by Sara Shepard
“One minute,” Andrea murmured to her friends when she returned to the kitchen island. “I win.”
“Nah,” Lauren said. “It was three minutes, not one.”
“What? It was like eight seconds,” Ronnie said. “I win.”
They burst into laughter. Before the party, they’d taken bets on exactly how long it would take for Raisin Beach mothers to start talking about their children in that specific, competitive way they did best. But these days, it didn’t irk them. It was almost endearing, actually. It wasn’t like the moms were going to change.
Jane Russell breezed into the kitchen. When she saw the women laughing, she smiled, too. “What’s funny?”
“Oh, nothing,” Andrea said. “Can I get you something to drink? Sparkling water?”
Jane pursed her lips. “Got anything a little stiffer?”
“Seriously,” another parent, Tricia, who also had a child in the Silver Swans fours, had appeared in the kitchen, too. “I had to endure screaming in the car on the way over here. I need something to take the edge off.”
And then, suddenly, more mothers were in the kitchen, comparing all the reasons they needed a drink. One mom’s toddler drew all over her brand-new leather couch with a Sharpie. One mom’s five-year-old twins had endured back-to-back ER visits for falling off the same piece of playground equipment. Someone’s kid shaved the family dog that morning. Someone’s kid was keeping a squirrel in her bedroom as a pet.
Ronnie, Andrea, and Lauren all exchanged a glance, both delighted and smug. It was obvious they were all thinking the same thing: these moms were always going to compete, whether it was their kids at their best . . . or their kids at their worst.
“We have wine,” Andrea said, the corners of her mouth stretching into a smile. “And beer. And liquor. We have anything, actually.”
She turned to get the women their drinks, and when she turned back, the group wanting alcohol had multiplied. And when everyone had been served, it was Jane who raised her glass. “These ladies deserve a toast,” she said.
“We do?” Lauren looked startled.
“You know why,” Jane said meaningfully.
Her voice had an edge. Piper Jovan was a cautionary tale. Her desperation, and all the measures she took to cover it up—maybe it could happen to any of them. And North was just heartbreaking.
Piper was up north somewhere, not incarcerated, per se, but getting the help she needed. But no one had spoken to her. No one was sure they’d ever see her again.
After the holidays, Silver Swans closed its doors for good; so many teachers left, and the school was so in debt because of all the money the account had to return. Now, in winter, the school sat empty. Leaves clogged its gutters. Its lawn hadn’t been mowed. The only people on the property, actually, were Kelsey and her documentary crew; they’d been able to pivot, pitch Hulu again, and start a project about Silver Swans and the spectacular way it went down in flames. Lauren spoke to Kelsey occasionally, and she hinted that she was this close to getting an interview with Piper, and if Lauren knew of any moms who wanted to go on the record, she knew where to find her.
But neither Lauren nor her friends wanted to go on the record. They were surprised that most of the other parents didn’t, either. It all felt a little too personal . . . and after this year, maybe not the message she wanted to project. Sure, a lot of people would want to see perfect-seeming Piper’s life collapse like a house of cards, but really, Piper wasn’t that different than anyone else. It was so easy to trick yourself into believing the thing you needed to believe to get you through. That you were successful. That your actions were warranted. That the child you lost was still here.
If Piper’s expectations were different—if the world was different—would this have happened to her? Or maybe she would have cut herself some slack.
“Cheers,” Jane said, holding up her glass. “To quite the trio of ladies.”
The three of them looked at one another and held in a laugh—funny that these mothers, who strove for the same ideals Piper did, were toasting them. But maybe, in a funny way, Lauren, Andrea, and Ronnie had it figured out more than most. They weren’t perfect. Their pasts weren’t perfect. Sometimes they slept late. Sometimes they let their kids eat junk food. There was too much screen time and not enough vegetables, and Esme slept in the bed with Ronnie and Lane most of the time.
But they were becoming okay with it. Their whole lives, they’d been hit over the head with directives on how to be perfect—do this, don’t do that, shame on you if you do. It had ruined Piper. It had almost ruined them. But it didn’t have to—for anyone. Maybe there was something to be said for just doing their best. Life was messy and tangled and both long and achingly short. Parenting was tedious and precious and no one, no one was doing it right. But at least they had one another now. And together, they’d never let one another feel badly.
Lauren looked at her friends and held up her glass. “To us,” she said. And they clinked, knowing they deserved it, and knowing that no matter how badly they messed up, they were trying. And that was what mattered.
Acknowledgments
The writing and revising of this novel occurred at a very strange time in history—COVID-19, so much social unrest, and everything else that 2020 threw at us. As I wrote this story, much of the world felt unstable, uncertain, and in flux, though as a result, I felt even more inspired to acknowledge the struggles of motherhood and how it’s not always about being the “best” or “perfect” but accepting where you’re at and cutting yourself some slack. And I can’t thank my team at Dutton for following and supporting me through this journey. That includes my fantastic editor, Maya Ziv, her assistant and co-reader, Hannah Feeney, copy editor Andrea Monagle, production editor Alice Dalrymple, Caroline Payne and Rebecca Odell on the marketing/PR team, and my amazing book jacket designer, Dominique Jones.
Thanks also to Andy McNicol at WME for guiding me to tell this story, Laura Bonner for seeing it through in its end stages, and Richard Abate at 3 Arts for your continued support. Also, enormous thanks to Alice Gorelick for your careful read for Andrea. And thanks to the many moms I spoke with who shared their parenting ups and downs, whether it be close friends, social media connections, or wise words I listened to on the many, many fabulous parenting podcasts out there in the world. A big thanks to my own mother, Mindy, for providing an exemplary motherhood guide and endless love, and to my husband, Michael, for giving me space to write this during a very stressful time in all our lives. And thanks to my kids, Kristian and Henry, because without you, I wouldn’t be as versed in this world. What on earth would I be writing about?
And also, a big hug to mothers far and wide. It’s tough to be a parent these days—especially in the past year. But seriously, you’re doing great.
About the Author
SARA SHEPARD is the number one New York Times bestselling author of the Pretty Little Liars series. She has also written other young adult series and novels, including The Lying Game, The Heiresses, and The Perfectionists.
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