Alicia worried that the painfully awkward incident would impact her complex relationship with Maren, on whom she relied not only for Maren’s unparalleled skills as a personal assistant but also as a prized confidant. Indeed, the more Alicia succeeded at work, the more isolated she felt. It sometimes seemed like Maren was the only person who truly understood her life. So in the end, Alicia had decided to skirt the issue of the girls’ deteriorating friendship altogether. But unfortunately, Winnie’s Stanford dream hadn’t ended along with her friendship with Brooke. It had blossomed as she collected awards, accolades, and attention for her outstanding achievements inside and outside the classroom.
Alicia noticed the paper wrappers scattered across her desk and realized she’d consumed at least half a dozen caramels. Did she feel sick to her stomach because of the caramels or because of the thought, however improbable, of Winnie applying to Stanford? She swept the wrappers into the trash can under her desk. Maren was her longest-serving and most loyal employee, who had lasted so long because she was sharp and knew how to avoid crossing Alicia. Furthermore, she couldn’t imagine Maren doing anything that would hurt Brooke. Maren had been like a second mother to her. And after everything Alicia had done for Maren and Winnie, would they really be so ungrateful?
After all, Alicia had been paying Winnie’s tuition since she’d started at EBA in ninth grade and had promised to fund Winnie’s college education as well. The EBA gossipmongers assumed her generosity was out of the goodness of her heart, and she’d never bothered to disabuse anyone of this falsehood as it was great for her “leading woman in tech” brand. Whatever the reason for Alicia’s largesse, Winnie was receiving a top-notch education thanks to her, and Maren was bound by a nondisclosure agreement expressly forbidding her from disclosing anything related to Alicia, Bryan, and Brooke. A single violation was grounds for termination and damages, as Alicia couldn’t afford to be too careful thanks to the media’s fixation on her and her family.
Clearly, EBA’s college counseling team had failed to change Kelly’s mind. What if, as a result, Maren and Winnie also came to see this as a “let the best woman win” situation? Pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, Alicia wished they’d never brought Winnie—the girl who made her daughter look like a dunce in comparison—into their family fold. She ran a quick risk analysis in her head. There was no way Maren would ever dare violate her nondisclosure agreement and reveal the true reason Alicia had been funding Winnie’s education, even if Alicia were to unilaterally change the terms of their deal. Alicia was a pillar of the community now; no one would ever believe Maren. And Maren would know she was inviting certain financial ruin. On the flip side, if there was even a chance Winnie might apply to Stanford, that was definitely not a risk Alicia was willing to take. Enough was enough. Alicia might have started Winnie’s Stanford dream, but now it was time to put an end to it.
5
Maren
Maren tucked a sock-covered foot under her leg and examined the label of the cabernet sauvignon she held in her hand. It was one of Alicia’s castaways, a hostess gift from some unsophisticated dinner guest who wasn’t privy to Alicia’s house policy that a bottle had to be worth at least fifty dollars to warrant a spot in the Stones’ two-thousand-bottle wine cellar. Normally, Maren distributed the “cheap stuff” to the house and garden staff, enjoying their delight as though she had bought the bottles herself, but she had liked this particular label and decided to keep it. Now she was happy she’d had such a visceral reaction to the bright logo.
She took another sip and let the flavors coat the inside of her mouth; though she was no connoisseur, she knew what she liked. She was not typically much of a drinker, preferring instead to stay in total control of her faculties, but the email from Alicia she’d just read for the fourth time today had knocked her off-balance. It was a peculiar feeling of suspended animation, reminiscent of an antsy student wobbling on the back legs of her chair, wondering if this was the time she’d finally tipped back a centimeter too far. If ever the numbing effects of alcohol were warranted, it was tonight.
She set down her glass and ran a hand over the distressed-wood kitchen table as she tried to strategize her response to this latest betrayal from her usual position of vulnerability. Instead, her thoughts wandered back a few years to the night she’d acquired this beloved table. She’d been moonlighting as a dog walker for a persnickety older woman who lived alone in a Capitol Hill mansion and seemed to believe that if one dog was good company, then four were better. At the end of the walk, Maren had taken the dogs through the back alley to toss the eco-waste bags, imprinted with the slogan “Dumps for Trump,” into the garbage bin. Maren couldn’t help but think the snarky poop bags were somehow emblematic of a town full of liberals in large houses who regularly “composted” enough food to feed four families and who displayed bright yard signs preaching love and tolerance behind their imposing wrought-iron fences. If anything, Maren had come to believe that these Seattle folk were worse than the country club conservatives she’d grown up with in Indiana—just as mean and selfish but a lot less honest about it.
But on that day, she’d been grateful for Seattle’s “reuse and recycle” mantra. The handwritten “free” sign in bright red marker was taped to the table and caught Maren’s eye as she closed the lid to the garbage can. Approaching for a closer look, Maren was astonished that anyone would throw an item like this away. It was well worn, probably an antique, and beautiful. And someone had literally tossed it to the curb. Maren was good with mental measurements and knew right away it would be the perfect size for meals and Winnie’s homework in their rented bungalow if she could manage to get it home.
She punched in the code on her client’s locked gate. After wiping every trace of mud and street debris from all four underbellies and sixteen paws, she let the dogs inside, filled their water bowls, and then dashed out the front door to retrieve her car, praying the entire time that her new kitchen table—it was already hers in her mind—hadn’t been stolen in the ten minutes that had lapsed. When she pulled into the alley, she pumped her fist in victory and got to work wedging just enough of the table into her hatchback that she was hopeful if she drove very slowly, she would make it the mile or so home without it toppling out into the road. As it turned out, the effort had been worth it. After all, it was right here at this table that Winnie had applied to EBA at Alicia’s insistence and where she’d studied for every test and written every A-plus paper of her high school career. And it was here that she would have been putting the finishing touches on her Stanford early admission application over the next few weeks, if not for Stanford’s intention to accept only one more EBA student.
But now Maren was feeling stuck in a way she hadn’t since her pregnancy with Winnie. She pulled up the email from Alicia on her phone, hoping it had been a figment of her imagination. But it was still there and still as disastrous as it had been earlier this afternoon.
* * *
From: Alicia Stone, Today, 12:55 p.m
To: Maren Pressley
Subject: My Mom/Winnie
Hi, M,
Apologies for doing this over email, but I wanted to let you know as soon as possible of a change in circumstances that may affect Winnie’s college decision-making process. As you know, my mom has not been well. With Dad too feeble to care for her and her Alzheimer’s progressing, I’ve recently been advised they are in need of twenty-four-hour skilled care for the foreseeable future. The costs for in-home caregivers are simply astronomical, so we met with our financial planner earlier today to discuss our options. I regret to tell you that he strongly urged us to redirect the discretionary funds we’d set aside for Winnie’s college tuition and use them for my mom’s care instead.
I’m truly sorry if this new situation causes you or Winnie distress, but I figured it’s better that you have the information now so you can plan accordingly rather than have Winnie reach for unattainable dream
s. I’m quite certain with Winnie’s fantastic record, she will have no trouble at all winning merit scholarships, even full rides, to one of the many up-and-coming colleges that would be lucky to have her. And UW Honors is also a terrific option. She could even live at home and commute to school, further reducing your expenses. Whatever you decide, please know it’s been our absolute pleasure to support Winnie’s education at EBA (as of now, we still plan to make her final tuition payment for senior spring semester).
Happy to be a sounding board as you consider all the fantastic options available to Winnie! As always, I treasure your friendship and am Winnie’s biggest fan.
XX, A
* * *
The more times Maren read it, the angrier she got. Alicia Stone, a millionaire many hundreds of times over, needed that discretionary fund about as much as her husband, Bryan, needed a sixth golf club membership. This was nothing less than a shot across the bow to warn Winnie off Stanford. Maren’s hands were completely tied, which was exactly what Alicia was counting on. If Maren dared complain about Alicia reneging on the deal they’d struck years ago, Alicia’s email made clear she would pull Winnie’s spring tuition, which would in turn force Maren to withdraw Winnie from her last semester at EBA. And the NDA Alicia had made Maren sign was no doubt ironclad, not that Maren could afford an attorney to give her an opinion.
In the ten years since Maren had begun working for Alicia, Maren’s job responsibilities had evolved substantially. What started out as a contract-based house-cleaning gig had turned into a full-time nanny job and then, as the girls grew older, transitioned into her current role as full-fledged household manager/personal assistant. Early on, Alicia established a fierce grip on Maren’s life—and by extension, Winnie’s—that grew with each passing year. In the beginning, though, all Maren could see were the benefits.
Maren started cleaning for Alicia when the girls were kindergarteners in pigtails. She could hardly believe her good fortune when Alicia poached her from the cleaning service to work for them directly as a nanny. After living hand-to-mouth to provide the basics of shelter, food, and care for Winnie, she was finally on stable footing with a decent salary. Not only that, Alicia offered as part of the deal to let them live in a small bungalow the Stones owned at a dramatically reduced rent, which was a giant step up from the apartment they’d shared with a rotating cast of fellow house cleaners in the south end of the city. Their new neighborhood was not only suburban-level safe, but it was also home to the highly regarded public elementary school that Brooke attended, Portage Bay Elementary, a far cry from the dilapidated school Winnie had been attending since kindergarten.
Maren didn’t have much experience with children beyond the few she’d babysat or lifeguarded in high school. However, from the time Winnie was a toddler, her intuition had told her that Winnie was wise beyond her years. Maren would routinely climb into bed with Winnie to help her fall asleep but would instead feel her own eyelids succumb to the lively staccato of Winnie’s questions. After Winnie switched to Portage Bay Elementary in third grade, Maren’s early suspicions regarding her daughter’s intelligence were confirmed—repeatedly.
By the spring of third grade, Winnie’s teachers at Portage Bay, a much more engaged crew than at her prior school, had urged Maren to test Winnie for the district’s Highly Capable program, which was located just a few miles away from Portage Bay. Filled with pride and a budding optimism for Winnie’s future, Maren scheduled the exam for an upcoming weekend when the Stones were planning to visit friends in San Francisco. She hadn’t mentioned the test to Alicia. In fact, it had never even occurred to Maren that it would be any of Alicia’s business. Even if Winnie changed schools, the move wouldn’t impact Brooke’s morning routine in the slightest. Big mistake.
Unfortunately, Alicia had canceled their trip at the last minute due to a work emergency and had called on Maren to accompany Brooke to her Saturday activities. When Maren explained to Alicia why she couldn’t step in on such short notice, Alicia lit into her. “I can’t believe you would do this to Brooke! How would Winnie feel if Brooke left her behind? What kind of message does that send? That a regular school like Portage Bay is good enough for Brooke but not for her nanny’s daughter, who apparently needs a special school to house her very special brain?”
It was a vicious tirade that left little doubt where Maren and Winnie stood in the social hierarchy of Alicia’s mind, but it was the fact that she hadn’t seen it coming that really shook Maren. Of course, Alicia frequently teased Winnie about being too smart for her own good. “Lay off the brain food—have a Pop-Tart!” “Be careful—none of the kids at school will understand all those big fancy words you use!” One time, she even went so far as to give Winnie a brand-new iPad preloaded with dozens of mindless games and TV shows—without asking Maren for permission. “Hey, little smarty-pants, don’t you think it’s about time you pulled your nose out of all those chapter books and had a little fun?” Maren laughed off Alicia’s comments as harmless banter, especially since they were usually followed by gushing declarations of her love for Winnie and the special relationship the girls shared.
However, in the wake of Alicia’s outburst over the Highly Capable test, Maren recognized that she’d been duped. Alicia’s digs had always been about kneecapping Winnie’s high-achieving tendencies. Nevertheless, Maren was eager to appease her angry boss and repair the damage to their relationship. She’d withdrawn Winnie from the test with regret but without hesitation.
Maren had thought her own mother was the queen of the silent treatment, but Alicia was in another league altogether. It took months for things to get back to normal between them. From that point forward, whenever Winnie’s teachers recommended her for testing, Maren politely declined—to their utter incomprehension. Each year, when Maren said no to the opportunities she so badly wanted for Winnie, it took another large divot out of her maternal self-worth, but she came to accept the annual ritual as a sort of employment tax she owed for the job they relied on to survive.
Maren glanced at the ominous email in her palm and now saw with total clarity that Alicia’s reaction to Winnie taking the test for the Highly Capable program had been the first of many instances where Winnie became collateral damage to Alicia’s ambition for Brooke. And Maren had been powerless to stop any of them.
* * *
Ironically enough, by the start of middle school, it was Brooke who left Winnie behind when she was admitted to EBA, a grades 6–12 prep school positioned as a pipeline to elite colleges. However, it wasn’t until a couple years later that Maren discovered what Alicia had orchestrated to get Brooke into the prestigious school. A scheme that had ultimately changed Winnie’s academic career, and Maren’s life, forever.
When Brooke was a fifth grader and applying to EBA, Alicia’s career was rocketing to stratospheric success. Which was why Alicia had suddenly set her sights on EBA, buying into the “only the best for my family” mentality that dominated her company’s C-suite, a place Alicia was determined to one day belong. The only hitch in her plans was Brooke’s average academic profile.
A decent student, Brooke was no Winnie. No matter how many hours Maren spent with Brooke on homework, she struggled to perform to her mother’s standards. When it came time to prep for the EBA entrance exam, her practice test scores were subpar, and Brooke was falling apart, crying nearly every day in Maren’s arms. Maren finally broke down and spoke to Alicia about her daughter’s deteriorating mental state, but instead of taking pressure off the poor girl, Alicia pushed Brooke to try harder, offering her outlandish bribes with one hand while threatening to take away everything she cared about with the other, which only sent Brooke into a deeper spiral.
Maren knew Alicia could be ruthless, and she also knew that Alicia was used to getting what she wanted. But Maren always believed that at the end of the day, their deeply entwined relationships would keep Winnie out of Alicia’s crosshairs. However, that was unt
il Maren learned the truth behind Alicia’s EBA campaign and realized that in Alicia’s world, as long as you had the money and status to back you up, every line was made to be crossed.
Around the same time as the EBA entrance exam, Alicia and Bryan were invited to a swanky party thrown by Diana and Michael Taylor, whose fifth-grade daughter, Tenley, played soccer with Brooke. Tenley was also applying to EBA, and Alicia was peeved that Diana had the inside track. All fall on the soccer sidelines, Diana had been gleefully trumpeting her recent appointment to the EBA board of trustees, which Alicia grumbled was directly tied to the fortune amassed over the previous decade by Diana’s venture capitalist husband. In an attempt to ingratiate herself with Diana, Alicia had offered Maren’s services for the party that night, which had given Maren a front-row view of the no-expenses-spared affair.
Along with the 250 other movers and shakers of Seattle, Diana’s guest list included her “dear friend” Ted Clark, who was then EBA’s admissions director. Once word of Ted’s arrival at the party spread, Maren watched with grim amusement as eager moms of EBA applicants swarmed him, attempting to curry favor or at least stand out from the crowd. As Maren handed him his second glass of sparkling water, she actually felt a little sorry for the guy, but she noticed that he handled the persistent advances like a pro. He must have observed her doing the same, and when she discreetly sidestepped another grabby husband who felt entitled to assume that her fitted catering uniform was an open invitation to grope her, she and Ted shared a glance of Can you believe these people? commiseration.
Girls with Bright Futures Page 6
