. “Do you think so?”
“I know she’s been a little moody since Fern was born, and I figured it was normal. But Mollie just admitted that she cries every day.”
“Every day?”
“Do you think she should talk to someone about it? I mean, a professional?”
“She really cries every day?”
“Please, don’t tell her that I told you,” I say quickly. “I don’t think she even wanted me to know. She wants to be strong for Fern’s sake. But she is really sad underneath.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to her about it. And we’ll make an appointment with her doctor.”
“I’ll try to get her to go out today,” I say.
“Good luck with that.” She shakes her head. “That girl’s been a real stick-in-the-mud lately. I wanted her to come shopping with me today and she refused.”
“Do you think that’s part of her depression?”
“Maybe so.” She glances at her watch. “I’m late, Erin. I’m supposed to meet a friend for lunch.”
“But you’ll make an appointment for her?”
“Sure.” She kisses Fern then rushes out the door. I hurry back down to the basement and reach the final stair as Mollie is emerging from the bathroom. “Feel better?” I ask hopefully.
She just shrugs.
“Put on something fun,” I tell her. “Like a sundress or something.”
“Yeah, right.” She gives me a dark scowl. “Why not?”
She points to her bathrobe as if that’s a clue.
“Huh?”
“I can’t fit into any of my old clothes, Erin.” “But you look great, Mollie.” She rolls her eyes.
“Fine,” I tell her. “Just put on a clean set of warm-ups and do something with your hair, okay?”
While Mollie’s doing this, I change Fern’s diaper then dress her in an adorable pink-and-white striped romper with a matching hat. “Hey, maybe we should do a Runway show about children’s clothes,” I call out to Mollie. She grumbles a response and I realize my work is going to be cut out for me today. That’s when I decide to think like my sister. Better yet, I decide to call her.
“I need your help,” I say quietly, even though Mollie’s in the bathroom.
“What’s up?”
I quickly explain about Mollie’s blues. “I know it won’t fix everything, but I was thinking if she had a little makeover, she might—”
“Great idea,” Paige says cheerfully. And just like that she’s concocting a plan, telling me to bring Mollie to the condo and explaining what we’ll do after that. “You know —this would make a good show.”
“Well, please, don’t invite the camera crew,” I tell her. “I don’t think Mollie could handle that today.”
“Mollie can’t handle what?” Mollie asks as she emerges from the bathroom looking only slightly better than when she went in.
“A surprise,” I say as I hand Fern to her. “I’ll get the car seat and stroller.”
“Where are we going?” she asks while she tucks some things into the diaper bag.
“You’ll see.”
We’re almost out of the house when she glances in the mirror by the front door. “Oh, Erin, I can’t go out looking like this.”
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “No one’s going to see you like that.” “Huh?”
“Come on,” I urge, “we have a schedule to keep.”
Mollie relaxes a little when she sees we’re only going to the condo. As we go up the stairs, I explain my little makeover plan. “Paige is going to help.”
Mollie chuckles. “Well, that’s a relief. I know you’ve come a long way in fashion, Erin, but I’m not sure I’d trust you with a makeover just yet.”
“Yeah, fine.” I make a face at her. “I’ll just be the babysitter.”
“Right this way,” Paige says as soon as we’re in the condo, waving Mollie over to where she’s set up what looks like a hair and makeup station in the dining room.
“This is so sweet of — “ Mollie’s voice cracks in a sob.
“Now don’t start crying,” Paige warns her. “Your eyes are already puffy enough. Erin, go get a cucumber, okay?”
Before long, with cucumber slices secured by a sleeping mask over Mollie’s eyes, Paige goes to work. “I tried to get you in to a couple of salons,” Paige says as she spreads green gunk over Mollie’s face. “But Saturday is a busy day. So I figured, why not just do it myself?”
“Don’t worry,” I assure Mollie. “You know you’re in good hands. Paige is probably better than most of the pros anyway.”
I take Fern into the living room, leaving Paige to work her magic. I know I’m not always appreciative of my sister’s skills in the world of fashion and beauty, but I am today. And I know it can’t substitute for an appointment with a medical professional, but I don’t think it can hurt either.
After a little more than an hour, Mollie struts into the living room like a model. Okay, a short model. “What d’ya think?”
“Wow,” I say quietly as I continue attempting to rock Fern to sleep. “You look like a new woman.” Her usual unruly red curls are now silky and smooth and it looks like the ends have been trimmed, as well as some feathery bangs cut around her face that really bring out her eyes. Her skin is glowing, and her makeup is impeccable.
“I feel like a new woman.”
“And now it’s time to go shopping,” Paige announces as she gets her purse.
“Maybe Fern and I should stay here,” I suggest. “No way,” Paige says. “You’re coming with us.” “But she’s being a little fussy.” “That’s because it’s feeding time,” Mollie explains.
So while Mollie feeds Fern, Paige and I gather up the baby things and switch them to Paige’s car, which is a bit of an ordeal that I’m still getting used to, but I make sure Fern’s seat is secure and safe. And before long we head off to one of Paige’s favorite shops, where, as usual, Paige gets the full attention of the sales people.
“I really do think this could be a show,” Paige says as she helps Mollie pick out some things to try on. Paige keeps in mind that Mollie is short and not necessarily “petite,” picking out some items that make her look taller and thinner. She keeps the look more classic than trendy and, although it’s still summer and warm, she looks for lightweight layers appropriate for the fall.
“Maybe we could call it ‘Beating the Baby Blues,’ “ I say as I navigate Fern’s stroller through a tight aisle.
“Maybe we could have you in it too,” Paige suggests to Mollie. “Would you be willing to wear a pillow or something and pretend you’re still pregnant?”
Mollie chuckles. “Well, I’m not eager to be pregnant again, but if I’m only acting, why not?”
“I’ll tell Helen about this idea next week,” Paige says as she hands Mollie a pale-yellow sundress. “Although I doubt we can do much with it before our New York trip.”
“New York?” Mollie frowns. “I thought your next trip was Milan.”
I quickly explain about Rhiannon and New York to Mollie, and before she can start getting bummed about our “fun and glamorous lives,” Paige escorts her to the dressing room, telling her which things to try on with what.
After awhile, Mollie emerges in an outfit that really works—a shell-pink sleeveless top, a flouncy skirt in a fun, tropical print, and a light, lacy cardigan. “Very pretty,” I tell her. “That color is great on you.”
But Mollie looks glum.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You look great.”
“It’s these clothes,” she
says. “They’re too expensive.”
I was expecting this, and I already have a plan. “We told you this is going to be part of a show,” I tell her. “So the show is covering the cost of this outfit.”
“Really?” Her eyes grow wide.
“That’s right,” Paige says as she holds out a pair of great-looking sandals. “Try these on, Mollie.”
I realize what I said isn’t completely true, but it’s partly true. Because my money comes from the show, in essence, the show really is covering the cost. And, who knows? If we do a show about this maybe the costs will be covered.
Anyway, I’m glad to do this for Mollie. By the time the items are rung up, Mollie is beaming. She really does seem like a new woman as the saleswoman clips the tags and bags up her old clothes.
“Let’s get some lunch,” Paige suggests as we’re putting Mollie’s bags into the trunk. “I’ll call and see if I can get us in somewhere special.”
Before long, with Baby Fern sleeping contentedly in her stroller, we are dining al fresco at a new bistro. And after a couple of girls come up for autographs and photos of Paige, we manage to have a nice, quiet lunch.
“You guys are the best,” Mollie tells us as Paige is driving back to her house. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”
“Well, first of all,” Paige says firmly, “promise that you won’t go around looking like you did when you showed up at the condo this morning.”
Mollie laughs. “Sorry about that.”
“Seriously,” Paige tells her. “You need to realize that how you look will affect how you feel. Not only that, but it hurts my image too.”
“Your image?” I stare at my sister. “Huh?”
“Well, Mollie’s my friend too. I can’t have my friends looking like something the cat dragged in. It’s bad for my reputation.”
Okay, I can’t help but laugh. Leave it to my sister to make Mollie’s postpartum depression all about her.
“I’ll try harder,” Mollie says. “And I’m honored that you consider me a friend, Paige.”
“Well, of course you’re a friend,” Paige assures her. “Any friend of Erin’s is a friend of mine. Right, Erin?”
Ciao Page 3