323 Days
It took Rhea almost twenty minutes to find the perfect raised garden bed.
She wanted to make sure each vegetable was bursting with life, like in Tiny’s backyard.
She finally found it in the pages of an Architectural Digest. She snipped it out of the impressive yard of a sharply dressed music producer and glued it to her vision board.
It was official: Someday, she too would have a gorgeous vegetable garden.
Rhea read the article to see if, perchance, the music producer mentioned hiring the Edible Gardener to install her flawless garden; if she had, she did not confess.
The moment Rhea had gotten home from the baby shower, she’d watched every video on the Edible Gardener’s TikTok.
She’d created an account years ago, strictly for lurking.
She had never posted anything on the youthful app due to her advanced maternal age.
Rhea read them all.
Each comment made her feel terrible, like she had way too much competition, and yet she voluntarily read each one, choosing to stab herself in the heart over and over again with a dull needle.
Danny had also posted several videos about a group called Western Habitat Conservancy, a nonprofit dedicated to purchasing and conserving land—a group he had apparently cofounded.
He was officially a much better person than she.
After she finished cyberstalking him, she decided he was way out of her league.
But he did choose to sit next to her at the baby shower.
But, as Zoe had so rudely pointed out, she was probably the only single woman there, and he might have just needed someone to talk to.
These thoughts had spun round and round her head for three days, and now, even adding a new vegetable garden to her future life was not soothing her as much as it should have.
Of course the one guy she found attractive had three million adoring fans. Her taste was too elevated, her standards too high. She was doomed to be alone forever; the perpetual godmother, the auntie, the single one with tons of free time.
She could easily drive across town to other people’s houses because she had nothing else going on.
She surely did not mind being canceled on because it wasn’t like she had hired a babysitter.
She would carry all the boxes of baby shower decorations up a steep hill over and over for eternity like a childless Sisyphus.
Her mind had become such an anxiety-ridden hellscape; she reached her breaking point, called Tiny, and casually asked if Danny had inquired about her.
Tiny gently said, “No…I mean, not yet.”
“Oh, that’s totally cool, I was just wondering. No big deal. It’s only been like a few days or whatever, so it’s completely fine. I’m not even really thinking about it. He just popped into my head, so I thought I’d check in, but I really don’t care at all. I’m fine.”
“Rhea?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you crying?”
At times, Tiny was terrifyingly intuitive.
On the surface, she seemed like a laid-back California surfer dude without a care in the world, but every once in a while, she became a highly observant, hypersensitive witch who could read minds, and although Rhea was always a highly observant, hypersensitive, mind-reading witch, it still surprised her when she found herself on the receiving end of this personality type.
“Yes,” Rhea confessed, knowing Tiny was in witch mode and lying would be fruitless.
“Man, you really like this guy, huh?”
“Well, yeah…maybe, I don’t know, but it’s not just about him.”
“Spill it.”
And Rhea did.
Tiny was in her Range Rover, speeding on the 405. She turned up her car speakers and turned down her air-conditioning, so she would not miss a word as Rhea told her the truth about everything…except the vision board.
Rhea confessed that being part of their friend group was becoming increasingly challenging.
Five months ago, Tiny and Rhea were both childless, but since Tiny had gotten pregnant, Rhea felt more isolated than ever.
It was hard enough when each of her peers walked down the aisle with their new best friend; now they were all going to be moms too.
“I’m so embarrassed,” Rhea said as tears streamed down her cheeks and onto her vision board, creating a new saltwater pool in her dream backyard. “I feel like such a monster even talking about this; you shouldn’t feel guilty for being pregnant.”
“I’m so sorry, Ree.”
“Oh, God, please don’t be sorry—”
“No, I am. I’m sorry the past few years have been so hard, I’m sorry your timing is different than ours. But I promise you everything is going to be okay.”
“It’s just…what are the chances that you are all pregnant at the same time? Ugh, I can’t believe I’m dumping this on you.”
“This is not to belittle what you’re going through, but remember in twelfth grade when all of you had boyfriends and I was like three feet tall and dudes treated me like I was their little buddy?
I know I was super young, but I truly thought I was going to be a virgin for the rest of my life.
And then, when I was sobbing to my nanny, she said, ‘The secret to having it all is knowing you already do.’
“So, I decided to just stop worrying about it, and I got really into senior year. I fuckin’ loved college, and ten years later, when I was funneling all my mom’s money into building those animal shelters and not thinking about men or marriage or any of it, I happened to meet a guy who was way shorter than all his friends who thought he was going to be alone for the rest of his life.
I’m not trying to compare high school to adulthood and trivialize your feelings, but everything will work out, Ree, it just will. ”
Usually, when other people shared their own sob story right after Rhea shared hers, she got angry.
When she was in the throes of self-pity, she did not want to be reminded that she was not the only person on the planet who went through hard things.
She didn’t enjoy being confronted with her own narcissism.
But this time, hearing about Tiny’s painful experience with otherness was soothing.
Being reminded that an impossibly rich, impossibly blond woman also had problems helped ease Rhea’s anxiety.
“Thank you,” Rhea said.
“Dude, I can’t believe the best advice I ever got was from my nanny, how fucked is that? My family, like, never talked to me.”
“My aunt’s assistant is the only person who ever talked to me.”
“Oh yeah, that’s so fucked. It’s also pretty fucked that my nanny had to remind me I already have it all, when she was probably making less than minimum wage.”
After they pondered the irony of a working-class adult reminding the child of a billionaire that her life was not that bad, Rhea confessed to her seventy-two-hour Edible Gardener stalk-fest.
“I’ve become slightly obsessed with Danny,” Rhea admitted, but when Tiny again offered to share his number, Rhea said she wanted to give him a little bit more time.
“Besides, I already know he’s not the one. My psychic said I was going to meet my future husband on a golf course. So, I’d probably be wasting my time with Danny,” Rhea said.
“Oh, well, if your psychic said it, then it must be true.”
They shared a laugh.
Rhea really had recently received this prediction from the Topanga psychic she frequented, but the woman had also told her to call her brother because he was furious with her, and Rhea did not have a brother, so she was starting to think the woman was a quack.
But just in case she wasn’t, Rhea was on the wait list for golf lessons at the Woodland Hills Country Club.