Mrs. Perfect

“But what if you were a scientist and researching a cure for cancer?” Jen interjects. “Could that possibly be more important than being a stay-at-home mother?”

“That’s different.” Monica sniffs.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Ellen slams her book shut so hard that it thuds. “You’re saying that unless we do something like discover a cure for cancer, we should be home with kids?”

“What if you need the money?” Lucy demands.

“What if you don’t, but you just enjoy working?” Jen retorts.

Kate clears her throat, and when no one seems to be listening, she clears it again. “Let’s get back to the book. We all have opinions on parenting, but we’re not debating motherhood. We’re discussing the book. Does anyone have a chapter or passage that really resonated?”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, and then Jen opens her book to a saved passage.

“What made an impression on me was the chapter about returning to work. I couldn’t go back to work now and get my old job back. I’ve been home too long. And maybe I could get another job, but let’s face it, if forced to hire me or an eager, competitive, fresh-faced twenty-something Ivy Leaguer with no husband and kids, who would they hire?”

“They’d hire you,” Suze answers confidently. “You have real work experience, and life experience—”

“But they don’t want to pay for that experience, particularly if it’s dated.” Ellen makes a face. “Don’t think I like it, but I know it’s true. Businesses are about making money. They make more money when they save money, and the new college grad will be a hell of a lot cheaper than me, and she probably will work harder, too. Let’s face it, I’ll never work fifty, sixty hours a week again.”

“So we’re safe as long as our husbands never die, divorce us, get sick, or lose their jobs.” It’s the first time Raine has contributed to the discussion tonight, and we all look at her. Raine isn’t the most vocal member of our group, and she seems to spend more time wiggling her foot than paying attention, but right now she has all our attention.

“Matthew’s MS has gotten worse,” she adds carefully. “You probably don’t know, but he hasn’t worked in two years. The doctors say he’ll never go back to work again. He was diagnosed at forty-four. He’s forty-seven now. What do we do? I for one pray we can live off his disability for as long as we can.”

Suze is astonished. “This has been going on for years?”

“Matthew didn’t want people to know, but it’s impossible to hide anymore.” Raine’s shoulders shift. “I grew up with a dad who had had polio, and now this. Funny how life is. I thought once I left home I’d never have to deal with a wheelchair again.”

Everyone’s terribly sympathetic. This sort of news just rocks you. If it could happen to Raine, it could happen to anyone . . . or, maybe because it happened to Raine, it won’t happen to you. . . .

“I’m sorry,” Patti says quietly.

“Me too.” Ellen leans forward to touch Raine’s knee. “And know that we’re here for you. If you need any help, or want anything—”

“I’ll be fine.” Raine cuts her off with a quick “I’m totally fine” smile. “We’re fine.”

I look at Raine, so petite and striking in her russet suede coat, a color that plays perfectly off the copper highlights in her long, sexy shag, and I think, I know that tone. I know those words.

I’m fine. We’re fine. Don’t bother yourself. We don’t need anything.

When what we’re actually screaming is Help me, help me. Oh God, someone help me.

Why can’t we accept help? Why can’t we ask for help? Why are we afraid of not having it all together?

“Raine, you have to know you’re not alone,” Monica says kindly. “You’d be surprised at the number of husbands not working.” She pauses, and there’s something in her pause that gives me pause.

Slowly Monica turns to look at me. “Lots of husbands are unemployed. Like Nathan. Taylor, he didn’t work this last year . . . did he?”

I hear a strange noise, like a roar of sound, and I think it’s because everyone’s talking—but after a second I realize no one’s talking. They’re silent. The noise is in my head. It’s me silently screaming.

“I wondered why you were selling your house,” Monica continues. “Because it didn’t make sense. It’s a beautiful home, and you always threw the most gorgeous parties. I couldn’t imagine why you’d sell that house unless you and Nathan were divorcing or were in serious financial difficulty—”

“Shut up, Monica.” Lucy has shot to her feet, and she’s standing there, eyes blazing, features pinched with fury.

Monica pales. “What?”

“You heard me. Shut up. Stop talking. Stop saying horrible things. I used to think you just lacked sensitivity, but it’s not that. You like being mean. You enjoy making people squirm. Well, I’ve had enough of it. I’ve had enough of you and your rumor mill. Talk about me if you want, but for God’s sake, leave Taylor alone.”

The room’s gone deathly quiet, and all you can hear is the tick-ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the hall.

Monica is the first to speak. “Lucy, what a goose! No one’s making fun of Taylor. It’s okay if Nathan hasn’t worked. And it’s okay if they have to sell their house—”

“No, it’s not.” I’m on my feet, too, and I’m gathering my book and glass of wine to carry to the kitchen. “It’s not fine that we’re selling our house. It’s not fine that Nathan’s now working in Omaha. It’s not fine that my girls are losing the only home they’ve ever known. But that’s life. Shit happens, right?”

I look one by one at Patti and Kate, Ellen, Jen, Suze, and Raine, before staring pointedly at Monica. “And just so you don’t hear this from anyone else, I’m going back to work. I’ll be working full-time, and I’m not ashamed of it. My only regret is that I wasn’t working earlier. I should have never become totally financially dependent. It wasn’t fair to Nathan, and it wasn’t fair to me.”

I can see by Patti’s stunned expression that she had no idea I was going through any of this. Kate doesn’t look as surprised, but that might just be her boarding school stiff upper lip coming through. The others . . . quite frankly, I don’t care what they think. The last few months have peeled my skin off, turned me inside out, and left me bare. It sucks to take such a hard hit, and to have it made public, but that’s how it is.

Gathering my tattered pride, I turn to Lucy. “I think I’m going to go home now.”

She nods quickly. “I’ll go with you.”

“This is silly,” Monica protests. ?

?What are you doing? It’s book club, and we’re discussing your pick, Lucy, this was your book. You can’t leave like this.”

“Yes, I can,” Lucy answers, lifting her purse.

“No.” Monica rises and gestures to the room. “No, you can’t just have a tantrum and walk out. That’s immature. You’re being very immature.”

“Kate, Patti, girls, I’m sorry.” I look around the room. “I’m sorry to ruin tonight’s party, but this isn’t the right place for me. This isn’t fun for me. And now that I think about it, I won’t be coming back—”

“You’re quitting book club?” Monica’s voice rings out sharp and loud.

“Yes.” I hadn’t really thought about it until now, but book club hasn’t been a good place for me. It’s negative and competitive and just makes me miserable. “I like all of you individually, but I don’t enjoy book club—”

“Maybe because you don’t like reading,” Monica answers savagely.

I shake my head. “No. I like to read. I just don’t like discussing the books the way we do. It’s not your fault that I don’t find it fun. But it’s pointless to continue with something I don’t like.”

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Lucy says, rising. She’s smiling, the first smile I’ve seen from her all day. “I’m quitting, too.”

“What?” Monica practically shrieks.

Lucy shrugs. “I want reading to be fun again. I want to like the books I read. And while you’re all my friends, book club really isn’t that friendly.” She lifts a hand, waves. “Good night, everybody.”

As we walk out the door into the night, Lucy turns to me, slides her arm through mine, and gives it a little squeeze. “That was fun!” Then her expression changes. “Well, the last bit, anyway.” She pauses, squeezes my arm again. “I’m sorry, Taylor, she’s just plain mean. There’s no excuse for her, there really isn’t.”

We walk to my car, and as I press the unlock on the keypad on my key chain, I turn to face Lucy. “But why? Why is she always poking at me? What did I do to her?”

Lucy shrugs helplessly. “Maybe it’s because you make life look so easy.”