9. Louella
— ? —
Louella
The obstetrician’s office was painted in soft greens and blues, the walls covered with photos of babies and grateful letters from patients. Soothing, I supposed. Reassuring. The kind of environment designed to make you forget that growing a human being is actually terrifying.
“Let’s take a look.” Dr. Patel pressed the ultrasound wand against my belly, and the screen came to life. “There we are.”
There it was.
A shape that looked more like a person than the blob I’d seen a few weeks ago. A head, a body, limbs that twitched with movement. And in the center of it all, a rapid flutter that the machine translated into sound.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Patel said. “Strong and steady. One hundred sixty beats per minute.”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at the screen, at this tiny creature that had taken up residence inside me without permission and was now demanding I rearrange my entire existence around its needs.
“You’re measuring right on track for ten weeks. Everything looks perfect.”
Perfect. The word felt absurd. Nothing about this was perfect. I was pregnant and alone and hiding from my husband’s family in a beach house at the edge of the world, and the father of this baby didn’t even know it existed.
“Thank you,” I managed.
The drive home took forty-five minutes, and I cried the entire way.
Not sad tears, exactly. Not happy ones either.
An emotion in between, the overwhelming rush of finally, finally having the thing I’d wanted for years, combined with the grief of having it now, like this, when everything else had fallen apart.
I pulled into the driveway and sat there until the tears stopped, until my face looked presentable, until I could walk into my grandmother’s house and pretend I was handling this with some resemblance of grace.
***
The bridal shower invitation was sitting on the kitchen counter where I’d left it.
Camille’s sister Nora, marrying a man named Charlie who’d apparently been Hector’s college roommate.
The ceremony was in a week, but first there was the shower, a rooftop garden party at some boutique hotel in the city.
I’d RSVP’d yes weeks ago, before everything imploded, and Camille had called three times to confirm I was still coming.
“You don’t have to,” she’d said. “Everyone would understand if you need to skip it.”
“And let Elizabeth think she’s won? Not a chance.”
Pride talking. Stupid, stubborn pride. But I’d rather face my husband’s mistress at a champagne brunch than hide in my beach house and let the Lauders write the narrative of my absence.
I chose my outfit carefully. Loose silk in deep emerald, draped to disguise the subtle curve of my belly. Heels that made my legs look endless. Makeup that said “thriving” even if I felt like I was barely surviving.
The rooftop was beautiful, string lights, flowering vines, elegantly dressed women holding champagne flutes and making polite conversation. Nora greeted me with a hug that lingered a beat too long.
“I’m so glad you came,” she whispered. “Camille was worried.”
“I’m fine.” The lie came easily. “Today is about you.”
I circulated. Made small talk. Accepted a champagne flute I didn’t plan to touch and held it like a prop while I navigated the minefield of concerned glances and carefully avoided questions.
Everyone knew. Of course everyone knew. The Lauder divorce was probably the most interesting thing to happen in these social circles in months.
I was almost starting to relax when I saw them.
Genevieve first, sweeping through the rooftop garden in cream silk and pearls, looking like she owned the venue and everyone in it. And on her arm, Elizabeth. White designer dress, expensive in the loud way that begs to be noticed, her smile bright and poisonous as she surveyed the party.
They came straight for me.
“Louella.” Genevieve’s voice carried the particular warmth she reserved for people she was about to destroy. “How brave of you to show your face.”
“Genevieve.” I kept my voice pleasant. “I didn’t realize you were invited.”
“The Hendersons are old family friends. Of course I was invited.” She turned to Elizabeth with exaggerated fondness. “You remember Elizabeth, don’t you? She’s been such a comfort to Hector during this difficult time.”
Elizabeth’s smile was all teeth. “Louella. You look tired. This must be so hard for you.”
“Divorce agrees with me, actually.” I sipped my untouched champagne. “The freedom is quite refreshing.”
“Freedom.” Elizabeth’s laugh was a delicate knife. “Is that what you’re calling it? I heard you’ve been hiding somewhere. Licking your wounds, I imagine.”
“Recovering my independence. There’s a difference.”
Genevieve stepped closer, lowering her voice to a register that could pass for confidential concern.
“The graceful thing, Louella, would be to step aside quietly. Let the family move forward without the messiness of a prolonged legal battle. I’ve always thought you understood how these things work. ”
“You’ve always underestimated me, Genevieve. That’s your mistake.”
“The only mistake here is your refusal to accept reality.” Her eyes were cold now, the social mask slipping. “You were never suited to this family. Elizabeth understands what it means to be a Lauder in ways you never could.”
“Elizabeth understands a lot of things. Like how a man can lose an entire night he can’t account for, and wake up to a pregnancy he doesn’t remember making. Funny how convenient that is. Is that the Lauder way I’ve been missing?”
Genevieve’s expression wavered, surprise, then recovery. Elizabeth’s smile tightened.
“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Elizabeth said, “but it’s pathetic. You lost. Accept it.”
“I haven’t lost anything.” I looked at her, really looked, and saw exactly what she was: a woman who’d destroyed my marriage not out of love for my husband but out of hunger for everything his name represented. “I’ve simply realized what you’re worth. Which is exactly nothing.”
“Louella.” Genevieve’s voice cut now. “That’s enough.”
Around us, the party continued. Women laughed and sipped champagne and pretended not to notice the confrontation happening in their midst. Camille was across the garden, caught in conversation, her eyes darting toward me with obvious concern.
Elizabeth touched my arm, a gesture meant to look sympathetic, feel threatening. “Poor thing. This must be so overwhelming for you. All that stress, all that heartbreak. It’s no wonder you’ve been hiding away.”
I looked at her hand on my arm. Then at my champagne glass. Full to the brim, untouched.
“You know,” I said conversationally, “you’re right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
I lifted the glass slowly, deliberately. Tipped it forward.
The champagne cascaded down the front of Elizabeth’s white designer dress in a golden wave. She gasped, stepped back, but I kept pouring, every last drop, until the silk was soaked and stained and ruined.
“Oops.” I set the empty glass on a nearby table. “Clumsy me. All that stress you’re so worried about.”
The garden went silent. Elizabeth stared at me, champagne dripping from her designer labels, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Genevieve looked like she might actually stroke out from fury.
“You…” Elizabeth started.
“I’d get that dry-cleaned immediately if I were you. White stains so easily.”
I turned and walked toward the exit. The crowd parted for me, stunned faces, whispered gasps, and I didn’t look back. Didn’t stop. Didn’t let them see my hands shaking or my heart racing or the wild, inappropriate laughter bubbling up in my chest.
Behind me, the silence finally broke into chaos. Voices rose, someone called my name, but I was already in the elevator, already pressing the lobby button, already escaping before the consequences caught up with me.
My phone buzzed. A text from Camille: WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO
I typed back one-handed, grinning like a madwoman: Embraced my new reality.
The elevator doors opened. I walked through the lobby and out into the afternoon sun, still wearing the smile of a woman who had finally, finally stopped caring what the Lauders thought of her.
Let them talk. Let them rage. Let Elizabeth cry champagne tears to anyone who would listen.
I was done being graceful.