Page 59 of Everyone Is Lying to You

“I love the kids like they’re my own.” Nothing about the parents.

Before we can chat more, Veronica strides over to us. She reaches out a perfectly manicured finger to pluck a stray hair off Katie’s jacket and flicks it into the wind.

“How’d you like the ride out? Gorgeous, right?”

“It is,” I agree. “Why’d you take our phones?” I ask pointedly.

Veronica wags a finger like a stern mother. “Because you don’t need them. Be present. Enjoy the moment.” She floats away, somehow graceful in the teetering heels despite the slippery surface of the rocks.

Of course, there are place cards for where we should be sitting, like a wedding. How did Veronica manage to pull off something so elaborate in about twenty-four hours when I can’t even get four moms over to my house to split a bottle of wine with a month’s notice?

Katie huffs in indignation when Veronica strides away. “Bitch.”

“Why did you come if you hate her?”

She hesitates. “I wanted to network, but I also wanted to see…”

“See what?”

“Just see…I don’t know. Yeah, it’s good for work, but I also want to know what Veronica is up to with this dinner.” Her sigh is exhausted and defeated, and I wonder if she wishes she hadn’t gotten on that dune buggy. A part of me wishes I hadn’t come. We’re stuck out here now, for god knows how long, doing godknows what. It’s like when you agree to one of those all-you-can-drink boat parties that are lovely for the first hour or so, but then you’re stuck on a boat and you can’t get off and you can’t drink any more watered-down gin and tonics because there’s only one bathroom.

That reminds me. A bathroom. Are we supposed to go pop a squat behind the Devil’s Staircase?

The wind is picking up. There’s sand in it so it’s rough when it whips past my cheeks and then blows over one of the tiki torches, sending a gaggle of women in long calico skirts scurrying away lest they ignite.

“We should get started,” Veronica calls out. The handsome waiters turn into sheepdogs, gently herding all of us into smaller and smaller circles. I shiver, wishing I’d brought a sweater to cover my bare shoulders. The desert is colder and darker at night than I ever imagined. But Veronica has thought of this. She’s thought of everything. Portable heaters are wheeled out from somewhere. They surround the tables as we sit in front of small cards bearing our names in beautiful cursive script. Katie and I are nowhere near each other and I’m sad we can’t continue our conversation. I get the feeling there’s something going on with her. Some other reason she’s here.

I’m seated between two of the women in the long calico skirts. They look handmade, possibly out of rags. That means they’re probably expensive. The shabbier the material these days, the higher the price tag. They both smile sweetly at me, and I feel like I’m flanked by matching Anne Shirley bookends. Veronica is directly across from me.

The wind is only getting worse. A fine layer of sand now coatsthe table in front of us. A dozen straw hats have already been lost to the elements. I watched them whisk away on the current of the breeze and then waft over the edge of the steep cliff, which is much too close for my comfort.

“I’m so happy you’re all here.” Veronica has to yell to be heard. We should abandon this endeavor sooner rather than later. Where are the dune buggies? Did they leave us here or are they waiting just around the rocks? Will Veronica abort this event or see it through no matter what the desert chooses to do to us?

“It’s getting brisk out here. But that’s normal right after sunset. The wind will calm down, I promise you. And we’ve faced worse, right, ladies? We don’t head inside at the first sign of discomfort.” It’s reminiscent of her Instagram messaging, plow through the pain, toughen up your spirit through prayer and CrossFit.

This elicits a cheer. We all want to be told that we’re strong. That we’re capable and can do hard things. I want it too. When was the last time someone gave me actual praise or complimented my work ethic or mothering?

“Two rules for this evening. You know how much I love my rules.” The crowd giggles. “A couple of subjects will be off-limits. We can’t talk about our kids, and we can’t talk about social media or the work we are doing.”

“Then what will we talk about?” one woman shouts over the wind. Joking, but not joking.

“Ourselves. Our dreams. Our chosen paths. Our audiences might never know the real us, but we should share that with each other. I’ve been praying a lot. Telling God that I want more connection. I’ve been asking for inspiration. I know that I ammeant to spread my wings. It’s what the Good Lord desires for me and I am ready to follow his directions. If I were in control of my own destiny, perhaps I could remain working in our home forever, but that is not what God is calling me to do.”

I’m trying to translate in my head. If it were up to her, Veronica would be content to be a housewife and stay-at-home mom forever, but God wants more for her? It’s God who is controlling her ambition? That’s quite a handy way around the patriarchy.

She’s still going, in the careful cadence of a megachurch preacher. In another life she could have been one of those preachers. She’s that compelling.

One of the things I learned from my dive down the Smith triplets rabbit hole is that Veronica doesn’t just dole out advice on her social media. She is also selling it. She sells courses for $49.99 on how to run your household like a business. She has an entire line of vitamins for the “modern mother who needs more energy to do the Lord’s bidding.” She’s a rich woman who is minting more money and cloaking it inside the coziness of God’s plan for her. What a brilliant scam.

“I’m made for more and so are all of you. That’s what we are here to discuss tonight. What are you made for?”

It’s a question that shouldn’t feel so uncomfortable and I don’t enjoy the swirl of emotions it brings up inside me.

A second tiki torch tumbles over in the wind, but Veronica merely throws back her raven mane and laughs into the gale.

“You’ve got this. You are all queens. We are all queens. Queens of the desert.” She extends both her arms wide and twirls around in a circle. I feel like she’s gonna sell me a time-share or indoctrinate me into a cult. And maybe I’ll say yes.

“Great things rarely come from sitting in comfort zones!”

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