Chapter 2 Eloise #6
She tilts her head. Her hair is still braided, and for a second it is like looking at an old photograph of myself. “If you love someone, you hang on to them. No matter what.”
“That’s not love,” I say. “It’s possession. Obsession.”
“I call BS.” Molly takes a step toward me. “It’s commitment. It’s choice. It’s saying this world isn’t worth living in, if you’re not in it.” Her lower lip wobbles. “Don’t go, Mom,” she says. “I know you think you’d be helping me by leaving. But the way to help me is to stay.”
A few days later, I am invited to Evie and Adam’s house for the most awkward dinner of all time.
It’s at Molly’s request. Her department public relations manager, like everyone else in the country, saw her interview with Adelaide McCann and said that the best thing we could do is just wait for a new headline to knock this story out of the news.
In the meantime, she said, we need to present a united front.
In the week leading up to the dinner party, I work on Adie’s mosaic. I explain to Ximena on a teary video call why I hid the truth from her. I visit Adie, with Jesse’s help getting me in and out.
I don’t watch the news.
There are still calls from unknown numbers—-reporters asking for interviews. An editor at Ballantine Books leaves a message: would I be interested in writing my story?
I get one call I am not expecting: Dr. Mantillard.
She asks me to come in at my convenience, and when I do, she meets me in her own cluttered office, where she records her patient memos for me to transcribe.
She asks me how I’m doing, given everything that has happened.
Then she says, “I’m sorry, Georgia. I can’t in good faith let you come back to work.
Not given the circumstances under which you took the job. ”
“I understand,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth.”
She looks at me with regret. “I’ll give you two weeks’ severance,” she says, and it is more than I deserve.
I start toward the door, but she calls me back.
“She contacted me, you know. Molly. She wanted current stats about postpartum psychosis, so she could use them in her interview.” Dr. Mantillard smiles ruefully.
“I’m sure this media circus hasn’t been pleasant for you.
But if your experience raises awareness about women’s health? That’s something positive.”
It is that conversation that frames this entire clusterfuck in a new light for me.
That Friday evening, I drive to Adam and Evie’s house.
It is small and suburban, with a fenced yard in the back—-a perfect place for a little girl to grow up.
I imagine it was me who went to the open house with Adam: counting the number of bedrooms for our future family; testing the limbs of the trees for a tire swing; Adam stealing a kiss in the kitchen when the realtor isn’t looking.
Evie opens the door. “Hi,” she says. She is wearing an apron that says don’t make me poison you.
We have spoken only a few times since that first reconciliation at the hospital, with Adie forming the fulcrum of our chat.
It’s strange to see her looking so . . . domestic. I thrust out the flowers I’ve brought. “Thanks for having me.”
“Our pleasure.” Her smile does not reach her eyes.
I have seen enough comments on social media since the news broke to know that I am not the only one cast as a villain—-so is Evie. She’s been called an opportunist and a home--wrecker. The most gossip--worthy tidbit of the story of my reappearance has been Adam’s remarriage. His two wives.
“Evie,” I say, swallowing. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“Are you?”
I take a step back. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“What did you think would happen?” Evie asks. “You’d walk in here and make sure Molly didn’t go off the deep end after giving birth, and then what? You’d ride off into the sunset, and no one would ever know?”
“I . . . I didn’t think that far ahead.” I swallow. “But I’m glad I can be part of her life. And Adie’s.”
Evie looks at me, daring me to say the name of the one person I’ve left out. Then she turns, heading into the house. “Molly and Jesse are already here,” she says.
In the living room, Jesse and Adam are watching a Red Sox game. They stand when we enter, Jesse giving me a hug as Adam steps forward and then on second thought falls back, hands in his pockets. “Welcome to our home,” he says.
“Where’s Adie?” I ask.
“Asleep in my old room, in the portacrib,” Molly replies, breezing in with a dish of glazed carrots that she sets on the table. “Which means we have about thirty minutes to eat dinner.”
“Duly noted,” Jesse says. “Evie, how can I help?” They disappear into the kitchen with Molly again, leaving me alone with Adam.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
He frowns. “Hi.”
“How bad was it for you?” I ask. “The fallout?”
“Not as bad as I imagine it was for you,” Adam replies. “I can’t believe in a city of two hundred thousand people, you bumped into Chad.”
“If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else. Eventually.” I feel a tear sliding down my face, and embarrassed, I turn away from him. “I just wish you hadn’t been dragged into it.”
Adam’s hand cups my cheek. For a second, I lean into him, letting him hold the sorrow between us. “You’re back, Ellie,” he says. “It’s worth it.”
Suddenly Adam steps away, his hand falling to his side, his eyes trained on something behind me. I turn to find Evie standing in the doorway. A brittle smile wreaths her face. “Dinner,” she announces.
When we reach the table, Adam sits at the head, leaving me next to Molly. “This looks incredible,” I say, surveying the roast chicken and gravy and a plethora of side dishes. “Evie, I remember when you didn’t even know how to make ramen.”
“People change,” she says.
Jesse lifts a bottle of Chardonnay. “Wine?”
“Yes.” Evie takes the bottle from him and fills her glass. She lifts the goblet, drains half of it in a single draw, and then refills it.
“Evie,” Adam says, with a forced laugh. “Leave some for the rest of us.”
“Oh.” Her voice is sharp. “Am I supposed to share now?”
My gaze ping--pongs between them. “I can leave—-”
“No,” Jesse and Molly say at the same time.
Molly clears her throat. “I am the one who asked Georgia to dinner. Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t want to have to choose between family members. I know there’s a lot to unpack, and that it’s messy. But surely we can all make it through a single meal?”
“Of course we can, baby.” Jesse pats Molly’s hand and then reaches for the mac and cheese, which is sitting on a trivet.
As soon as he moves the dish, however, I realize what that trivet really is. The feathers made of flame; the glass that catches the reflection from the chandelier overhead. “That’s my mosaic,” I murmur.
I hadn’t installed that piece of it yet, in the master bath in Washington Heights. I had been cutting it in pieces to move and mount when I went into labor.
Evie looks down at the trivet. “Before we came to Rhode Island I had a piece of it grouted. I thought it would be a nice thing for Molly to have one day. A piece of you.” She stares at me flatly. “Would you like to take that back, too?”
I put my napkin on the table. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Evie. I apologize for whatever you’ve been through, in the past week.”
She swirls the wine in her glass. “What are you more sorry about? The social media posts that call me a gold digger? Or maybe the guy who keyed my car in the Hasbro parking lot?”
Adam sighs. “Evie, honey . . .”
Her gaze snags on him. “Honey? How can you call me that, when it’s never a good time to talk about whether we’re actually married and if that even matters to you?
” She throws her napkin onto her unfinished plate of food.
“Sorry to crash your family dinner,” she says, and she walks out of the room.
A moment later comes the sound of a door being slammed.
We hear Adie start crying over the baby monitor. “Great,” Molly sighs, and she stands up.
Jesse puts his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get the baby. You go calm Evie down.”
They both hurry out of the dining room, leaving me alone with Adam.
Adam looks up, apologetic. “It’s . . . been a hard week,” he says.
I shake my head. “This was a bad idea,” I murmur.
“Molly’s right. We have to figure out how to be a family.”
Except we aren’t one. I take a deep breath. “You should go to her. To Evie.”
Adam looks up at me, pained, the same maelstrom of memory in his eyes that I know is in mine. “I don’t know what to say.”
But I do. Evie needs to be picked. A first choice, not a default.
She wants to be what I was, once, to Adam.
A tether frays between us. I tell myself that having Molly in my life, and Adie, is enough. “You should go to her,” I repeat. “She’s your wife.”