Chapter 29
Hellie
Fifteen minutes earlier
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”
We all chant it together—or at least those of us present. Doug is still in the Dog House with Phelps and Bennett, and even
though normally I’d at least be with my husband in spirit during a crisis of the magnitude of his injury, my focus isn’t there
at all. It’s fully here as I stand next to Will, who’s just come inside from the deck.
Watching the liquid slosh around in my champagne flute is how I know my hand is shaking. Anger charges through my veins, begging
me to let it out, to let Will have it. I’m fully aware I’m about to snap.
Ever since I put two and two together over dinner, I’ve been forcing myself to bide my time. I need to confront Will, but
the moment hasn’t been right, and I haven’t thought out what to say, not to mention I don’t want to ruin Phelps’s party. It’s
getting unbearable though. Standing so close to Will and pretending everything is fine. I imagine him in his smug little middle
management office, feeding Doug’s background check into his fax machine, feeling righteous and superior as he toppled the
first domino that would effectively end our future.
I’ve only snapped one other time in my life—when Doug was in rehab the second time, a coworker stole my tips and I was late on rent already. I still have a scar from that one. Sometimes I touch it, to calm myself down. Not now.
“. . . three, two, one . . .”
“Happy New Year!” everyone explodes. I shout it too, as loud as I can. My voice sounds high, almost shrieky. Thin and breakable,
just like the plate shards no one wanted to pick up. Just like me.
But no. That’s not true. I’m not as breakable as I seem, not as breakable as I feel. I’m going to survive tonight. And I’m
going to survive tomorrow, when I pack up my stuff and leave Doug. Doug who I’ve loved since I was seventeen, when I looked
into his blue eyes and he said, “Hello, princess. What’s your name?” I was his server, he was with friends—Phelps, actually,
and Bennett—and Doug ordered two eggs over easy with toast and left me his number on a napkin and a twenty-dollar tip even
though his part of the order was only five dollars. Doug who took me in when I had to leave home because Mom’s latest boyfriend
was getting fresh. Doug who I fell for so fast it was like diving into a pool to escape the heat.
Now it’ll be me against the world. With no respite, no one to lean on . . . but no one to betray me.
I used to believe that if I made better choices, my life would turn out different than my mom’s.
She’s a fifty-five-year-old bartender with at least two STDs at any given time who still shoplifts her cosmetics.
I chose loyalty to one husband instead of an ever-rotating door of shitty boyfriends.
I chose in sickness and in health even when Doug’s sickness turned out to be a drug addiction.
I chose in riches and in poverty even when, while Doug was in jail for a week for getting caught with enough marijuana to be considered “intent to deal,” our landlord wanted sexual favors in return for not evicting me, a memory that still haunts me at two in the morning.
And here I am now, thirty-four, bartending and waitressing, looking at least ten years older than I am, just like my mom.
The only difference between me and her is that I don’t have crabs or stolen L’Oréal lipstick in my purse.
Will extends his glass toward me, but I make a vicious turn away from him and clink with Olivia, Bunny, then Ted, finally
Allie. Not Jenn—I pretend to be distracted as she lifts her glass to mine, and I pivot toward the TV. The giant screen is
like a bursting pinata of fireworks and, for a second, it almost feels like we’re there, in the crowd. It’s 2020. People are
going wild, I feel the hope in the air, and I envy all the people who expect 2020 to give them amazing things. New jobs . . .
new relationships . . . new houses and babies and promotions . . .
I don’t know how long I watch the happy crowds in front of me. As Ted leads the group in a rowdy chorus of “Auld Lang Syne,”
which no one appears to actually know the words to, I keep my eyes on the TV. The male and female announcers are jolly. A
band is playing. There are shots of children sitting on the shoulders of their parents. Couples with their arms around each
other. Glittering eyes and joyful faces. There’s a burning fist in my stomach.
I vaguely register that Ted is saying, “Hey, you don’t look so good, how about a breather,” and I’m about to say, Yes, please, when I realize he’s talking to Olivia. He ushers her toward the kitchen, I hear the whisper of the party streamers as they
pass through them, and my stomach is suddenly on fire with envy, envy of that arm around Olivia’s shoulder, envy of that thing
she has that makes men pay attention to her in all the best ways.
As for me? I know what they all think. Hellie is the reliable one. The steady one. The one who we can all take advantage of,
because she’ll just keep going and going like the good little workhorse that she is.
The one whose babies are better off dead.
Strangely, of all the things that have happened tonight, the one that cuts me down the rest of the way is this: no one even notices that I’m about to break.
“Hey, we didn’t toast,” says Will, coming up behind me, and that is fucking it. I spin, wielding my champagne flute high. Liquid flies as I swing wide. With a gut-wrenching shout that comes from the depths
of my soul, I smash my glass against Will’s head. He stumbles back with a cry of surprise, all the way to the floor, his head
and shoulders hitting the edge of the couch just as a violent sob shakes me.
“Hellie! Oh, my God!” It’s Bunny, running up behind me, grabbing my shoulder, but I thrash away.
“I trusted you!” I shout, pointing the jagged remains of my champagne flute at Will. Blood is blooming on his temple and slipping down
the side of his face. “Why? Why would you do that?”
Jenn is at Will’s side, a clump of napkins in her hand.
“What? What did I do?” gasps Will as he grabs the napkins and presses them into his head. “Hellie, what is going on?”
“You think I’m stupid? You think just because Doug lies to me, you can lie to me too? Your fax number is on your business
card, you asshole.”
Will pushes his torso upright against the couch as blood seeps into the napkin wad.
“Fax number?”
There’s a muted shriek from somewhere in the distance.
“Uh—was that Olivia?” says Bunny, looking toward the back of the house, but Jenn interrupts her.
“Ignore her, William!” she bites out, her eyes blazing on me. “She’s crazy! We are leaving this party and reporting this assault to the police.” She reaches for Will’s arm to help him up, but Will pushes her aside. His gaze hasn’t left me.
“What about my fax number?”
“You got Doug fired from the best job he’s ever had,” I scream, thrusting the jagged stem of the champagne flute forward like a sword.
“You pulled his criminal record and faxed it to the first job where he was doing well! He was great at gutter sales, Will, and I have a picture of the fax with your number on it, so don’t sit there and lie to my face! ”
“Hellie.” Will’s voice is strained, but calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns to Jenn. Despite the fact
that he’s bleeding and hasn’t yet gotten up from the floor, his voice takes on a steely chill I’ve never heard before. “Do
you know what she’s talking about?”
Jenn’s eyes go wide. She stands and backs a step away, her eyes glancing around the room.
“You’re all completely insane. What fax?
What job? Do people even fax things anymore?
” She laughs a fake little laugh. “This is ridiculous. What is wrong with you people? Will and I didn’t come here to be—to be maligned, to be attacked by—by—”
“By who? Someone you can’t imagine as a parent?” Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Someone who didn’t deserve to be a mother like
you? I heard you, by the way. Talking to Olivia.”
“Calm down, Helen,” says Jenn fiercely. “All I meant was that kids thrive in stable environments. Just calm—”
Wrong thing to say. I fling aside the jagged champagne flute and leap toward Jenn, filling my fists with her hair as we collide.
She collapses backward with a cry, her head knocking into the side table. A lamp crashes to the floor. I’m on top of her,
straddling her hips, yanking her hair back and forth as she screeches. Other people are shouting too, but I’m beyond caring.
Jenn’s hands close hard around my wrists, and part of me registers that her nails are digging deep into my skin, but nothing
hurts anymore as I yank her head from side to side. I am no longer breakable Hellie, I am a mama bear, this bitch wanted my
precious babies dead, and I will kill her before she speaks another word—
“Hellie! Get off her!” Doug’s voice. Doug’s arms, wrapping around my torso, warm and solid, forcing my hands out of Jenn’s hair, pulling me back even as I strain toward Jenn.
All of a sudden, feeling his embrace, it’s like my bones dissolve.
I’m weeping gently, limp in Doug’s arms as he lifts me and says, “What the fuck is going on in here? We leave you guys alone for five minutes and—”
“The fax that got you fired,” I sob.
“What?” says Doug, like he’s surprised I even know about it.
“I didn’t send it.” It’s Will’s voice, but I keep my face buried in Doug’s chest. Will continues. “Well, Jenn? You’ve been
in my office twice in the past two days. I know this is your work. Are you going to deny this too?”
“Wait, it was one of you guys who sent it?” says Doug in an outraged voice. “What the actual—”
“I didn’t do anything,” snarls Jenn. “I’ve hit my limit, William. You have a choice to make. It’s me and the girls, or your
friends. And if you choose these people over us, news flash, you are never getting custody.”