Always the Last to Know

by Kristan Higgins

  Mrs. Frost. Gah. “Call me Juliet. And yes, we did.” She described the tear-down in quick terms, glancing at Arwen’s face as she did so. Unimpressed. Bored, even.

  “My wife is a genius,” Oliver said, putting his arm around Juliet. “Every detail was her idea.” He kissed her temple. “I’m so lucky to be married to an architect. I’d be living in a shoebox if not for her. No taste whatsoever. This is all her.”

  Juliet smiled gratefully.

  “Oh, are you an architect, too?” Cecille asked. “I thought you were . . . in administration?”

  Juliet made sure not to look at Arwen and arranged her face in what she hoped was a pleasant expression. “I’m an architect, first and foremost, but I also manage projects.” Arwen hadn’t mentioned what she did? Who she was? She didn’t say, My boss is having a party and we have to go? “I’m Arwen’s boss,” she continued. “I oversee all her work, and the work of four other architects at DJK.” She smiled (hopefully) and tipped her head against Oliver’s shoulder. “Please enjoy yourselves, ladies. There’s a deck on the roof. That spiral staircase in the corner will take you right up, and the view is gorgeous.”

  They went off, hand in hand. Juliet thought she heard the words so nineties, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “They’re rather nice,” Oliver said.

  Her head snapped around to look at him. “Nice?”

  “Aren’t they?”

  Of course she couldn’t tell him. Not here, not now. Maybe not ever. “I need a drink.”

  “Sure thing. What would you like? And just a word of caution, love . . .” He lowered his voice. “Try not to overdo it tonight.”

  “Jesus, Oliver.”

  “Just putting it out there. I’ll get it for you. Chardonnay?”

  “I’ll get it myself.” She loved chardonnay. She loved cosmos, too, but they were so cliché now, so middle-aged. She even liked appletinis, goddamnit. She went out onto the deck, where one of the two bars was set up. “I’ll have a glass of rosé,” she told the bartender, hating herself. But she didn’t dare look any more outdated than she already felt.

  “Sweetheart!” Her mother extricated herself from a knot of people and came over, patting her cheek. “What a triumph this is! You’ve outdone yourself, and I know I say that every year, but that’s because every year, it’s true.”

  Finally, a true ally. “Hi, Mommy. Hi, Caro. Did you bring Ted?”

  “Ted and I are on the rocks,” Caro said, grinning. “You can see I’m really broken up about it.”

  “Oh! Um . . . well, I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it!”

  Riley London, Genevieve’s great-granddaughter and Juliet’s favorite babysitter for the girls, ran past, chasing Sloane and a little girl with wild hair. The Finlay kid, maybe? “Hi, Ms. Frost!” Riley said over her shoulder. She was with Rav Talwar, Saanvi’s son. Juliet had hired her to keep an eye on some of the younger kids, a move appreciated by the guests who had youngsters. Brianna could’ve done it, too, but she wasn’t that kind of twelve-year-old, and besides, twelve was a little young . . . or was Juliet just making excuses for her? Should she have forced Brianna into service? What if she became one of those horrible, entitled kids, or was she already? Had Juliet failed her? Should she make Brianna volunteer at more than the town arts festival? Maybe bring her to a nursing home and—

  “Everything all right, darling?” Mom asked.

  “Just fine. Great! How are you? Remember, you’re a guest here. Don’t let everyone talk your ear off. I want you to relax. Did you have something to drink? The food is great, too. Go! Enjoy.”

  “Mrs. Frost, could I have a second of your time?” asked a woman whose name Juliet could never remember. “It’s an issue involving some water runoff in my yard, and we left a voice mail with your office last night, but we haven’t heard from you.”

  “Probably because it’s Saturday, and even the first selectman gets a day off,” Juliet said, smiling to soften the words. “My mom is officially off duty.”

  “No, it’s fine. What’s going on?” Mom said, ever gracious, and Juliet wondered if anyone had any idea how much work she did.

  Juliet texted Brianna—ridiculous, yes, but she had sixty people here, and didn’t have the time to go up and down four flights, looking for her eldest, who was doubtlessly hiding.

  Nana and Auntie Caro could use some company and a bodyguard. Would you mind hanging out with them?

  Sure, came the answer.

  Good. That was nice. Maybe Brianna wasn’t beyond salvaging. Now Juliet would know where her daughter was and that Mom was with one of her favorite people.

  A burst of laughter came from a group in the corner—Emma London, who was Riley the babysitter’s mom, Jamilah Finlay, whom Juliet knew from the Stoningham Women’s Association, and Beth, who worked as the manager at Harvest, where she and Oliver ate from time to time. This reminded her that they hadn’t gone on a date in ages. The women were all younger than she was—more like Arwen’s age. Evelyn from her book club was here, as well as Lucia and Emiko, all women Juliet knew and liked. The folks from Oliver’s work.

  A lot of people she knew, but not a lot who were close friends. This was the toll of having a career that took her all over the world, of trying to be there for the girls at least ninety percent of the time, of having a marriage that wasn’t lying neglected in some ditch of her life.

  She didn’t have friends. Not really. Not like the closeness Mom and Caro had.

  Juliet suddenly felt like crying.

  “Hey.” It was Sadie. “How’s it going?”

  “Shitty. I hate parties.”

  “You hide it very well, then. The house looks gorgeous, and everyone seems to be having a great time.”

  “How are you?” Juliet asked. “Is Alexander here?”

  “Ah, no. We broke up.”

  Juliet blinked. “Oh! Are you . . . are you okay?”

  “You were right. He’s an asshole. Feel good about yourself? Oh, hey, person with the tray, stop right there.” Sadie grabbed three shrimp wrapped in bacon and popped one in her mouth, then looked back at Juliet. “You look stressed.”

  “Thanks. What do I say to that?”

  “I don’t know! I’m your sister. I’m supposed to worry about you. Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Are you, though? You and Doofus were serious, weren’t you?”

  “I thought so. His two other girlfriends might disagree.”

  Juliet’s jaw dropped. “Oh, that entitled little penis scum. Shit. Did you—” She lowered her voice. “Did you get checked by a doctor?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine, thank God. I also found his other girlfriends on Facebook and told them. They seemed really nice. One was really broken up.”

  “Let me know if you want a building to fall on him.”

  Sadie grinned. “You’re okay, Jules, you know that?” She looked around, eating the other shrimp. “Anyone I know here other than Mom and Caro?”

  “Probably not. Come on, let me introduce you to some folks.” She led her sister to the younger women of Stoningham and introduced them. Sadie mentioned to Emma London that she’d almost taken an internship with her grandmother’s company one summer, and before Juliet knew it, Sadie was one of the gang, laughing, asking personal questions without restraint, getting answers. No doubt she’d be having them over for margaritas before the week was done, because that’s how things always worked for Sadie.

  Juliet went up the (not-anywhere-near-the-nineties) staircase to the rooftop, a feature so impressive that even the late great tastemaker Genevieve London had admired it. She took a deep breath and tried to shed the anxiety building in her.

  But no.

  “Juliet,” came a voice, and it was Dave Kingston. And shit, Edward Decker was there, too. Both partners from DJK. Edward rarely spoke, and while he no
dded during her yearly review and approved her raises, Juliet never knew exactly where she stood with him.

  “So glad you could make it,” she lied, air-kissing them as Arwen had air-kissed her. “Are you having a nice time?”

  “Very nice,” Dave said. “Listen, Juliet.” Her heart curled in on itself. “We’re a team at DJK, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Of course!”

  “So this . . . chain of command thing. It’s not necessary, is it?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “Arwen mentioned you ‘put her in her place,’” Edward said, using air quotes and looking ridiculous doing it.

  Shit. If Edward spoke, it was dire. “I did what, exactly?”

  “Said you made it clear you outranked her in front of her . . . partner.”

  “Uh . . . no. Her friend asked if I was an architect, and I . . . I just explained that I was both a project manager and—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Dave said. “Titles are so misleading, anyway, don’t you think? We like to color outside the lines at DJK, and we’re a meritocracy. The optics aren’t great if you’re . . . well. You know.”

  “No, Dave, I don’t,” she said, starch in her voice. “Arwen does work for me. I have eleven years more experience than she does, and it would be irresponsible for us not to provide her with oversight and mentorship.”

  “Still, there’s no need to throw her under the bus,” Dave said.

  “How did I—”

  Edward interrupted. “The attention she’s brought to the firm is in everyone’s best interest, Juliet. Let’s make sure she stays happy, shall we?”

  The prickling panic had started in her feet. “Of course. Understood.”

  “Good.”

  Juliet glanced over at Arwen, who was pointing out something on the Sound to Cecille. She told on you, Juliet’s brain informed her. You spoke up for yourself, and she tattled, and the bosses are on her side.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I need to check on something. Please enjoy the party.” She forced her cheek muscles to retract in what might pass for a smile. The panic was in her knees now, and breathing had become a problem.

  Down the staircase into the sky room, down the next staircase, hello, hello, are you enjoying yourself, good, wonderful, make sure you try the cream puffs, they’re so delicious, you’re welcome, nice to see you. Down the next staircase, take a left, here come the tears, but it was okay, here was her bedroom, close the door, check to make sure no one was in here, and they better not be, this was her bedroom, into the closet, close the door, safe, safe, safe.

  She was crying. Faint, she ordered herself. Faint. Go to the hospital, even, and make everyone feel fucking horrible for taking Arwen’s side. Maybe Juliet had some tragic wasting disease that would excuse her from everything except sitting in the sky room and coloring with Sloane, and Brianna would love her again, and the disease would last until the girls were grown and then she could just slip away, looking at the clouds over the ocean, and wouldn’t that be fan-fucking-tastic.

  Or maybe she’d just quit her job, pack her suitcase and head for Montana. Dedicate her life to saving others as a smoke jumper. The girls would miss her, but they could visit. If she died, at least it would be for a good cause. Oliver would be fine without her. He’d remarry in a matter of weeks. The thought made her sob.

  Maybe she needed a therapist. That would be an hour a week she just didn’t have. Other than Mom, there was no one she could talk to, and Mom had enough on her plate. Sure, people accepted her invitation to the party and made small talk and hugged her, but when was the last time someone asked her how she was and really listened?

  She hated entertaining. Hated it. Hated trying to be friends with people who didn’t reciprocate (okay, yes, Saanvi had invited her over once, but Juliet had to go to Dubai for two nights, and other than the very occasional glass of wine in New Haven, which was always Juliet’s initiation, Saanvi never asked again, except for maybe suggesting something vague earlier). Juliet shouldn’t have thrown this party. She should’ve spent the night sitting in the hot tub and watching a movie. Which she never did anymore, but still.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in love, exhale insecurity, as her meditation app told her to do. Another thing she’d let slide.

  What was happening? She’d followed all the rules, but here she was, in her closet, and there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

  But the partners were here, and Arwen was here, and Kathy, too, somewhere, and she had to put on a strong, confident front and show them that she was one hundred percent together. She was going to have to push for partner at DJK. Until the past six months, that had been almost a given. No other architect there had as many successful projects under their belts. No one had brought in as many clients. Partnership would guarantee her income for life. No one would be able to touch her. Even if Arwen eventually got on the partnership track, that would be fine. That would be fantastic, because two women partners would mean equal representation.

  If she didn’t make partner, though . . .

  Not a tolerable thought.

  She stood up, went into the bathroom, cleaned up her makeup, put on some bright red lipstick, and changed into a flowing black jumpsuit and the fat diamond earrings Oliver had given her for their tenth anniversary.

  “You are a successful, confident woman,” she said, ignoring the tremor in her hands. “This is your party. Your beautiful home. Your wonderful husband. Your healthy children. You made this all happen. You belong here.”

  She went back to the party and pretended not to mind that Arwen was making Dave and Edward laugh uproariously, pretended not to see the woman who’d been close-talking with Oliver was at his side again, pretended not to care that Sadie was having a great time with people Juliet had met first but didn’t really know. She endured. For the next four hours, she sucked it up, buttercup. That’s what her life was about these days. Making it through the day until it was acceptable to go to bed.

  * * *

  — —

  When the party was finally, finally over and the high school girls had done their best to clean up, and Sloane and Brianna were sound asleep, Oliver poured her a glass of chardonnay (thank God, because the rosé had been utterly insipid). They sat down in the sky room, since the mosquitoes were out in force on the deck.

  “Great party, hon,” she lied.

  “I didn’t think so.” His voice was uncharacteristically tight.

  “What? Why?”

  “Where the hell did you go? You were missing for at least a half hour! Kathy was looking for you, and I had no idea where you were. Saanvi and Vikram had to leave without saying goodbye, and I had no cash to pay Riley, and the entire time, I couldn’t find you. What is going on, Juliet?”

  If she were a porcupine, all her quills would be up and ready.

  “I had to change,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I . . . spilled something on my dress.”

  “And it took you all that time? You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  Oliver crossed his arms. “For months, you’ve been at bits and pieces, Juliet. Before your father’s stroke, before Sadie came back. You’re hardly here anymore even when you’re sitting right in front of us. You’re constantly distracted, and believe me, I’ve noticed. So have the girls.”

  Whatever had been holding her together snapped, and it felt huge and delicious and black. She jolted to her feet, sloshing her wine.

  “How dare you, Oliver? How fucking dare you? You’re damn right I’m distracted. I’m fucking terrified. I’ve given everything to everyone, and my everything is a lot, not to blow my own horn. But somehow, that’s never enough.”

  He started to speak, but she cut him off. “Do you know how hard I try, Oliver? Do you? You
think it’s easy to have my job and work full-time and still be here for the girls and still bake those fucking gluten-free vegan cupcakes and take Brianna to lacrosse and Sloane to violin and work on Sloane’s reading and make sure we have downtime and organize the meal calendar and serve on committees and have sex with you at least twice a week? I have to be at a hundred percent all the time on every front, and it’s fucking hard!”

  His mouth hung open. “Darling,” he began.

  “And you, Oliver, you get to be the nice parent, the perfect husband with all the women just waiting for a crack in our marriage so they can slide in, and you think I didn’t notice that slut hanging all over you tonight? Who is she?”

  “What? Who? No one was—”

  “Oh, sure. You’re so fucking clueless. Next thing you know, you’ll be cheating. Just like my father.” Tears were streaming down her face, and the breath was ripping in and out of her.

  “Cheating? Me?”

  “I’m tired, Oliver! I can’t do this anymore! I can’t be perfect and work and shower and pretend to like salmon so the girls will eat it. I hate salmon! I got a warning tonight to pretend I’m not Arwen’s boss because it offends her, and she gives good press! My father’s a lump, my sister lives in her own little world, and I’m watching my mother fade away. What am I going to do if she dies? I have no friends! Brianna hates me, Sloane’s behind in school, and I’m outranked at work by someone eleven years younger than me! I feel like I’m screaming and no one can hear!”

  “Darling,” he said, going to her, but she didn’t want him to touch her, because she felt so brittle, she was afraid she’d shatter.

  She stood up, avoiding his open arms. “I’m going to my mother’s for a few days. I just . . . Tell the girls she needs extra help with my father.”

  “Please don’t,” he said. “Let’s talk, sweetheart. You’ve just said so much, I can barely process it.”

  “No. I never want to talk again. I hate everything I just said.”

  “Juliet. Sweetheart.”

  “I’ll see you in a few days.”