Chapter 9
Ilena
Friday Afternoon
One Day After the Outing
A stuffed giraffe. Two BabyBjorns. A running stroller overflowing with diapers. Ilena’s office could double as a baby boutique.
From the stack of cards and Polaroids on her desk, she gathers that AIM hosted a baby shower recently. For her and Felix.
And apparently, Ilena was the life of the party.
Blindfolded playing pin-the-sperm-on-the-egg.
How mortifying.
In a chair, spinning a baby bottle on the conference table around which a dozen AIM employees are sitting.
Can you say “lawsuit”?
Cheering Felix on as he winds his way through some sort of diaper obstacle course.
No one at AIM will ever take them seriously again.
This Ilena must not have gone to Harvard, she thinks, channeling her snob of a mother. She rotates in her chair, and, well,
that theory’s blown as her Harvard undergrad degree hangs on the wall. She squints. Bingo: no cum laude, let alone magna.
Ilena shoves the cards and photos in a drawer and places a nursing pillow underneath her, hoping to ease the pain in her lower back, knowing she won’t erase its horrific cause: Grayson.
It could also be from the honeydew in her stomach, but if she attributes it to Grayson, it remains Mallory’s fault.
Though the honeydew’s technically Mallory’s doing too—she came up with the twisted spin on the game that somehow led them here.
Wherever here is. This place . . . this place where a man she worked with is dead, where, in agreeing to conceal it, she once
again made a choice that went against her every belief, where she let Mallory’s decisions dictate her own.
Except, if she were being honest, not calling the police wasn’t solely for Mallory’s sake. Ilena has more to take into consideration
than just Mallory.
Ilena rests her hand on her stomach, wondering how far along she is. Six months, maybe seven, she’s guessing from the size
and the persistent kicking. It’s weirder than she imagined, though in truth, Ilena’s always been more focused on the getting
pregnant than being pregnant—something that’s not going to change despite the soccer player inside her stomach. This isn’t
real. She’ll be back to her actual life soon, and Grayson will be alive, and Mallory won’t be a murderer, and she . . .
She won’t be about to become a mother. She removes her hand from her stomach. The baby kicks as if calling her back, but she
keeps her hands flat on her desk.
In front of her is a receipt from the gastropub where they held their summer outing last night in their world, and from the
size of the bill, apparently in this one too. She riffles through the invoices and papers beneath it. Raw bar, paddleboards,
dung cleanup, everything but the flamingo. Perhaps this Ilena weighed in before they signed the rental agreement.
“Knock, knock,” precedes an actual rapping against the open office door.
Felix smiles. He’s wearing his usual office attire of slacks and a pressed button-down, and she can’t help thinking how good he looks.
So does James, who enters behind him. His freckled skin is more deeply tanned, his red hair more ginger, like he lets himself spend more time in the sun here.
Perhaps playing tennis with her husband.
“Brought the real muscle to finally get this stuff home now that the nursery’s painted.” Felix grips James’s upper arm, and
his cheeks flush.
Ilena feels like a fraud, an intruder, and she really has to pee—again. “Thanks,” she says. “Thank you, James.”
“My pleasure. And last night’s party was quite the shindig. As always with you,” James says sweetly, though she’s pretty sure,
as he picks up a Diaper Genie, he rolls his eyes.
The baby kicks, and her body jerks, less from the honeydew’s foot and more from the realization that James may not be a teacher
in this world, but he’s still in love with Felix. This isn’t right. She’s not like Mallory, immune to guilt, able to pick
and choose what lies to tell and what truths to keep secret.
But then Felix is at her side, kneeling, hand on her belly. “You’ve always been fun in a bottle.”
No, she hasn’t. Not even in college, not really. And especially not compared to Mallory.
Felix adds, “Pop the cork, and we’re off! Runs in the Cohen family.”
She stiffens. The only thing that runs in her family is Chardonnay.
“I really should get back to work,” she says brusquely.
Felix jerks back, confused, before nodding slowly. “Oh, Ilena, it’s just us. No need to put up a front that the baby isn’t
as important as it is.”
“The complex life of a working mom. So on trend,” James says, smiling politely, but those eyes judge every inch of her, and
she feels like James knows she’s a fraud.
The baby lobs a grenade at her midsection, and she places her hand on the spot.
Felix covers it with his, laughing and smiling and making her smile.
Then she looks up. James’s jaw tightens as he rolls the diaper-filled stroller out the door.
Felix dated both men and women in her world before settling down with James, and James’s reaction is making her wonder if the same is true here.
And if it is, how could he have possibly wound up with her instead of James?
Felix stands and begins gathering more baby gifts. He snuggles the giraffe in the BabyBjorn on his chest and piles baby clothes
in the one he slides onto his back. All the items are neutral colors, no pinks or blues, no indication of the baby’s sex,
which is fine, which is good. She doesn’t want to get attached to what isn’t hers.
Felix leans in to kiss her goodbye, and she tenses, but his lips simply brush against her cheek. Act normal, Mallory had said, but she’s not the one carrying the child of a man who should be living a life with someone else. She takes
a deep breath, readying herself to confront Mallory, when she sees a clear plastic box on her desk. Encased inside is a pregnancy
stick, those two lines she’s been desperate to see staring right at her. Underneath is a note signed by Felix: I’m now positive too.
Which could mean there was a time when he wasn’t. When he was scared. Just like her.