The Missing Hours

by Julia Dahl

  “I haven’t heard from her either,” said Edie.

  “I’m sure she feels terrible about missing the birth. She probably needs you to take the lead.”

  Edie and her mom were sitting in the living area on the main floor of the family’s Gramercy Park town house. The whole level was one large room: a sitting area with sofas and armchairs, area rugs, and small tables facing a rarely used—but always ready—fireplace. One long, white-painted brick wall connected to the dining area and kitchen, with its marble island and countertops, cut-glass cabinets, and tub-sized farm sink, and then to the double-height sunroom that opened to the back garden. The family’s housekeeper, Olena, who’d been coming in the morning and leaving in the evening five days a week since Edie and Claudia were in elementary school, was upstairs making beds.

  The last time Edie had been in this room with her mother was just before Christmas, when her parents announced they were separating.

  “We love each other, but we want different kinds of lives,” Michelle had said. “You girls are grown now. You don’t really need us.”

  “Since when has that mattered?” Edie asked, and immediately regretted it. She didn’t want to start a fight. Since getting pregnant, Edie had been thinking a lot about her upbringing. She found a therapist in New Paltz and drove there every week to work out how she wanted to raise her own child differently. The therapist called Michelle and Gabe’s parenting style “benign neglect,” and suggested that the roots that should connect the four of them were shallow, the connections untended, which made facing challenges together difficult. What Edie had wanted to say to her mother in that moment was something like, We needed you more—we still need you. Was it the shallow roots that turned what felt like a plea on the inside into meanness when it hit the air? “I just never got the sense that our needs figured much into your plans.”

  “I’m sorry, Eden,” said Michelle. “Are you complaining about the freedoms we allowed you? You certainly seemed to enjoy them at the time. And look at you. A Seven Sisters graduate, Claudia at NYU. I didn’t go to college, and your dad never graduated. You girls had everything. Have everything. But somehow we didn’t meet your needs as parents?”

  “I don’t think that’s what she means, Mom,” said Claudia, trying to manage the situation. Claudia, who didn’t get her feelings hurt. But Michelle interrupted.

  “I am forty-seven years old. My parents were both dead at fifty. I chose your dad because I loved him and I wanted to live my life with him. And we lived a great life together. We raised you—whether you like how we did it or not. But things change. People change. Your father has his music. That’s enough for him. He doesn’t need me anymore, either.”

  The sisters looked at their dad, standing half a room away, gripping the back of one of the tall chairs at the kitchen island.

  “Dad?” asked Claudia.

  Gabe looked at Michelle and then his daughters. There was no fight in him. Edie touched her belly and said silently to the still-secret, plum-sized baby inside: I will never run out of fight for you.

  “Your mom’s made up her mind,” said Gabe.

  Michelle stood up abruptly: “Fine, make me the bad guy.”

  Did she really not understand that she was blowing up their world? They were a family, and now she wanted out.

  Upstairs, Edie and Claudia cried together, and Edie told her sister about the pregnancy. But Claudia didn’t react the way Edie had hoped. She started ranting about their mom, and how she couldn’t even manage to teach her daughters how to use birth control, and that she couldn’t believe she’d ever looked up to her, ever thought her superficial life was something to aspire to. We should know better, Claudia kept saying. We should know better.

  Edie tried to recall: How long had it been since she’d texted Claudia? Day and night ran together in a series of three-hour loops: feed then burp then diaper then swaddle then an hour of sleep, maybe two, then start again. Gabe traded shifts with Nathan, rocking and changing, but Edie was the only one who could feed Lydia. Unless they gave up and switched to formula. That’s how the pediatrician put it. A lot of women give up these days. And the lactation consultant, too: Don’t give up! I know you can do it! They’d just said goodbye to the consultant when Michelle came by with her urgent news that had to be delivered in person. Nathan was at the kitchen island clicking away on the laptop, trying to get same-day delivery of all the things the woman recommended: pads and pump and pillow, supplements, swaddle, noise machine, night light. Lydia, exhausted from the fight to eat, was asleep in the bassinet. They’d been to the pediatrician twice and the little girl was underweight. Hours and hours, days in the new rocking chair, or propped up against the headboard, bent over with her daughter sucking, and it wasn’t enough. She shouldn’t have done this. Her body was telling her she shouldn’t have done this.

  And now here came her mom with news that apparently required another sit-down.

  “Like I said, I was hoping Claudia would be here, too,” said Michelle. “But she hasn’t answered. I’ve already talked to your father.” She paused. “I’ve been seeing someone. Casually. But, apparently, we’ve been photographed together, and the Post is going to run an item. Probably tomorrow.”

  “An item?”

  “It’s ridiculous. Obviously, a slow news week. But there’s nothing we can do about it. Which is why I’m telling you. I really don’t mean to upset you right now. I know this is tough.”

  “Do you?”

  “I don’t want to fight, Eden. I know this isn’t what you wanted. But it’s not so bad, is it? And I know that lactation woman probably gave you a whole bunch of guilt shit, but you don’t have to breastfeed. Lydia will be just fine either way.”

  “Everybody breastfeeds.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “If you can breastfeed, I can breastfeed.”

  “I didn’t breastfeed.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You told us you did.”

  “I lied,” said her mom. “It was hard and I was lazy and I gave up. I wanted you to think I’d done it. I wanted to have done it.”

  Edie almost laughed. “You lied about breastfeeding?”

  Michelle shrugged. “It’s not my proudest moment. I’m coming clean now.”

  “Does Claudia know?”

  “About me and Ridley?”

  Edie’s heart jumped. “What?”

  “Oh, you mean about breastfeeding? I doubt it.”

  “Ridley?”

  “Ridley Drake. The man I’m seeing. You remember him. His son, Chad, went to school with Claudia.”

  This isn’t real, thought Edie. She looked at her mother. She looked at Nathan. He knew that name; she’d told him everything.

  “Like I said, it’s not serious,” continued Michelle. “We’ve known each other a long time. He grew up in Greenwich, too.”

  It was real. What should she say? The summer Ridley got her pregnant Edie’s parents were still running around the world on tour, and as far as she knew, they had no idea what had happened between them. She needed to talk to Claudia. Now.

  “He’s a dick, Mom.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Edie wanted to say, He sleeps with teenagers. But instead she just muttered, “He’s so sleazy.”

  “I don’t expect you to approve,” she said. “And obviously this is not how I wanted you and Claudia to find out.”

  “What about Dad?”

  “What about him?”

  “Does he know?”

  “Yes. I told you he did.” Edie’s body felt like it was melting into the sofa, but her mom stood, unburdened now, ready to wrap up the conversation. “I just wanted you to know in case you see anything online. Like I said, it must be a very slow news week. Anyway, can I get you anything? Do you have bottles? I’d love to feed her when she wakes up. You two can get some rest. Take a walk, even. It’s beautiful out.”

  “We’re fine, Mom.” Edie couldn’t lo
ok up.

  “Okay. I’ve talked to your father and I’m going to stay here for a couple nights. I don’t want to feed this Ridley thing. You know how this stuff goes. If they can snap a few more pictures it’ll live longer, but if we lay low they’ll move on.”

  We. Her mother and Ridley Drake were a we.

  When Michelle finally went upstairs, Nathan closed his laptop and sat next to Edie.

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  “I can’t believe he’s fucking my mom,” said Edie. “That’s … insane. I need to talk to Claudia.”

  She asked Nathan to find her phone and when she scrolled into her messages she saw it had been nearly two weeks since she’d sent the text to Claudia. Edie started typing: I’m sorry for the bitchy text. I love you. We need to talk! You need to meet your niece! Call me! Come to the house!

  Lydia started whimpering in her bassinet. The sound sent chills up Edie’s spine. Nathan put his hand on the girl, wrapped like a papoose in a thick cotton blanket. Shhhh, he whispered. Shhhh. The baby quieted. What kind of person recoils from the sounds her child makes? Edie was supposed to be happy, but mostly she felt burdened. And now her mother had brought Ridley Drake into her life again.

  “Claudia is going to freak out.” Though it was Edie who’d gotten pregnant and dumped, Claudia was the one who was most outraged by Ridley’s behavior. Edie was so besotted she would have done anything to get him back, but Claudia saw the whole thing for what it was: a vain, careless man playing with a pretty toy, who just happened to be a human being. Edie had been surprised when Claudia got friendly with Ridley’s son, Chad, but Claudia assured her Chad hated his dad as much as they did. We make fun of him, she remembers Claudia telling her over the phone that dark first year at Vassar when her roommate was a virgin from Arizona and she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone why she was so depressed. For months, Edie pumped Claudia for information: Is he dating anyone? Does he seem happy? You’d tell me if he mentioned me, right? Would Chad tell you? Claudia was the only person she could be so utterly pathetic with. Her sister’s disgust was aimed at Ridley, not Edie. What had Edie done wrong but fall in love with a charming man? How could she help it? After a little while, Edie got there, too. She’d made a mistake; she’d been young. Jesus, she was still young. And Claudia was even younger. It was stupid and irresponsible to get drunk and lose her phone, but hey, she hadn’t gotten pregnant with a married man’s baby! She didn’t deserve Edie’s snarky texts. Edie looked at Lydia and thought, Claudia deserves to hold her niece. “I hope she calls back soon.”

  But she didn’t. Edie kept her phone next to her all that day and night, and nothing came in from her sister. When she called, Claudia’s line went straight to voice mail. Edie scrolled to the app store and reinstalled Instagram, having to reset her forgotten password. Up rolled the lives. A guy she met at one of her dad’s industry events five years ago posted an image of a coffee cup and a laptop. #mindonmymoney. A full-length mirror selfie by a woman who used to model with her mom. #fashionmatters. One of Claudia’s friends lying on the deck of a boat. Blue sky, bikini, face tilted to the sun. #yachtlife. But nothing from Claudia since the night Edie went into labor.

  The bra with the nipple-holes and the hospital-grade pump arrived. Nathan put the plastic pieces together and Edie fitted it all on her lumpy, wet-sand breasts. They flipped the switch and the sucking began, pulling milk that fell drip drip drip into the bottles attached.

  “How does it feel?” asked Nathan.

  She looked down. “It’s kind of a relief. Like popping a zit.”

  Nathan laughed. “Gross.” He was in a good mood. To him, giving birth in the city was an easy trade for the money to buy a house. He didn’t have any drama with her parents and, although he would never say it, he probably thought it was pretty silly to pout about spending a month in a beautiful house where someone else cooked and cleaned and paid for everything. He didn’t have anything to prove. And, of course, he was right. It was nothing. It was a made-up problem.

  “When this is done,” said Edie, “I want to go to the dorm. Claudia’s phone is going to voice mail and she hasn’t posted on social media in almost two weeks. I’m worried something’s wrong.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not texting my parents back, either. Maybe she’s…” What?

  “What?”

  “I can get there and back in a cab. I’ll be gone two hours, tops.”

  “I like your sister,” said Nathan. “But this is a little crazy. She’s making you come find her. You just had a baby.”

  “She’s not making me. I need to get outside anyway. Everybody says that. I need some fresh air.”

  “I think it’s a bad idea,” said Nathan. He was choosing his words carefully. There was more he wanted to say. Something about hormones, probably. What had the doula called it? A hormone dump. Splat, it all comes out with the placenta. But Nathan wouldn’t go there. He wasn’t stupid.

  “I’ll be fine,” Edie said.

  EDIE

  There were card-operated turnstiles to get into the dorm, so Edie had to approach the guard at the security desk. She’d never actually been in Claudia’s suite. In fact, the only time Edie had been near campus since Claudia enrolled in NYU was to meet her sister for Christmas shopping at the Union Square market and then tea at the W hotel last year. Had Claudia asked her to go up and see where she lived? Edie didn’t even remember.

  “Excuse me,” said Edie to a man in a gray uniform whose name tag read Stavros. “I’m going up to see my sister but I forgot what floor she’s on.”

  “What’s her name?” asked Stavros. Behind his desk was a short hall that appeared to lead to a labyrinth of post boxes and pantries. A girl emerged carrying a pack of toilet paper and a handful of mail.

  “Claudia Castro.”

  “You’re Claudia’s sister?” asked the girl. Her hair was bleached white and her T-shirt read KEEP AUSTIN WEIRD. She set her load on the desk.

  “Yeah,” said Edie. “Do you know her?”

  “I’m Rita,” said the girl. “We’re in the same suite, but I haven’t seen her since break. Doesn’t she stay at home a lot? That’s what she told us.”

  “Sometimes,” said Edie. “So, she hasn’t been here?”

  “We could be on different schedules. Maybe Whitney knows. They share a room. I’ll take you up,” she said. “I’m Rita.”

  Stavros buzzed Edie in. Rita picked up her toilet paper and mail and walked with her toward the elevator, pressed the button for the twelfth floor. “I should warn you, there’s been some drama between Claudia and Whitney.”

  “I thought you hadn’t seen Claudia?”

  “I haven’t, but Whitney’s been talking. A lot.”

  “About what?”

  The elevator doors opened and they stepped off. A girl talking on a phone tucked inside her hijab stood waiting to go down, a nylon bag of laundry at her feet.

  “Long story short, Whitney had been hooking up with a guy, and then he started hooking up with Claudia. At least that’s what Whitney says. I don’t know all the details. I just know Whitney is super pissed.”

  Rita unlocked a door with four names on it: Whitney, Rita, Yuko, and Claudia. Whitney, Yuko, and Rita had each decorated their name tags with stickers (crosses and angels and a Dallas Cowboys star for Whitney; a Bernie sticker and comedy-tragedy mask for Rita; a magazine cut-out of Sarah Jessica Parker as Carrie Bradshaw for Yuko). Claudia, of course, couldn’t be bothered. Stickers? Really? Are we ten?

  Whitney, blond and bland, was in the suite, and just as Rita described, she was pissed.

  “Claudia knew we were dating,” she said. “Or, at least she should have known if she wasn’t so self-involved. I mean, she’s seen us together. I’ve talked about him.”

  “She’s not here all the time, though,” said Rita. “Like, almost never on weekends.”

  “She knew.”

  “So, when did all this happen?” Edie asked. />
  “They must have hooked up over spring break,” said Whitney. “He brought her to church. It was insane.”

  “Church?”

  “Oh, Trevor pretends to be a Christian. But he’s a fucking fake. He’s the fakest person I ever met.”

  “Okay,” said Edie. She was annoyed at having to see through this girl’s jealousy. Was what she said about this Trevor true? Or was she just jilted and angry? “When was the last time you saw her?”

  Whitney shrugged. “I don’t think she’s been here since then.”

  “When?”

  “Since she came to church last weekend. I haven’t seen Trevor much, either. I figured they were off somewhere together.”

  “Can I look in her room?” asked Edie.

  “Whatever.” Whitney gestured toward the door behind her.

  Edie wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but there wasn’t much of Claudia in the narrow room. Edie recognized a couple pairs of shoes and a Gucci bag that officially belonged to their mom. Whitney had photos pinned everywhere, but all that was on the wall beside Claudia’s bed was a schedule for a yoga studio in Chelsea.

  Whitney pointed Edie to Trevor’s suite, and when she knocked, a young man wearing blue eyeliner answered the door.

  “Don’t tell me,” he said, “you’re looking for Trevor.”

  “I’m actually looking for my sister,” said Edie. “Claudia Castro.”

  “Sorry,” said the young man. “Didn’t mean to be rude. My roommate is suddenly very popular. I’m Byrd. Claudia’s not here. Neither is Trevor. Do you want to come in?”

  They sat side by side on a futon covered in a scratchy wool blanket. The carpet desperately needed a vacuum.

  “I haven’t seen Trevor since Friday morning,” said Byrd. Edie counted back. That was three days. “His laptop is gone and he didn’t come to class today. He hasn’t answered my texts, either.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” she asked.

  “No. I assumed he was with Claudia. I guess she’s MIA, too?”

  “You guess?”