Chapter 11 Rhea
ELEVEN
RHEA
“Here’s the number of the venue, just in case I don’t have cell service or something,” I say, shifting Esme on my hip and setting a neatly typed page on Laney’s kitchen counter.
The diaper bag at my feet looks like it could double as an emergency shelter.
Laney snorts, reaching for the paper without even glancing at it. “I’ve got this, girlfriend. We won't have any emergencies. And I’m definitely not calling the wedding venue to check up on you.”
Esme lets out a squeal, and Laney kisses her cheek.
“But for the record,” she adds with a wink, “we will be eating lots of mac and cheese and reading Llama Llama on repeat until you get back.”
Esme claps at the mention of Llama Llama.
“I know she’ll be fine. It’s me I’m more worried about,” I say, brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek. “Nineteen months, and I’ve never left her overnight. That’s got to be some kind of record.”
“Well, you’ve damned well earned a weekend of grown-up fun,” Laney says, reaching for my daughter.
“Go. Be the hot librarian at your brother’s swanky wedding.
Wear the dangerous dress. Drink the expensive wine.
And stop worrying about every little thing.
You trust me with her every day. This is no different. ”
I laugh, but it catches in my throat.
Laney’s house is Esme’s second home.
She’s been watching my daughter since she was just eight weeks old—back when I was still stitched together in more ways than one. Laney had just left her full-time job after baby number three, and one day she said, “Why don’t I take Esme? Just until you’re back on your feet.”
It wasn’t an offer.
It was a rescue.
It was family.
Still, leaving her overnight feels like peeling off my own skin.
“I’ll text when I get to Hanover,” I say, leaning in to kiss Esme’s curls.
Laney says. “How about instead of texting every hour, you pretend you’re on an island with no signal. I’ve got her. You just go do your bridesmaid thing. And give Carter my love.”
I nod. Smile. Get in the car. And immediately check the backseat, even though I know she’s not there.
Hanover is as ridiculous as I remember. Sweeping lawns. Historic mansions. The kind of wedding venue that has a champagne garden and a valet who looks like he was born in a tuxedo.
I pull into the parking lot and text Laney even though she told me not to.
Just arrived. Everything okay?
The dots bounce. Then stop.
Don’t bug us. We’re busy having fun. But touch up your lipstick before you go in.
Screw the lipstick, I think.
I slide my phone away. Deep breath. One foot in front of the other.
Last week, Laney helped me prepare three outfits for the weekend.
“Arrival chic,” she said, handing me my favorite dark jeans and a silk blouse.
“Friday flirt,” she added with a smirk, holding up a slinky navy dress that was understated but still sort of stunning. “You’ve got curves and collarbones—let them work for you.”
Then she held up the bridesmaid dress I’d be wearing Saturday. Her nose wrinkled. “Now this one... this one was definitely chosen by someone who hates you.”
I laughed. “You think Serena picked it with malice?”
“No. I think she picked it for herself and expected the rest of you to fit the mold.” She eyed me. “You’ll look incredible, all the same. Just don’t breathe or bend over, and you should be fine. That is a lot of cleavage.”
“Perfect,” I muttered. “Nothing screams 'desperate single mother’ like boobs up to my chin. I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Sure you can. You’re a goddess. Besides,” she winked, “if you’ve got ’em, flaunt ’em. Just don’t go getting yourself knocked up again.”
She laughed.
But she’s the only one who knows about Esme’s dad.
About Spencer.
To everyone else, Esme’s the product of a one-night stand I never elaborated on. A mystery man. A private decision. I’m the librarian who went rogue—single mom, surprise baby, no ring, no apology.
Standing up at Carter and Serena’s wedding?
I’m fairly certain it took a full-blown negotiation on my brother’s part. Serena never liked me. That was before I became a scandalous walking question mark in their perfectly curated story.
And as the icing on the cake, I’m to be paired with my brother’s college friend, Cash Banks. I mean, are you kidding me? Who does that? Who names their trust fund baby with not one but two names that suggest money?
I’m sure he’s thrilled to be paired with Carter’s librarian sister, who's practically a nun except for that one little detail. She’s got a secret baby.
Still, I said yes.
Because Carter’s my brother. Because he’s Esme’s only uncle - her only real family. And because I still believe in showing up.
So here I am.
Dressed like someone I barely recognize.
Wearing heels that pinch.
Already missing my daughter like someone’s torn a piece out of me.
I glance in the mirror one last time before getting out of the car.
And, yes, damn it, I put on the lipstick. My eyes are a little too tired. My smile is somewhere between brave and fake.
“You’ve got this,” I whisper.
And step out into the unknown. Again.