The Friends We Keep. Susan Mallery
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Gabby and gave her delicate girlie meow—the one that indicated all was right in her feline world. Boomer followed, his nose pressed into the carpet as he searched for fallen crumbs and who knew what else.
The twins pulled their pets close. Gabby used the distraction to escape to her room. She still had to shower—because she hadn’t had time that morning—and do something with her hair.
For a while she’d been trying the blonde thing, but honestly, with three kids, it was too hard to get in for regular appointments. She was going to be starting back to work soon. If she didn’t have time now, she sure wouldn’t then. So she’d spent the past year or so easing the color toward her natural shade of sort-of-brown, sort-of-red. She was thinking of getting highlights to celebrate her return to the office, but only if her hairdresser promised her they wouldn’t need touching up more than once every six months.
She managed to get in the shower without being called or having to deal with a crisis. By the time she was out, the twins, Boomer and Jasmine had moved into the master bath where the four of them lay on the floor, watching her as she reached for her towel.
Kenzie and Kennedy each had one of Boomer’s ears in their tiny hands. They stroked his silky fur while leaning against him. Their dress-up hats were askew. Jasmine watched from the mat by the sink, as if in charge. Which was probably true. Jasmine did love to control situations.
“What are you going to wear, Mommy?” Kenzie asked. “You’ll be pretty.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure yet.”
“A dress,” Kennedy said firmly. “With high heels.”
Because the twins loved to wear high heels when they played dress up.
“And lipstick,” Kenzie added.
Gabby slipped on her underwear and bra, then walked into the big closet she shared with Andrew. While his side was organized according to the type of clothing, and then by color, hers was slightly more haphazard. A few things were piled on the floor, under the hanging racks. She wasn’t sure if they were there by design or if Jasmine had pulled them off, and this wasn’t the moment to find out.
Double racks and a built-in dresser should have helped with the organization but somehow that never happened. At least not for her. Andrew’s drawers were meticulously arranged. Socks sorted by color, exercise T-shirts separate from the T-shirts he wore under dress shirts. Why was that? She put away the laundry. So she was the one who maintained his organized ways while doing nothing to move herself beyond controlled chaos.
The whys weren’t important right now, she told herself as she dug through the single tall rack, searching for a reasonably clean, slightly dressy LBD. She found it in the back, next to a fuzzy pink robe she’d never liked.
The dress was long-sleeved, with a faux wrap bodice and knee-length skirt. She hadn’t worn it in a while but it looked clean enough. Except for pink fuzz from her robe, which would come off easily enough with masking-tape strips. The bigger issue was would it fit?
She knew she had a killer Spanx slip hanging somewhere, but before she suffered through the indignity of that she wanted to see if the dress was even a possibility. She undid the side zipper, then pulled it over her head.
The arms felt tight and the fabric bunched right above her boobs. She pulled and tugged and shimmied until it settled over her body. Even before she reached for the side zipper, she knew there was going to be problem.
The dress looked awful. It accentuated her round middle and the roll above her waistline. The fabric gapped a good four inches at the zipper and no amount of prayer was going to make it close. Not even the killer Spanx would be enough.
How much did she weigh? She hadn’t been on the scale in maybe a year. Sure, there were the extra few pounds since she’d had the girls, but this was unexpected. She hadn’t actually put on more weight, had she?
Even as she thought about the extra cookie she had after breakfast most days and the secret stash of Hershey’s Kisses in her nightstand, she told herself not to get off track. Andrew was due home any second. Cecelia would be arriving, Makayla was going to have a crisis before she headed to her mom’s and the twins could only be counted on to be quiet and entertain themselves in twenty-minute increments. That time was rapidly drawing to a close.
She pulled off the dress and flung it on the floor, then reached for her go-to black pants. They were stretched out at the waist and in need of replacing, but none of that mattered now. They fit.
She pulled them on, then searched for a top that was on the dressy end of professional. She found a black blazer that always worked, only there was a stain on the front. She jerked the hangers across the racks, trying to remember what she owned that wasn’t too small, too frayed or just plain ugly. Her throat tightened as panic set in. In her head she heard the frantic ticking of time going by too quickly melding with the horrifying realization that somewhere along the way, she’d gotten fat.
At the far end of the upper rack, she spotted a red sleeve. She pulled the shirt off the hanger and breathed a sigh of relief. Okay, the color wasn’t good, but the loose, silky shirt would fit her. The fabric was a little see-through and had an unfortunate gold weave running through it. She had no idea what had possessed her to buy it. Still, she was grateful to have something to wear.
She pulled on a plain black camisole, grabbed the red shirt and hurried back into the bathroom. The twins lay across Boomer. Jasmine was nowhere to be seen. Not a surprise—the feline had excellent self-preservation instincts. She seemed to sense exactly when there was going to be a crisis of some kind and extricated herself before it could happen.
Makeup, Gabby thought frantically as she plugged in her hot rollers. Curl her hair, makeup, dinner prep, Makayla, Cecelia, feed the pets, talk to the twins and out the door. It was possible, she told herself. Unlikely, but possible.
She draped the red shirt over the side of the tub. Kennedy wrinkled her nose.
“Mommy, you said you were wearing a dress.”
“No, you said that. I like pants.”
“You’re still pretty,” Kenzie said loyally.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
“Daddy likes you in a dress.” Kennedy’s expression turned stubborn. “And high heels.”
“I’m going to wear high heels.” High-ish, Gabby thought, already feeling her toes whimper in protest.
“Gabby, where are my white crop pants?” Makayla asked from the doorway to the bathroom. “I put them in the wash this morning.”
Gabby reached for her comb. After sectioning her hair, she put in a hot roller. “I don’t do whites on Fridays. I do them on Monday and Thursday.”
“But you knew I need them for this weekend.” Makayla’s expression turned annoyed and the volume of her voice increased. Danger. “You didn’t wash them on purpose.”
The twins looked at each other. Identical mouths formed perfect O’s as they waited to see what would happen next.
Every Friday Makayla was seeing her mother, Gabby thought grimly, there was a crisis, a fight, a something. And it was always her fault. Sugar, sugar, sugar.
Gabby faced her stepdaughter. Once again she was momentarily distracted by how pretty she was and how Makayla would spend much of her adulthood defined by her beauty. Oh, to be so cursed, Gabby thought ruefully.
“Makayla, you know I do laundry on a schedule. I’ve done it on a schedule since you came to live with us two years ago. I do the whites on Monday and Thursday. If you have a special request, I’m happy to try to help, but you didn’t tell me about the pants. I had no way of knowing they were in the laundry.”
Tears filled the teen’s eyes. “You could have looked.”
The unreasonable statement made her chest tighten. Deep breath. “And you could have told me. I can’t read your mind. Is there something else you