by Eva Robinson
She’d be earning plenty of money from testing.
A little speck of movement caught her eye, and her gaze drifted over to an ant on her nice wood floor, carrying a large white crumb.
“Ant! Mama, ant!” Nora shouted. Then, as if wanting to bring the small drama to a climax, she pointed to the ant and shouted, “Spider!”
Hannah had been going to war with the ants, and they were winning. There’d been a time when she and the ants had been at peace, natural beings cohabiting in spaces on this earth. But since Nora arrived, the idea of dirt and infestations made Hannah feel insane. She had to keep this place clean, and Nora trailed crumbs everywhere she went.
Hannah couldn’t raise a toddler in a house swarming with bugs.
She pushed out her chair, leaned down, and plucked the ant off the ground, then rushed it over to the bathroom. She dropped it into the toilet and flushed, feeling a sense of vindication. “You lost that battle.”
Nora shouted, “Ant!” again from the other room.
When Hannah turned back around, she was sure for a moment that the ground around her was swarming with ants, zipping around her feet in every direction. Her hands were balled into fists, and she snatched at the toilet paper to crush them. But then they were gone.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. It had been another night of two hours of sleep, and she was losing her mind. And moreover, she was starting to worry that she wouldn’t be functioning well enough to look after Nora. The thought surfaced again that someone was robbing her of sleep on purpose to drive her mad, but it made no sense.
She crossed back into the kitchen. Gritting her teeth, she pulled out her phone again to look at Rowan’s photos.
The most enchanting photos were the ones with Marc. Rowan had recorded little snippets of their conversations, and it was like watching a romance novel play out before her eyes in real life.
After our third date, Marc told me he had some music he wanted to play for me—a jazz band. As we sat out on his balcony, sipping Bordeaux from vineyards once owned by Eleanor of Aquitaine, nothing seemed more perfect than that moment with his music filling the air around us. The setting sun sparked in his eyes when he toasted to me. He said he was fighting the urge to tell me everything about himself, because magic meant keeping things hidden.
But I want to uncover every single thing.
I want to devour him until there’s nothing left but the bones.
A bit creepy at the end. It had gone from a romantic balcony and sparkling eyes to cannibalism. And she sounded slightly out of touch with normal life. Bordeaux from the vineyards of Eleanor of Aquitaine? Who talked like that?
But Hannah drank it up. She wanted some of that for herself. And moreover, she wanted to be the kind of person handsome men toasted to with pretty quotes about magic while she threatened to eat them alive. Because right now, she was nothing but the death goddess of the ant world.
Another flicker of movement across the floor turned her head, but it was only a speck of dust.
Holy moly, she needed sleep more than anything. When she turned her head, she saw trails moving in the corners of her eyes. Maybe if she had some magic in her life, some excitement, she’d rest easier. It had been two years of cleaning milk and soggy crackers and ants off the floor, and it was hard to dream when you hadn’t gotten any joy out of the day.
“Mama! Hungry!” Nora’s voice pulled her out of her haze. “Cookie, please? Please?”
Wasn’t Hannah making Nora dinner? She’d forgotten.
She turned to the countertop. Already, she’d laid out several carrot sticks, and she’d started cutting them into thin strips so Nora wouldn’t choke, but then partway through she’d apparently just drifted off to some other thought.
“Sorry, Nora.” She handed Nora a few carrot sticks, but obviously she needed something more.
Hannah’s phone buzzed on her table, and she snatched it up. Her jaw dropped as she looked at the time. Was it already seven? She had no idea what had happened to the past four hours. In fact, she could hardly remember them. And she hadn’t even managed to make Nora a full dinner.
“Dada’s here.”
“Jacket on!” chirped Nora. “Dada here.” Nora launched into a cheerful song of her own making about maple syrup.
Lucky that Nora actually wanted to see Luke today. On other weekends, she’d cling to her mom’s leg, tears streaming down her face, and the guilt twisted Hannah’s heart.
She pulled Nora into her lap to wiggle her feet into Velcro sneakers.
“Shoes on!” said Nora.
While her phone buzzed, Hannah rushed around, grabbing things to stuff into Nora’s bag. She should have done all this earlier, but she’d been busy doing something…
An ant caught her eye. This one on the counter. She hadn’t seen them on the counter before. This was a new behavior. She smushed it with her thumb, then felt slightly horrified. She wiped the little bug off with a paper towel.
The setting sun sparked in his eyes when he toasted to me.
“Dada here!” shrieked Nora.
Hannah whirled. What was she supposed to be doing? She kept getting interrupted. Every time she tried to do something, there was an interruption, which was why she never got anything done.
Right, Nora’s bag. She ran to the bathroom, stuffing the backpack to the brim with diapers, wipes. What had she forgotten…
Nothing seemed more perfect than that moment with his music filling the air around us.
If she closed her eyes, she could hear the music, a piano—
“Hungry!”
Hannah’s eyes snapped open, and when she looked down at her phone, she saw five text messages from Luke.
She was losing her mind. The phone rang with his picture lighting up the screen, and she answered. “Sorry, Luke,” she said. “I’m just a bit behind. I forgot…” She stopped herself. She didn’t want to admit she’d forgotten to feed Nora. “I forgot to pack the bag, and Nora refused to eat. Threw all her food on the floor.” She felt a twinge of guilt as she said this. “So she still needs dinner.”
“Take your time. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Are you all right?”
“Of course!” She opened a box of Chex and started shoving fistfuls of cereal into a baggie. What else did she need? Think. Think. “Pajamas and pacifiers.”
“Sorry?”
“Um… just reminding myself what I need. I’ll be down in a second.” She hung up and shoved her phone in her purse.
Nora gripped the baby gate and screeched, “Go outside! Outside! Dada outside!” while Hannah scoured the shelves for sippy cups and pacifiers.
When had Nora become so obsessed with Luke? Maybe it was because Luke actually paid attention to her instead of staring at the phone all day.
With the bags fully packed, Hannah called for an Uber. Then she snatched a cardigan off the bannister and lifted Nora from the gate.
She took a moment to press her face against Nora’s soft skin and kiss her cheek. She always missed Nora when she was gone.
“Mama kiss,” said Nora quietly, a little delight tinging her voice.
Before leaving, Hannah turned to look at her apartment. Empty seltzer cans littered the table. She didn’t remember drinking those.
She held Nora tight and walked carefully down the stairs.
“Too tight! Mama hug too tight!” Nora complained.
But every time Hannah took the stairs, she pictured herself dropping Nora and watching her little body flail like a rag doll as she tumbled down. Hannah’s worst fear wasn’t just that something terrible would happen to Nora, but that it would be her fault. There couldn’t be a worse feeling than knowing you had caused someone to fall like that.
At the bottom of two flights of stairs, she breathed out slowly and pulled open the front door.
Luke was leaning against his car, and he held out his arms to Nora. Hannah squeezed Nora tighter, her chin brushing against her daughter’s soft curls. She kissed her firmly on the cheek, but
Nora was already trying to struggle out of her grasp.
“Dada here!” Nora snuggled into his neck, and Hannah found herself beaming at them.
They were a beautiful family. Nora had inherited Luke’s big brown eyes and his long eyelashes, and she had Hannah’s delicate features.
Except—they weren’t a family.
“Call me if anything goes wrong,” said Hannah.
“I know.” He flashed her a lopsided grin. “You look nice.”
It was generous of him to say that. “Do I? I don’t know. I’m going to a party at some woman’s house. I think she’s a professor at BU? They’re trying to raise money for a Cambridge teen center project or something. Anyway, I feel like I haven’t been to a party in ages.” She handed over the bag. “Um, so Nora needs dinner. And she’s pretty hungry now, so she might need to eat the Chex on the way.”
Luke’s warm smile made her feel at ease. “Okay. We’ll be fine. She’ll be fed.”
Hannah shook her head. “I’m just feeling very forgetful. I keep zoning out. And my house is full of ants, and when I try to sleep, I see ants crawling in my head.”
He nuzzled his head against Nora’s, and she giggled. “Why don’t you get an exterminator?”
“And fill the house with poison?”
“Little ant traps, then. You can hide them where she can’t get to them.”
Hannah had to wonder at his judgment sometimes. “But those are poison too, and she eats things off the floor.” She could never live with herself if she poisoned her own daughter. “Never mind. I’ll think about it.”
“I’m just worried about you,” he said. “If you don’t sleep…”
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the black car pulling up. “My Uber’s here. You have the car seat installed properly, right?” She couldn’t stop herself. Obviously, this kind of thing was why he had a new girlfriend—someone more fun who didn’t nag.
His brow furrowed. “Car seat? I was just going to duct-tape her to the window, is that wrong? Or I thought maybe she could drive while I vape in the back seat.”
She suppressed a smile and gave him a light smack on the arm. “I know you’re joking, but I just need you to say it anyway.”
He tilted his chin down. “Hannah, if you trust me, you don’t need to worry. Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Good. We’ll be fine, as usual. And you should have fun for once and sleep in. You look like you could do with a bit of rest and relaxation. You deserve it.”
She scowled. “I am plenty of fun, Luke.”
Her mood fell as soon as she was in the Uber. He always made her smile, always made her pulse race these days. But what did he mean, “she looked like she could use a bit of rest”?
He was completely right, of course, because when she closed her eyes in the back seat, her mind swarmed with ants. As the car drove through Cambridge, she could feel time racing again, and a whistling noise rose in her mind, screeching louder.
How long could you go without a good night’s sleep before you just completely snapped?
Eighteen
As soon as Rowan opened the door to her apartment, Hannah immediately wished she’d dressed up more. Rowan wore a blood-red dress that hugged her body, with lips painted the same shade.
“I’m so happy you’re here! I’m making us bellinis before we go. Come up. I’m so glad you could get away from… well, from being a mom for a night.”
“Me too. I’m lucky to have Luke.” Hannah followed Rowan up a steep set of stairs into the apartment, a huge loft space with towering ceilings. “I mean, for childcare.”
Hannah surveyed the space with a pang of jealousy—hardwood floors, a wooden stairwell leading to a loft bed. The famous balcony window that looked out over the river.
Could do with a clean, though. Opposite the balcony, dishes cluttered the kitchen, and heaps of recycling tumbled out of paper bags. Two brown boxes sat on a marble countertop, along with a bowl of peaches and a blender.
“Just in time.” Rowan smiled. “I got takeout. It’s still hot.”
Hannah was still staring at the balcony and the chaise longue with the uncanny feeling that she’d been here before. She recognized the art hanging on the wall—pencil-drawn portraits of dour Victorian-looking people with a few splashes of color. That was what happened when you stared at someone’s photos all night.
A large painting on a brick wall depicted a watercolor night sky, and the words Ne cherchez plus mon cœur; des monstres l'ont mangé. The text had been hard to make out in the photos.
Hannah pointed to it. “What does that mean?”
Rowan pulled out a bottle of champagne from a wooden cabinet. “‘Don’t look for my heart; the monsters have eaten it.’ Baudelaire. My ex gave it to me.” She frowned at it. “In retrospect, maybe I should have taken that as a sign it wasn’t going to work out.”
She slid two champagne flutes across a dark marble countertop. “You know, I really wanted us to have bellinis, but I have no idea how to make them. I got peaches and champagne, but that’s as far as I got. Do you have any idea what’s in them?”
“Oh, I can help.” Hannah pulled out her phone to search for the instructions, and a recipe popped up. Rowan uncorked the champagne, and Hannah reached for the bowl of peaches. “The internet says I need a paring knife, apparently. And boiling water.” This was starting to sound more complicated than she’d imagined.
“Help yourself to whatever you need.” Rowan pointed at a drawer. “There might be knives in there. But do you know what we need right now? French synth-wave from the eighties.”
“Obviously,” said Hannah. “I’m not sure what else we’d listen to.” She crouched down, searching the island drawer for something that could be considered a paring knife. The rhythmic sound of a synthesizer filled the apartment, and a woman began singing about a Polaroid photo.
Hannah pulled out a small knife, then rummaged around the shelves for a pot.
Rowan dimmed the lights a little. “Do you think we should add gin to the bellinis?”
“Um, I don’t know. It’s not in the ingredient list. Is that a thing? Bellinis with gin?” With the pot in her hands, Hannah crossed to the sink and started filling it with water.
“We’ll try them both ways. Are you hungry? I have porcini arancini, and I’m about to die of starvation.”
Hannah slid the pot onto the stove and turned it on to boil. “You know what? I am. I didn’t have dinner.” She had no idea what porcini arancini were, but her stomach was rumbling.
“I have burrata, too,” added Rowan, opening up a brown box on the countertop. “I get takeout almost every night. It’s terrible for me, probably. But so delicious, and I can’t cook.”
“I’m jealous.”
“When was the last time I saw you?” asked Rowan. “It was ages ago. Was it our graduation? I remember you giving the speech. Did I see you at the after-parties?”
Hannah’s throat tightened, and she stood over the pot of heating water, watching the bubbles rise.
Rowan didn’t remember what had happened at the winter formal, did she? “No, I wasn’t at the parties.”
“Why not?”
Hannah didn’t want to remember it now, but the memory rose anyway—the Charles River while the dawn light stained the sky with fingers of coral. Tom standing on the edge of the stone bridge, his breath making a cloud around his head… The expression in his eyes as he looked down at her, so close…
She’d been so sure they were meant to be together. Back then, she’d believed in soul mates. And when she thought of him now, sometimes she wanted to bury herself under six feet of soil to escape the shame of it all.
She found herself staring at the water as it heated. She’d let the silence stretch out too long.
“Of course I didn’t go to parties that year, Rowan. Don’t you remember what happened?” said Hannah sharply. She hadn’t meant it to sound so angry. “You must remember.”
�
�Remember what?”
“What happened.” As the water on the stovetop heated, steam clouded around her. She lowered four peaches into the boiling water, one by one. Twenty seconds each, then she scooped them out. “That was the year that Tom died,” she added at last, more softly.
Rowan straightened. “Oh, that. Of course I remember. I was his girlfriend. But that was in the winter. We didn’t graduate till May. I wouldn’t have connected the two things. And I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be that broken up by it. Did you know him well?”
“He was one of the only people who was nice to me.” The mood in the room seemed to shift, almost like the music itself was growing darker. Hannah was starting to wonder why she’d mentioned Tom at all. She started to peel the peaches. The skin burned her fingers a little, but she wanted to get the drinks made to ease the awkwardness.
She’d totally poisoned the mood for no reason whatsoever—right when she’d finally found an interesting new friend for the first time in forever.
“You’re right.” With the paring knife, she carved the pits out of the peaches. “It was months apart. I forgot that. It just put a bit of a pall over the rest of the school year, so I didn’t feel like celebrating. You know, the real problem was that I was a giant loser with no friends. But that was ages ago, wasn’t it?”
“Thankfully, yes. I might’ve had friends, but they called me Homerun Harris.”
“Ugh, people were terrible then.” Hannah wasn’t about to bring up Handjob Harris, or Rear-entry Rowan, or any of the other nicknames Rowan’s so-called friends had called her. “Nothing’s changed for teenage girls, has it? There’s still the same double standard for women that existed a hundred years ago. No one gave the boys nicknames, did they? They could do whatever they wanted.”
“Most of those rumors weren’t even true.” Rowan sighed. “I never had a threesome. It seems like it would be complicated. And that porn video, by the way, was not me. She didn’t even look like me.”
Hannah winced. “I didn’t even know about that one. God, I’m glad high school is over.” Hannah dropped the pitted peaches into the blender. She pressed the button, blending the peaches into puree. When they’d been blended completely, she poured the puree into champagne flutes.
