by Liz Fenton
“Are you serious?” Emily’s voice turned cold.
“So you don’t need money?” The tone of Claire’s voice immediately matched her daughter’s.
“No, I don’t need any money. How could you say that?”
Claire fought her instinct to defend herself and explain that for years, her daughter had only called wanting cash, so could she really fault her for thinking that this time?
If you asked Claire, their conflict had started with puberty. If you asked Claire’s therapist, it began when Emily’s father walked out. And maybe, if Claire was being completely objective, it was a little bit of both. David had bailed when Emily was a newborn, although Claire had seen the signs from the moment Claire announced she was pregnant. They’d only been dating a few months when she found out, but they’d been madly in love, or so she’d thought. When she told him, his face flickered from a frown to a smile so quickly that she convinced herself she’d imagined it.
But then he’d been an hour late to register at the enormous baby department store that had made Claire’s stomach turn, the endless aisles of bottles and burp clothes making her so nauseous she had run to the bathroom and splash cool water over her face, her chocolate eyes a stark contrast against her pale skin, her golden hair matted against her damp forehead. Then he’d let the crib box sit on the floor of Emily’s nursery for months, Claire’s hopes falling a bit more each time she walked by and glanced into the room to see it still there, almost sure at this point that it had become a metaphor for their relationship—a heavy burden no one wanted to deal with.
Eventually, she’d lured Gabriela and Jessie over with a good bottle of wine and they’d laughed as they pieced it together, Claire wearing a tool belt around her expanding belly, feeling more love in that room than she’d ever felt from David.
The final straw was when he’d almost missed Emily’s birth, running in just as she gave a final push, excuses spilling from his mouth like someone trying to talk his way out of a speeding ticket. Right then, as he rambled on, she decided she and Emily would be better off without him.
“We’re better off without you,” Claire said as he walked through the door two hours later than expected, his breath reeking of beer and cigarettes. She was pacing the house, bouncing a two-week-old Emily in an attempt to subdue her cries. She’d been fussy all day and Claire was a mess, having slept only three hours the night before. But as she’d worn the carpet down trying to pacify Emily that evening, she’d decided that she’d rather do this alone instead of with someone she couldn’t count on.
“I understand.” David had nodded stoically and went to the closet to grab his roller bag, causing Claire to wonder if that had been what he wanted all along—for Claire to kick him out. For the guilt to rest at her feet.
Her therapist said because of the tremendous guilt Claire felt and her overcompensation for being a single mom, she had chosen to remove David from her life and then worked too hard to give Emily everything. And without meaning to, she had ended up enabling a very demanding and tantrum-prone child.
After Emily got her first training bra, and then shortly after her period, her behavior moved beyond crying fits at Target over wanting a Barbie doll to slammed doors when Claire asked her to clean her room. It was as if once Emily had breast buds she officially became entitled, demanding designer clothes like all the other girls at her school apparently had. Claire gave in, and her daughter dressed like the privileged girls in her class, the only difference being that Emily’s expensive jeans and UGG boots were purchased on multiple credit cards that were nearly maxed out. Claire’s real estate agent commissions came in like slow waves, and she was constantly strapped for cash, especially after the lending crisis. She often scolded herself for telling Emily’s father not to bother with child support, or ripping up the checks he did send sporadically. Jessie and Gabriela had told her it was silly to be so prideful, but Claire insisted she didn’t want his money.
“She finesses whatever she wants out of you—can’t you see that?” her longtime boyfriend, Mason, asked when he saw Claire’s bills piling up.
“I just want her to have the things her friends do. I don’t ever want her to feel like she’s not good enough.”
“She has a mom who loves her so much she’s willing to sacrifice pretty much everything for her. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
“You don’t understand,” Claire said, blowing him off. Mason didn’t have children of his own and could never fathom how Emily’s joy was like a drug to Claire—it gave her a high that she’d do almost anything for.
Claire had been overjoyed when Emily received financial aid to attend Pepperdine, a college they could have never afforded otherwise. Emily’s initial excitement over her acceptance was quickly overrun by her needs: an off-campus apartment because she just couldn’t live in a dorm room with a stranger and wear flip-flops in a shared shower. She absolutely had to have a new car, because how could she show up to such a prestigious campus in Malibu in her beat-up Honda? Claire mentally calculated how much she’d have to take out of her retirement account to make this happen, and from the corner of her eye, watched Mason’s jaw tighten as he listened. Later, as they’d gotten ready for bed, he told Claire that if she gave in to Emily’s demands—and that had been the word he’d used, demands, despite Claire’s insistence that Emily was merely requesting—their relationship was over.
“I can’t sit back and watch you destroy yourself for someone who doesn’t appreciate you.” Mason sat on the edge of the bed, and Claire suddenly understood he wanted her to choose between him and Emily. “I love Em, I really do. But I hate how she manipulates you—how she uses your guilt as a weapon.”
“Are you really asking me to choose? You or her?”
“No. I’m asking you to choose yourself. To free yourself from this ridiculous burden you’ve been carrying since David left. I’m asking you to let Emily stand on her own two feet and see what happens.”
Claire sat down beside him and dropped her head. “What if she falls?”
Mason stood and wrapped his hands around her waist. “Then she’ll have to learn how to get back up.”
Claire didn’t respond, nestling her head into Mason’s chest. He always knew the right thing to say. It was what she would miss most when they broke up. Because for Claire, there was never a choice to make—it would always be her daughter. And a year later, Emily rewarded her mother’s loyalty and sacrifice by dropping out of college.
“Mom? Are you there?” Claire snapped to attention at the sound of Emily’s voice. It caught her off guard sometimes that her daughter still sounded so young.
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m sorry about the money thing.”
“It’s fine. I guess I could see why you’d go there,” Emily admitted. “You know, I’m actually doing really well, in case you were wondering, Mom. I love my new waitressing job and I think I’m going to go back to school. That’s what I wanted to tell you. That I found some of my old textbooks and it hit me. I really screwed up, Mom. I’m sorry,” Emily said softly.
Claire tried to accept her daughter’s apology at face value, instead of reading into it. Claire took a deep breath and said, “I know you are, honey. And I’m happy for you that you want to go back.” Despite everything, that’s all she wanted, for her daughter to be happy.
After they hung up, Claire thought about Mason. When he walked out, she was sure he’d return, that his love for her would ultimately win out. She’d missed him to the core, his absence creating a vacancy inside of her she wasn’t sure she could ever fill. She regretted never letting him marry her, for her stubborn determination never to rely on a man again. After Emily dropped out of college, after Claire had raged at her own mistake—throwing dishes against the wall like someone in a bad television movie—she contacted Mason, chagrined. But it had been too late. He had moved on with someone else.
And she hadn’t thought about Mason much since then, until she received his friend request yesterday. She’d s
tared at his picture for a while, deciding he looked basically the same aside from his eyes—were they sad? And even though she was curious about his life—was he still living in Southern California? Had he bought that boat he was always talking about? Had he married that woman he met after me?—she hadn’t accepted his request. She was engaged to Jared now, a kind man with a warm smile, whose arms danced when he told stories. She’d met him the year before at a real estate convention, of all places, laughing, despite herself, at a bad joke he made about PMI insurance. So as far as she was concerned, turning fifty meant looking toward the future, not reliving the past.
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
“Jessie just texted that she’s on her way up to the suite,” Gabriela announced to Claire. “Before she gets here, can you tell me how she’s really doing with the whole Grant thing? And don’t feed me some bullshit answer. I know she confides in you.”
“Gabriela,” Claire began.
“Listen, I know you two are closer than she and I are and that’s okay. I’m not feeling left out or anything.” Gabriela smiled, but Claire sensed that was exactly how she was feeling.
Claire grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled it behind her toward a bedroom and Gabriela followed her in. Claire had held Jessie’s secret for years, since Jessie had broken down on the way home from her baby shower, confessing her infidelity as they sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 405 freeway.
The day Grant moved out, Claire and Gabriela flanked Jessie in her driveway, literally holding her up as they watched him heave bags and boxes into his car, Gabriela flinching at the way Grant angrily slammed the trunk and barely glanced at them as he’d backed out of the driveway, thinking his sudden departure and aggressive attitude seemed like an extreme response to Jessie’s explanation that they’d grown apart. Claire knew Jessie hated keeping the real reason from her best friend, but it wasn’t her story to tell. Plus, she didn’t know how she could tell Gabriela that even though a baby was the only thing she desired, Jessie had become pregnant by mistake.
Claire had often wished Gabriela knew the truth, so she could have offset some of the weight of the secret onto her. She’d always thought Jessie hadn’t given Gabriela enough credit, that despite wanting a baby, she would have put that aside to be there for her friend. “She’s not doing well,” Claire finally offered as she pulled a sleeveless black blouse and red dress out of her suitcase, debating which she’d wear tonight.
Gabriela sat on the edge of the bed. “I get that he just told her he was marrying Janet, and that must stir a lot of feelings, but they haven’t been together for almost ten years.”
“Not everyone moves on from things the same way,” Claire said diplomatically, and Gabriela’s stomach tightened. Had her scars from a decade ago healed?
“I don’t mean to sound insensitive,” Gabriela said. “I just want Jess to be happy.”
Before Claire could answer, they were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and Jessie calling out for them. Claire and Gabriela had to stifle their laughter when Jessie mimed an ass grab as she walked behind the cute bellman, only a tiny trace of sadness detectable behind her smile.
“He was so cute!” Jessie said after he left, pressing the pads of her fingers to her cheek. “Too bad I’m old enough to be his mother! I definitely look my age right now—especially after the bomb that got dropped on me yesterday.”
“Will you stop? You look amazing!” Gabriela smiled as she handed Jessie a champagne flute, looking at Claire, both of them rolling their eyes, knowing Jessie would never understand how naturally pretty she was. “Do you want to talk about that bomb? Or do you just want to pretend it didn’t happen? I’m flexible.”
Yes, Jessie thought. I do, so much. I want to tell you everything. But it’s been ten years. Will you ever forgive me for not confiding in you? Or worse, will you hate me for what I’ve done? Jessie took a long sip of her champagne and regarded her friend before finally answering. “No, I’ll just bring you all down. Let’s focus on having fun!”
Gabriela offered Jessie a warm smile to disguise the sting she felt, wondering if Jessie was always going to keep her at arm’s length, never letting her all the way back in, but also knowing she only had herself to blame for pulling away so abruptly after Lucas was born. They’d never gotten fully back on track after that; there’d always been a gap between them no matter how hard Gabriela worked to fill it.
“So what are we doing tonight?” Claire asked as she kicked her bare feet up on the coffee table, her freshly painted red toenails shining under the light.
Gabriela rifled through her handbag and pulled out three rectangular slips of paper. “My agent sent these tickets over. Any interest?”
Jessie swiped them out of Gabriela’s hand. “Blair Wainright!”
“You like him?” Gabriela smiled, surprised.
“Did you ever see any of his live television specials? He would levitate!” She clapped her hands together, ignoring Claire’s eye roll.
“So you are voting yes, then?” Gabriela said as Jessie bobbed her head up and down. “Claire?”
Claire didn’t want to go. She imagined them spending her birthday having a nice dinner, maybe going out to gamble after, not watching some celebrity magician.
But as she saw the light turn on in Jessie’s eyes, she knew there was no way she was going to let her friend down. “Why not?” Claire forced a smile that turned sincere when she saw the delight reflected in Jessie’s face.
Gabriela uncorked another bottle of bubbly. “My agent told me his ‘people’ sent these to me.”
“How would he know you would be here?” Claire asked. “Isn’t that sort of creepy? Even for a guy that levitates?” She smirked at Jessie and put her hands under her legs, pretending to lift her.
“Oh, who knows,” Gabriela said dismissively. “We probably share a publicist or a manager or something. And for what it’s worth, we’re in the front row!”
“Woo-hoo,” Claire mock-cheered.
Jessie laughed. “Don’t be such a skeptic!” She pointed at Claire’s champagne flute. “Just keep sipping on that. It will make everything seem fuzzy and magical.”
Claire obliged, taking a drink, swiping a copy of Las Vegas magazine off the table with Blair’s face on the cover, trying to ignore the way his onyx eyes seemed to see right through her.
• • •
Two hours later, the lights dimmed and Blair took command of the stage, levitating several feet into the air, the crowd’s cheers almost deafening. He flung himself from trick to trick, pushing a cigarette through a coin, escaping a seemingly secure coffin, and reading the minds of several people in the audience. The theater erupted in applause as the curtain closed, and Gabriela had to admit, whether it was real or not, it had certainly been entertaining. She looked over at Claire, who was barely clapping, and Jessie, who was participating in the standing ovation, and smiled. Despite their difference of opinion about magic, she was glad they were all here together. She’d missed her friends.
A large man in a dark suit told them Blair would like to meet them backstage, then herded the three women into his dressing room. Gabriela scanned the ruby-red walls adorned with pictures of Blair with politicians, A-list movie stars, even Oprah. Several life-size wax statues of Blair were scattered throughout the room. As a famous author, Gabriela had met her fair share of egomaniacs—she’d even been accused of being one herself the other day on Twitter—but she quickly decided that Blair might just be in a league of his own.
Jessie perched on the edge of a butter-yellow leather couch while they waited for Blair. Unlike Gabriela, who was scrolling through her phone as if she were in the waiting room before a dentist appointment, Jessie had never met someone famous, unless she counted the time she literally ran into Cameron Diaz while getting into an elevator at Cedars-Sinai, spilling the contents of her purse all over the floor, looking up sheepishly as she grabbed for the tampon that had rolled away from the rest of her
things.
Jessie turned to Claire. “So, what’d you think of the show?”
“Magical,” she said sarcastically.
“You still don’t believe?” Jessie asked, incredulous. “Did you not see what he did with that bird?”
“Sorry, Jess, I’m still not a Blair believer,” Claire said.
“It’s too bad I wasn’t able to convert you.”
All three women startled at the sound of Blair’s voice, following it to the center of the room, where he stood.
Blair walked over and took Gabriela’s hand, kissing it softly. “Thank you for coming, Gabriela. And you must be Jessie. And Claire.”
Claire offered a nod, while Jessie smiled, her cheeks flushing.
“So, you’re a fan of Gabriela’s books?” Claire asked, and Jessie recognized her you are full of bullshit look that she usually only reserved for street-fair psychics and men who wore skinny jeans. “Because you don’t really strike me as the kind of guy who lies by the pool with his nose buried in a novel about women and friendship.”
Blair laughed. “You’d be right about that. I’m more of a John Grisham guy,” he said unapologetically. “I’m afraid I haven’t read any of your books, Gabriela. But my mom and my sister swear by you. Please, sit down, so I can explain why I wanted to meet you.” Blair motioned to the couch. “Did you know the heavens gifted us with a solar eclipse tonight?”
Claire pressed her lips together and looked at Gabriela, who shrugged her shoulders. “No?” Jessie finally answered.
“Well, each time one appears, I’m given a special power. And I’ve chosen to share it with you.”
“Isn’t a solar eclipse considered a bad omen?” Gabriela asked.
