I did it! she thought, with such a fierce pleasure it took her by surprise. I’m going to get away with it!
She knew not to run out of the store immediately. A hasty departure might arouse the clerk’s suspicion. Instead, she walked calmly over to the register and waited patiently—hands folded on her round stomach—for the young woman to finish what sounded like a personal call.
“Yeah, I know, he’s, like, such an asshole. I totally don’t know what she sees in him,” the salesclerk was saying into the phone. She glanced back at Chloe and dropped her voice. “I gotta go. I have a customer. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. See ya later.”
“Excuse me,” Chloe said patiently, when the clerk finally hung up. “Could you please tell me where the mobiles are?”
Twenty minutes later, Chloe left the store with the mobile she’d purchased and the shoes she’d stolen. The mobile had stuffed bears, bunnies, and elephants hanging from a white hoop, and it played “Hush, Little Baby” when you wound a white knob on top. It was perfect, exactly what she’d wanted for the gender-neutral nursery. And the clerk had wrapped it beautifully, folding it in pink and blue tissue paper before slipping it into a cellophane bag with scalloped edges.
Chloe had waited until she got into her car—which took her a while these days—and locked the doors before she slid the shoes out of her handbag, cradling them in her hands.
But the pleasure at having taken them, that wild rush of victory, abruptly deserted her. It always did. Owning the things she took never brought her any pleasure. Instead, the shoes made her feel dirty and tainted and just a little nauseated, and she was overwhelmed with the urge to get rid of them.
Chloe started her car and quickly drove to the parking lot of a nearby Publix grocery store. She pulled up next to the Goodwill drop box, which was already overflowing with rusted bikes and faded curtains. She lumbered out of her tiny Jetta, pausing to catch her breath after she’d finally managed to push herself upright, and then—glancing around to make sure no one was watching her—she tossed the shoes into the donation box.
Chloe had just eased herself back behind the wheel when another Braxton Hicks contraction hit her. She held on to the steering wheel, squeezing it until the palms of her hands hurt, while the pain of the contraction washed over her.
Breathe, Chloe told herself, but her breath came in short, strangled gasps.
Even after the contraction ended and her breath stabilized, Chloe sat for a few minutes, feeling too shaky to drive. Finally, her hands still trembling, she turned her key in the ignition and backed her car out of the parking lot. She paused for a moment to push her curls back off her damp forehead, inhaled deeply, and pointed her car toward home.
The party was larger than Chloe had expected, and the laughter and chatter of the guests floated over the back patio. The night was cool—too cold to swim, really, Chloe thought—but even so, there were children bobbing in the heated pool, splashing and shouting at one another.
Grace was circulating, stopping to chat here and there while monitoring the platters of bruschetta, cold sliced tenderloin, pasta salad, steamed asparagus with sesame mayonnaise, and chocolate pound cake, making sure they were well stocked. Her husband, Louis, tended the bar, mixing up gin and tonics and handing out sweating bottles of Amstel beer. The backyard was lit with garlands of twinkle lights, and the scents of chlorine and mingled perfumes wafted toward Chloe.
“Chloe! I’m so glad you could make it,” Grace said, hurrying over and kissing Chloe on the cheek.
“Hi, Grace! This is my husband, James,” Chloe said.
“Hello, Grace. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” James said. He had a rich, deep voice softened by a Texas drawl that always became more pronounced when he was tired or had a few beers. James beamed at Grace, his teeth flashing white against his handsome tanned face, his deep-blue eyes sparkling, his dark-blond hair falling forward over his forehead. Chloe watched as Grace was hit by the full impact of James’s charisma. He never failed to make a powerful first impression.
“Nice to meet you,” Grace said, smiling back up at him and looking a bit like a starstruck teenager who’d just met her favorite boy-band singer. “Would you like a beer?”
“That would be great. Chloe’s the designated driver tonight,” James said, slinging an arm around his wife’s shoulder.
“By necessity, not choice,” Chloe said, smiling shyly, one hand resting on her stomach. She glanced down, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place.
Being with James in this sort of social situation always made Chloe feel even more inhibited than she normally was. It should have been the opposite—James had the sort of appealing, laid-back charm that smoothed the way through any social event. He was relaxed, witty, completely sure of himself. But instead of acting like a safety blanket for Chloe, his outgoing personality made her that much more timid, especially around people she didn’t know very well.
And sometimes, especially when she was feeling insecure, Chloe wondered if maybe that’s what James saw in her—a partner who would never outshine him. Just as her vain, fun-loving mother, who always insisted on being the center of attention, had chosen to marry a quiet man who preferred to spend his free time watching the History Channel, happy to let his wife be the one to spin around in the center of their shared life, twinkling and dazzling everyone around them.
Chloe had first met James at a much different sort of party. They’d both been undergrads at the University of Texas at Austin, and Chloe’s friends had dragged her to an off-campus party. Chloe didn’t know anyone there other than the friends she’d arrived with, and they quickly dispersed, leaving her on her own. The house where the party was being held was a pit. It smelled like stale beer and boy sweat and was filled with sickly-sweet clouds of marijuana smoke puffing out of an enormous plastic bong. Chloe had stood in a loose group of people, waiting patiently for the allure of cheap beer and too-loud music to wear off and for her friends to be ready to go to the movie they’d planned to see that night.
She noticed James before he saw her. He was hard to miss—he was so beautiful, even while lounging on one of the stained, ripped sofas and taking a hit off the bong. One of his friends said something to him—Chloe couldn’t hear what over the din of music and raised voices—and James had burst out laughing, releasing the mouthful of smoke he’d been sucking in. A thin girl with long platinum-blonde hair and a prominent overbite was sitting next to James, looking at him hopefully. Every time James spoke to the blonde, she lit up with pleasure. It was obvious to Chloe that the girl was infatuated with him. And although he was going out of his way to be kind to her, it was equally clear that James had only the most casual interest in her. Chloe, watching from across the room, felt sorry for the girl.
Later, long after Chloe had given up any hope that she was going to find her friends much less make the movie, she decided to head back to her dorm. She made a quick stop at the bathroom, which was so grimy, she squatted over the toilet while she peed. Chloe used a piece of toilet paper to turn on the faucet to wash her hands and then another to turn the doorknob. She pulled open the door—and walked smack into James, who had been waiting his turn.
“I’m so sorry,” Chloe said immediately.
“It was my fault,” James said genially. His eyes were a little too bright, too unfocused, but he smiled warmly at her.
“No, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Chloe insisted.
“In that case, why don’t you apologize by buying me a beer?” James said with a grin that showed off his dimples and left Chloe feeling a little breathless.
Was he flirting with her? Because guys this good-looking didn’t flirt with Chloe. Most days she rated as a solid cute, although if she took extra time with her makeup and had a good hair day, she could occasionally rise to pretty. But not nearly pretty enough to rate this attention.
“Um…I think the beer is free,” Chloe stuttered, then gave herself a mental whack on the forehead for coming out with what might possibly
be the dumbest response of all time. Handsome men always made her nervous.
“Even better,” James said. He laughed, and even though she could feel her cheeks flushing, Chloe laughed with him.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m James,” he said, holding out his hand.
He was drunk, she knew. Drunk and stoned. That’s why he was being so friendly.
But still, Chloe thought, he’s talking to me.
“I’m Chloe,” she said.
“Are you friends with Jay?”
“Who? Oh, is that who lives here?”
James laughed. “So I guess the answer would be no.”
“Yes. I mean, yes, the answer is no,” Chloe said. “I came with some friends, and now I can’t find them, so I’m just going to head home.”
James shook his head. “You can’t go yet. Not when we haven’t even had a chance to talk.”
Chloe was flummoxed for a minute. Was he teasing her? Or did he really want to hang out with her?
“It’s late,” she said apologetically.
“It’s not that late. Promise you’ll wait here for me,” he said.
“Well…”
“Promise.”
“Okay,” Chloe said, giving in.
“I’ll be right out,” James said, walking past her into the bathroom and gently shutting the door behind him.
And Chloe had waited for him. They’d spent the rest of the party together—the platinum blonde left in tears, and Chloe couldn’t help feeling a thrill that she’d been the one chosen—and afterward James walked Chloe home to the tiny dorm suite she shared with two roommates. It was a clear, cloudless night, and a full pale-yellow moon hung low over the campus. James had casually taken her hand, lacing their fingers together, and they’d talked about a movie they’d both recently seen, and how they both regretted not spending a semester abroad, and how much they both hated cell phones.
James had kissed her good night—a soft, slow, gentle kiss that Chloe felt all the way down to her toes—and asked for her phone number. Elated, Chloe gave it to him, although she never thought he’d actually call her. Surely when he sobered up he’d go back to the thin blonde or some other flashy, sorority type.
But James surprised her: He did call. In fact, he called the very next day, wanting to see her again. And he called the day after that, and the day after that, until they were gradually and gently folded into the safe warmth of coupledom. But even then—even now, after all these years together—Chloe had never completely gotten over her surprise that he had chosen her.
On their wedding day, Chloe looked up at James while he repeated the wedding vows the minister had recited, and she had a moment of sudden clarity.
I love him more than he loves me, she thought as she gazed at him. James looked a little nervous and stiff in the unfamiliar tuxedo, and the hair curling against his stiff shirt collar was still damp from the shower. But then James glanced down at her, and when he saw that she was watching him, he smiled and winked at her. And she thought then that maybe it was okay if she was the one who loved more. Maybe it was the price she had to pay to be with him.
“The bar’s right over there,” Grace now said to James. “My husband’s manning it. He’ll set you up.”
“Thanks,” James said, and as he ambled off, Grace fanned herself with one hand.
“Wow. Your husband is seriously dishy,” she said.
Chloe laughed. “Don’t tell him that. His head is already swollen enough as it is.”
“And that accent! So sexy!” Grace shook her head and sighed. “I’ve always loved men with accents. You’re so lucky.”
“Thanks,” Chloe said. She tried to think of something witty to say, but, as usual in unfamiliar social situations, her brain froze. “You look nice. Your skirt is pretty.”
Grace was wearing a filmy purple skirt and matching silk-knit short-sleeve sweater, and her dark hair was gathered back at her neck with a mother-of-pearl barrette.
“You’re so sweet! I can’t believe how much I’ve eaten tonight,” Grace said, staring down at the plate of chocolate cake she’d been holding. “In fact, kill me if I eat one more bite of this cake.” She looked at the dessert longingly. “Oh, fuck it,” she said, and popped the last of the cake in her mouth.
“You look great,” Chloe assured her.
“I was going to wear a sleeveless shirt, but look at my arms! They jiggle. Like Jell-O.”
She held up her arm and shook it to demonstrate.
Anna appeared beside them. “Hey, Chloe, I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Thanks,” Chloe said, smiling at her shyly.
“Anna, look.” Grace jiggled her arms again. “It’s my new talent.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Will you please stop? You’re gorgeous,” she said.
“I’m huge,” Grace insisted.
“You are not. You’re curvy,” Anna replied.
Grace snorted. “That’s just a polite way of saying I’m huge.”
“It is not. Men love curvy women. Ask anyone. They’d rather have a woman with real boobs and a real butt, rather than some silly girl with anorexia who’s starved herself down to nothing,” Anna continued.
“Yes! Starved down to nothing! That’s exactly what I want to look like!” Grace enthused.
Chloe thought—although, of course, did not say out loud—that this was unlikely. Grace didn’t have the build to be skinny, no matter how much she might diet. And Chloe wanted to tell Grace that she thought she was really very pretty, sexy even, as Anna had said. If Grace had been born a hundred years ago, Renoir would have painted her as a glorious nude sprawled across a French daybed, with the sun highlighting her shiny dark hair, her mischievous dark eyes gleaming, Chloe thought.
But she couldn’t think of a way to say this without sounding sycophantic—and possibly gay—so Chloe just continued to smile at Anna and Grace and wait for a break in the conversation.
“Is your husband here, Chloe?” Anna asked.
“Yes, he’s over there by the bar,” Chloe said, nodding toward James, who was talking animatedly to Louis.
“He’s the cute one in the blue button-down and khaki shorts. And you should hear him talk. He sounds just like Matthew McConaughey,” Grace added, pointing in James’s direction with her fork. “Louis is probably talking off his ear about golf.”
“James will love that. He’s practically obsessed with the game. He plays every weekend, without fail,” Chloe said.
James was amused by something Louis had said. James laughed with his whole body—throwing his head back, his mouth grinning wide, his eyes crinkled at the edges.
“Well, those two seem to have hit it off,” Anna commented.
“I’m glad. I was just telling Louis that he needed more guy friends,” Grace said, and Chloe felt a small pang of jealousy. James made friends easily; Chloe had always envied him that. She felt like she always tried too hard with other women, was too eager to please, and they, in turn, sensed her desperation.
“Do you want to sit down?” Grace asked Chloe, suddenly concerned. “Get off your feet?”
Chloe hesitated. She was feeling tired, and the damned Braxton Hicks contractions kept washing over her, but she very much wanted to keep talking to Grace and Anna, sensing that they were exactly the sort of women she could be friends with.
Which reminded her of her interview with Juliet Cole. The memory caused Chloe’s face to flush red. God, she’d made a fool of herself. She’d been so overeager, so hopeful that the elegant, poised Juliet would want to be her friend, that she’d made that stupid comment about wanting a mommy mentor. The term had sounded cute, and not at all pathetic, when she’d practiced it in her head while she waited at the restaurant for Juliet. But then Juliet had looked at her so oddly, as though Chloe was an extraterrestrial, not yet versed in normal human discourse.
Chloe looked around to see if Juliet was there. She was. Juliet was the only woman who’d dared wear a bathing suit in front of the
crowd, and she was now paddling around in the pool with a pair of giggling, dark-haired twin girls. A man was with them, who Chloe presumed must be Juliet’s husband from the way he was playing with the twins. He was good-looking and muscular and didn’t look at all like the sort of man that any woman would even jokingly refer to as her “wife.”
Chloe didn’t realize Anna was watching her until Anna said, “I heard you interviewed Juliet. How’d that go?”
Chloe flushed and looked down at her protruding stomach, hoping that the others weren’t watching her face. She’d always been too easy to read. “Your face shows everything,” her mother had always told her. “It’s like a window into your thoughts.”
“It was fine,” Chloe said brightly, hoping that the other two women would assume the stain on her cheeks was just a normal pregnancy flush.
“You interviewed Juliet? And lived to tell about it?” Grace asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.
“She’s not that bad,” Anna protested.
“Yes, she is. And I’m speaking as someone who loves her,” Grace said. She turned to Chloe. “So how bad was she?”
“No, really, it was fine. Juliet was really nice,” Chloe protested.
She had been nice. Well, nice enough. Just not…overly warm.
“Uh-huh. She’s pretty intimidating, huh?” Grace asked.
“Juliet intimidates everyone when they first meet her. Once you get to know her, you’ll love her,” Anna said.
Chloe smiled at Anna, but as her gaze drifted to Juliet—now playing Marco Polo with her family, all of them laughing as Juliet, eyes closed, made a lunge toward one of the twins—Chloe couldn’t imagine being friends with the lawyer. Juliet scared the crap out of her.
A few hours later, the children had abandoned the pool in favor of watching The Incredibles in the playroom. The thrum of the party grew louder as people drank more. Laughter was bubbling forth, and inhibitions were lowered. Grace put on an ABBA CD, and “Dancing Queen” blared from the speakers.
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