When Life Gives You Lululemons

by Lauren Weisberger

  “I’m excited to see Miles,” Emily announced as they walked into Miriam’s mudroom.

  Miriam turned to look at her. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said slowly.

  “No, really. I am. It’s been nearly a month.”

  “Well, we’re going to miss you around here. It’s been great having you—we’ve loved it and so have the kids.”

  As if on cue, Maisie came bounding down from upstairs. “Mommy! Daddy said Aunt Emily is leaving today!” she shrieked, a look of panic on her small, rounded face.

  “I am, lovey. It’s time for me to go back to Los Angeles.” Emily held her arms open and Maisie ran into them. While she wasn’t particularly enamored with Ben or Matthew—even when they were clean, they seemed kind of gross, with constantly runny noses and dirt under their fingernails, not to mention their exhaustive nonstop motion—Maisie had really grown on her. The little girl was drawn to Emily, always showing up in her room and asking if she could try on her heels or help put on her makeup. One evening Emily had applied some blush and lip gloss and a bit of eye shadow on Maisie, and she thought the child might faint from excitement. Naturally Miriam had sent her daughter back upstairs to wash her face, and Emily had muttered something not particularly nice about being the mom where fun goes to die, but from that moment on, Maisie had remained steadfastly devoted.

  “Why do you have to go back?” Maisie whined.

  Emily opened her mouth to answer and was surprised that nothing immediately came to her. She was looking forward to seeing Miles, but he was only going to be home for a few days before heading back to Hong Kong. And her job? Well, that was a shit show. With Kim Kelly and Rizzo Benz now gone with Olivia Belle, all she was left with were a few reality-TV stars she could manage in her sleep. So long as she scored them designer labels to wear for free and made a few half-assed phone calls on their behalf to the tabloids, they were happy. Emily needed to step up her game if she wanted to stay relevant.

  “It’s time” was all she could come up with. She’d been avoiding her voicemail and had told Kyle to tell everyone that Emily was on a silent meditation retreat. With a famous monk. In a faraway country.

  “Are you sure?” Kyle had asked, her doubt coming across loud and clear.

  Emily had paused just long enough to make the girl squirm. “Am I sure? Are you asking if I know what I’m doing? Celebrities eat that crap up, especially if it makes me seem hard to get. You’ll get the word out right away, do you understand?”

  Kyle quickly agreed, but Emily had to make a mental note to log in and check the girl’s work email. She couldn’t have her beautiful and socially connected assistant blabbing to everyone that Emily was in Connecticut, for Christ’s sake. There was only so much damage her reputation could weather.

  Paul jogged into the room wearing spandex tights with a pair of athletic shorts over them, a super-fitted long-sleeve performance tee, and new sneakers.

  “You’ve adjusted nicely to suburban life, Paul,” Emily said, giving him a once-over. “How sporty.”

  Paul laughed. “Hey, I’m headed to the gym. I’ll be back around two. Do you need anything?” he asked Miriam while grabbing an apple from the bowl on the kitchen island.

  “Say goodbye to Emily,” Miriam said. “She’s leaving for her flight.”

  Paul kissed Emily on the cheek. “Safe flight, sweetie. Say hi to Miles for me, okay?”

  “Will do. Thanks for putting up with me for so long. Three weeks is above and beyond. Very appreciated.”

  They exchanged a warm hug and Paul went into the garage.

  “He looks great,” Emily said, looking after him. “Being an Internet millionaire totally agrees with him.”

  Miriam rolled her eyes. “He can’t stop working out. You should see this gym he joined. It looks like a luxury Asian hotel. It costs more per month than our first apartment. Who would have ever thought my husband would . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked alarmed.

  “What?” Emily asked.

  “You don’t think . . .”

  “What? That he’s having an affair? No, of course not. Not Paul,” Emily said, and hoped she sounded convincing.

  “Mommy, what’s an affair?” Maisie asked.

  “Nothing, sweetie. Can you go upstairs and ask Karolina if she wants some breakfast? Make sure she’s okay?”

  The little girl grinned with delight at the assignment and ran off.

  Emily watched Miriam as she sliced an apple. “That wasn’t a serious question, was it, Miriam?”

  Her friend shrugged. “No, not really. I mean, of course I don’t think he’s having an affair, but the wife never really does, right?”

  “What’s your evidence?”

  “Evidence? I don’t have any evidence. Just that he had a huge windfall of money and has recently started taking an interest in his appearance, which he certainly never cared about before.”

  “And sex?”

  “What about it?”

  Emily sighed loudly. “Are you having it?”

  “Of course,” Miriam said. Then she held the knife frozen in midair and furrowed her brow. “Actually, it’s been a while . . .”

  “Define ‘a while.’ ”

  More furrowing. “I’m thinking,” Miriam said.

  “Not great.” Emily opened the fridge and pulled out a container of Greek yogurt. “But not the end of the world. Everyone gets in ruts. Going a week or two without doesn’t necessarily mean . . .”

  “A week or two?” Miriam hissed. “A week or two? Are you serious? Is that what life is like without kids? Because if you define a week or two without sex as a problem, I should have been divorced six years ago.”

  “You only got married seven years ago.”

  “Exactly,” Miriam said.

  “Christ. It’s that bad? I mean, I’ve heard from other moms that things slow down, but I had no idea . . .”

  “So he might really be having an affair. That’s what you’re saying.”

  A voice surprised them both from the stairs. “I didn’t think you two would be talking about it behind my back,” Karolina said, holding on to the banister, looking pale and disheveled in Miriam’s oversize sweats.

  Emily gave her a little wave. “We’re not talking about you and your potentially cheating husband. We’re talking about Miriam’s!”

  With this, Miriam hissed at her, “Lower your voice! The kids hear everything.”

  “Paul?” Karolina asked with obvious incredulity. She accepted the cup of coffee Miriam handed her.

  “Of course he’s not,” Emily said.

  “I mean, I don’t think he is, but who ever really knows?” Miriam asked.

  “I always knew,” Karolina said quietly.

  Emily glanced at Miriam, who glanced back at her. No one said anything.

  “It’s the only time he would stop wanting to have sex,” Karolina said. “It’s a total cliché, but it was true.”

  “So, this isn’t the first time?” Miriam asked. She looked like she was trying hard to keep the judgment from her voice, but Emily didn’t think she was being particularly successful.

  “No. There have been two others that I’ve known about. He confessed to both of them. I—I kind of assumed it was going to be the same thing this time.”

  More silence.

  “Maybe it will be,” Karolina continued. “Both other times he begged for my forgiveness. Told me that he couldn’t live without me, that Harry couldn’t, that he was an idiot for jeopardizing our marriage. The second time we went to counseling—it was his idea. I’m not making excuses for him, but I almost think he can’t help himself. My mother always said my father was the exact same way, that he would have these meaningless flings and then throw himself at her feet. She said all men are like that . . .”

  “Well, they’re not,” Emily said, not meaning to sound quite so harsh.

  “Emily!” Miriam reprimanded.

  “What? I shouldn’t be honest? I should let her believe that all me
n are cheating scumbags? A lot are. But not all. Take Miles. He parties, he flirts, he goes to strip clubs and would never turn down a chance to see some hot girl’s nipple piercing. But he is as loyal and committed as the day is long. He has a lot of flaws—trust me, I could name them one by one, and we’d be here for hours—but he’s not a cheater. Not all of them are.”

  It got so quiet in the kitchen that Emily could hear the fridge humming. Had she gone too far? She wasn’t the greatest at judging that, she knew. Karolina looked stricken. Miriam picked the remnant of a blueberry muffin off one of the kids’ plates and popped it in her mouth, and Emily glared at her.

  “Leave me alone,” Miriam said through a full mouth.

  “I’m going to remind you of that muffin when you complain about your weight later.”

  “The suburbs made me fat. Remember how thin I was when we lived in the city?” Miriam said. “I walked everywhere. And worked all day. And what do I do here? I eat.”

  Karolina took a sip of her coffee. She seemed to be off in another world. “I think I put too much pressure on us to have a baby,” Karolina said, completely ignoring Miriam. “We used to have mind-blowing sex before it became all about getting pregnant. But it can’t be just that, can it? I think Graham will come to his senses. He can’t really want a divorce, can he?”

  Emily stretched her arms over her head. “I’m going to lay out the facts for you, Karolina. It’s what I try to do with clients when they find themselves in messy, ugly situations that are difficult to grasp when they’re right in the middle of it.”

  “Em, I’m not sure that’s going to be super-helpful right now,” Miriam said, grabbing another chunk of blueberry muffin.

  “No, let her talk,” Karolina said.

  Emily cleared her throat. “Graham has cheated two other times that you know about. Both times he confessed and begged for your forgiveness, am I right?”

  Karolina nodded.

  “This time, although we don’t have hard proof that he’s having another affair, you suspect it?”

  Another nod.

  “But this time is obviously different: he’s not just some horny guy who screwed up and regretted it. This time it’s something more.”

  “What do you mean by ‘more’?” Karolina’s voice was close to a whisper.

  “Either he thinks he’s in love or he needs something from her. I’d lean toward the latter. Regan Whitney, picture-perfect poster child of a former president, is a serious catch. She’s too controlled to have meaningless flings, especially with married men.”

  “I’m not sure why we have to do this right now,” Miriam said, looking supremely uncomfortable.

  “How can we not?” Emily asked impatiently. “Anyone who has ever picked up a newspaper knows how ambitious Graham is. He’s WASP royalty. Harvard, Oxford, partner at Cravath, and now senator from New York. He gave that brilliant speech about family values at the Democratic National Convention, and suddenly everyone started talking about him as a front-runner for 2020.”

  “That caught him by surprise,” Karolina said. “He couldn’t believe the attention he got for that.”

  Emily looked hard at her. Contrary to stereotypes, Karolina was not dumb.

  “So now Graham, possible Democratic front-runner for president, is entangled with another woman—one who is even more politically connected than he is. What’s Mr. Family Values going to do? Just up and leave his wife? Trade in one model for a younger version?”

  At this, Karolina visibly flinched.

  Emily ignored it. “Of course not! He has to find a no-fault way out. So he sets you up to look like the happy-marriage-home-wrecker.”

  Karolina’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Graham. Set you up. So he could divorce you and still look like the good guy. It’s obvious.”

  “It is?” Miriam asked. “I can think of a hundred—”

  “Miriam, get your head out of the fucking sand!” Emily said. No one ever benefited from denial. “Karolina, you say you had one lousy glass of wine and then got pulled over thirty seconds after leaving your house. I don’t know, but I’m presuming you live in a beautiful residential Maryland neighborhood with huge family houses—not where the police are customarily setting up so-called sobriety checkpoints. Despite the fact that neither you nor your son knows where they came from, there were empty bottles floating around your SUV. Then you’re given some bullshit field sobriety test, which apparently you failed, and you’re carted off to the police station, where no one gave you a proper Breathalyzer or blood test, which would actually prove you weren’t drunk.”

  Karolina stared at her, expressionless.

  “At the station—despite the fact that you are a senator’s wife with absolutely no previous record who is also decidedly sober—you are locked up like a common criminal and kept there all night long. Does any of that make any sense to you?”

  Again Karolina didn’t move a muscle.

  “Yeah, me neither. It only works like that if someone wants it to. Someone powerful enough to plant a few bottles of booze and then call in his buddies at the Bethesda PD to ‘check things out.’ Someone like Graham. The only thing I don’t know is why, but I’m absolutely certain he’s the one responsible.”

  “Emily, stop!” Miriam said, but didn’t refute her.

  “She’s right,” Karolina whispered.

  Both women turned to her.

  “You’re right,” Karolina said to Emily. “It explains everything. The bottles, the no Breathalyzer, the way the police treated me. My so-called lawyer, Trip, doing zero to contest this. Graham basically kicking me out of my own house. And then that, that . . . garbage about his son’s safety. It’s all a big setup. How did I not see it?”

  The room was silent.

  “Oh my God. I feel sick. He did this,” Karolina said, placing a hand ominously on her throat.

  “He wants a divorce,” Emily sang. “What’s he going to do, just ask for one like a normal human being? Of course not. Americans don’t vote for divorced men! Not after Donald Trump. They vote family values! They vote decency! They do not want their future president casting aside his beautiful wife just because he found a new and improved version.”

  The pain hit Karolina’s face.

  “Sorry if I was too . . . blunt,” Emily said.

  She was met with more silence.

  “Okay, then.” Emily stood up. “I’ve got to start packing if I have any hope of getting to the airport on time . . .”

  She was on her way up the stairs, literally counting the seconds until she could climb into an Uber and pitch some more work, when she heard Karolina call her name. “Emily?”

  The fierce look on Karolina’s face took her breath away. There were no tears in sight, only cold, hard determination. Good girl, Emily thought. You’re never going to survive this if you sit around crying all day. Time to get mad.

  “Yes?”

  “Will you help me?” Though Karolina’s question was plaintive, her tone was anything but.

  “Help you?” Emily asked, although she knew immediately—hoped—what Karolina was asking.

  “Help get my son back. And also? Help me nail that asshole to the wall and show the whole world that he’s a fraud and a monster,” Karolina said.

  “Karolina, darling.” Emily smiled widely and gave a half-bow. “It would be my pleasure.”

  11

  Mom’s Night Out

  Miriam

  “Mommy? Mommy?” Miriam tried to gauge the desperation in Maisie’s voice, half-heartedly praying her daughter would miraculously forget what she wanted and go to sleep, which of course was ridiculous. “MOMMY!”

  Miriam took a deep breath and reminded herself to be patient. The child was only five. Bedtime delay tactics were a fact of life. “Yes, sweetie?” she asked, opening Maisie’s door ever so slightly and peeking her head in.

  “I need you.”

  “I’m right here, love. What can I do?”

  “Come here.”


  “Sweetie, we read three books and sang two songs. You have water. We found your mermaid PJs in the hamper and changed into them. I took the scary Gruffalo off your shelf and checked under your bed for foxes. It’s time to sleep now.”

  “I want a cuddle,” Maisie cooed in her sweetest voice. The child was no dummy—she’d learned long ago that it was the one thing to which Miriam would never say no.

  How many years more would her girl beg her to snuggle? She climbed under Maisie’s covers and pulled her daughter’s warm little body into her own. So she wouldn’t have time to put on makeup for the Moms’ Night Out? Big deal. She inhaled her daughter’s still-damp hair and smiled. She gave her daughter one final kiss and murmured “I love you” and then was able to tiptoe out of the room and close the door without further protestation. Maybe she’d have time to do her makeup after all.

  Her phone bleated with a text from Ashley saying she was in the driveway.

  “Dammit.” Miriam caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror: not great. She’d managed to dig out a clean enough turtleneck sweater in a nice shade of light blue, but the leggings were pilled, and her effort at a chic messy bun had resulted in a ratty-looking topknot. She still hadn’t figured out what she was supposed to wear around town.

  Whatever, she thought. This wasn’t some gala. It was a Thursday night in the suburbs, and all the invited guests were women. Ashley had been vague about the theme of the get-together, but she’d insisted it would be lively and there would be plenty of wine and lots of nice women. Who was Miriam to say no when she barely knew anyone in town? It would be fun.

  “Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. Maisie was clingy tonight,” Miriam said, hearing her own breathlessness as she pulled the passenger door shut. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “Of course, honey! Look at you—so cute!” Ashley cooed. She was also wearing a turtleneck sweater, but hers was camel-colored and looked like it was spun from the eyelashes of baby lambs. She had paired it with tight white jeans, the most delicate diamond pavé jewelry, and a pair of gorgeous black leather boots. Her blond hair looked professionally blown out. She even smelled delicious. Everything about her just glowed.