The Wives. Lauren Weisberger
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ice cream?’
‘I don’t want the ones with the blueberries!’
In a flash, all three children had gathered at the kitchen table, nearly hyperventilating with excitement. Miriam tried to ignore the epic mess and focus on her children’s joy and her husband’s kindness, but it was tough with flour covering every inch of countertop, batter splattered on the backsplash, and errant chocolate chips and blueberries spread across the floor.
‘Anyone want some fruit salad or yogurt?’ she asked, pulling both from the fridge.
‘Not me!’ they all shouted in unison through mouthfuls of pancake.
Yeah, me neither, Miriam thought to herself as she scooped some out. She spooned a bite into her mouth and nearly spat it into the sink. The yogurt had clearly gone bad, and not even the sweet strawberries could mask the rancid taste. She scraped the entire bowl’s contents into the garbage disposal and considered hard-boiling some eggs. She even nibbled one of those cardboard-like fiber crackers, but two bites in, she just couldn’t.
‘Live a little,’ she murmured to herself, grabbing a chocolate chip pancake from the top of the pile and shoving it into her mouth.
‘Aren’t they good, Mommy? Do you want to try it with whipped cream?’ Benjamin asked, waving the canister like a trophy.
‘Yes, please,’ she said, holding out her remaining piece for him to squirt. Screw it. She was setting a good example for her daughter that food wasn’t the enemy, right? Everything in moderation. No eating disorders in this house. She had just popped a pod into the coffee machine when she heard Paul mutter, ‘Holy shit.’
‘Daddy! Language!’ Maisie said, sounding exactly like Miriam.
‘Daddy said a bad word! Daddy said “shit”!’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he murmured, his face buried in the newspaper Miriam had set on the table. ‘Miriam, come look at this.’
‘I’ll be right there. Do you want a cup too?’
‘Now. Come here now.’
‘What is it, Daddy? What’s in the newspaper?’
‘Here, have another pancake,’ Paul said to Maisie as he handed the paper over to Miriam.
Below the fold but still on the very first page blared the headline: MADD: MOTHERS ALL-FOR DRUNK DRIVING! SENATOR’S WIFE SLAPPED WITH DUI … WITH KIDS IN THE CAR!
‘Holy shit.’
‘Mommy! You said “shit”!’
‘Daddy, now Mommy said a bad word!’
‘Shit, shit, shit!’ sang Matthew.
‘Who wants to watch a movie?’ Paul asked. ‘Benjamin, why don’t you go down to the basement and put on Boss Baby for everyone.’ Again, there was a mad scramble as they bolted toward the stairs, and then, seconds later, blessed silence.
‘This can’t be right,’ Miriam said, studying the mug shot of her old school friend. ‘Karolina would never do that.’
‘Well, it’s right here in print. Failed roadside sobriety test. Empty bottles of booze in the backseat. Refused to take a Breathalyzer. And five kids in the car, including her own.’
‘There is no way that’s possible,’ Miriam said, scanning the story. ‘Not the Karolina I know.’
‘How long has it been since you’ve spoken to her? Maybe she changed. I don’t imagine things are so easy being in the spotlight, like they both are now.’
‘She was the face of L’Oréal for ten years! The mega-model to end all supermodels. I hardly think she has issues with the spotlight.’
‘Well, being the wife of a United States senator is something else entirely. Especially one who plans to run for president. It’s a different kind of scrutiny.’
‘I guess so. I don’t know. I’m going to call her. This just can’t be right.’
‘You guys haven’t spoken in months.’ Paul sipped his coffee.
‘That doesn’t matter!’ Miriam realized she was nearly shouting and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve known each other since we were children.’
Paul held up both hands in surrender. ‘Send her my love, okay? I’ll go check on the monsters.’
Karolina’s number rang five times before going to voicemail. ‘Hi! You’ve reached Karolina. I’m not available to take your call, but leave me a message and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can. Bye, now.’
‘Lina? It’s me, Miriam. I saw that hideous headline and I want to talk to you. I don’t believe it for a single second, and neither does one other person who’s ever met you. Call me as soon as you get this, okay? Love you, honey. Bye.’
Miriam clicked ‘end’ and stared at her screen, willing Karolina’s name to appear. But then she heard a scream coming from downstairs – a real pain scream, not an I-hate-my-siblings scream or an It’s-my-turn scream, and Miriam took a deep breath and stood up to go investigate.
It had barely even begun, and already this year was shaping up to be a loser. She grabbed a now-cold pancake off the plate on her way to the basement: 2018 could take its resolutions and shove them.
KAROLINA
‘Hey, Siri! Play “Yeah” by Usher!’ Harry called from the back of the Suburban. A chorus of cheers went up from the boys when Siri chirped, ‘Okay, playing “Yeah” by Usher,’ and the bass blasted through the speakers.
Karolina smiled. Never in a million years would she have thought having a car full of twelve-year-old boys could be fun. They were loud and rowdy and even sometimes smelled bad, yes. But Harry’s friends were also sweet and quick to laugh and made an attempt at manners, at least when she was around. They were good kids from nice families, and once again she felt grateful for the move that had taken them from New York – the city of social land mines – to Bethesda, where everyone seemed a little more easygoing.
Sweet boy, Karolina thought for the thousandth time as she sneaked a look at Harry from the rearview mirror. Every day he was starting to look more and more like a teenager: broadening shoulders, dark fuzz above his lip, a smattering of pimples on his cheeks. But just as often he seemed like a little boy, as likely to spend an hour playing with Lego as texting with his friends. Harry was outgoing and confident, like his father, but he had a softer, more sensitive side too. Right around the time they moved to Bethesda, Harry started asking Graham more about his late mother: where she and Graham had met, what she liked to read, how she’d felt when she was pregnant with him. And always Graham put him off, promising to tell Harry about his mother later. Later, when he was finished with a report he needed to read. Later, that weekend, when they had more free time. Later, during their ski vacation, because his mother had loved to ski. Later, later, later. Karolina wasn’t sure if it was laziness or avoidance or genuine pain causing Graham to put off his son, but she knew Harry needed answers. It took her nearly three days while Graham was at work and Harry at school to assemble all the scattered pictures and letters and clippings she could find, but when she presented Harry with the memory box of his mom, his relief and joy made every minute worthwhile. She reassured Harry that his mom would always be his mom, and that it was okay to talk about her and remember her, and Karolina’s big, strong tween had collapsed into her arms like a kindergartener returning from his first day away from home.
‘Guess what?’ Nicholas, a lanky lacrosse player with shaggy blond hair, called from the third row. ‘My dad got us tickets