Page 24 of Mean Moms
“You’re not cursed,” said Morgan. She looked closely at Belle. They’d known each other for many years. “You’ve created a wonderful product that many women will love. I love it! It’s going to work. I know you’re nervous, but just power through. The worst that happens is that there’s a slow start. But buzz will build, I’m sure. Plus, this space is gorgeous!” It felt so easy for Morgan to speak like this, to be positive and supportive, like stepping into a warm, comforting bath. “Now come on, let’s get to it.”
Morgan stood and started sorting through boxes, lifting The Dresses and shaking them out so their wrinkles smoothed. She spent the next hour helping Belle artfully arrange the furniture, creating an inviting display of Pippins Cottage Home clothing surrounded with other merch—expensive lip oils, moccasins made by an Indigenous tribe in upstate New York, some delicate beaded necklaces another Atherton friend made on the side. They didn’t speak much beyond the work.
“By the way,” said Belle, “Sofia had a great idea—she thought I should give out samples at the press preview and ask guests to wear them. What do you think about that?”
Morgan had already heard about this scheme from Frost. “What a fun exercise! Such an amazing idea from Sofia. That will be an awesome photo op,” said Morgan. Belle just nodded, as if she hadn’t heard her.
“Do you think it’s weird how close Sofia and Frost are getting?” Belle said shyly, not looking directly at Morgan. Morgan could sense Belle was treading lightly, not wanting to sound jealous.
“A little,” said Morgan. “I like Sofia, but…” Morgan trailed off.
“But what?” said Belle.
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing what?” said Belle, fully focused now.
“Well…” said Morgan. “I don’t know if I trust her, is all.”
“Why?” said Belle, perhaps too eager to hear the answer.
“I heard something about her divorce, that it was messy. That she cheated and he didn’t give her anything. That she was basically kicked out of Miami.”
“Yikes,” said Belle. “I wonder why she wouldn’t tell us that. Maybe Frost knows. They’re joined at the hip lately.” She snorted with envy.
“I don’t think Frost knows,” said Morgan. “It’s kind of like… what does Sofia want from us? She’s become part of our group very, very quickly.”
“Yeah, but it’s because we like her, right? And she saved me from that homeless guy at the beginning of the year!”
“Maybe that was all part of her plan,” said Morgan, laughing, letting the statement hang in the air.
Morgan had a PA meeting at Atherton at 1:00 p.m. and didn’t want to be late. At 12:45, she stood to leave. Belle frowned at her.
“I know people are still talking about the lice email,” Belle said. “You can’t even imagine the death stares I get at drop-off. Atherton won’t let us access their server, but I’m positive someone did it on purpose.” Belle put her head in her hands again. “It’s like I’m Atherton non grata.” Morgan waved her hand dismissively, but it was true. Belle’s status had been downgraded from a respected and popular mom to someone who was “accidentally” left off lunch invites and group texts.
“No, no, everyone’s over it,” Morgan said, lying. “They’re all talking about Frost partying with those guys, and have forgotten about everything else.” Frost was also the subject of much Atherton chatter, though she’d done her best PR jiujitsu to change the storyfrom slut-shaming to “moms owning their own sexuality.” Anyone who didn’t get behind that framing came off as a prude, and no downtown mom wantedthatlabel. As a joke, Frost had bought a $400 Lingua Franca sweatshirt embroidered with the phraseNEW YORK’S HOTTEST MOM. A few of the other moms were seen in the following days wearing the same one.
Morgan then went to leave, but Belle pulled on her sleeve, keeping her hand on Morgan’s arm.
“Morgan,” Belle said, her voice unsteady. Morgan leaned closer to her.
“I think another mom is out to get us. What if it’s Ava? Maybe it’s Dre! What about Becky Oranga? There’s something kooky about her, right?” said Belle.
“Belle, stop spiraling,” said Morgan sternly.
“Do you feel like somethingweirdis happening to us?” Belle pushed on.
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it,” said Belle. “The robbery at Thyme & Time. Frost getting theNew York Posttreatment. I mean, someone spit in my mouth! Frost got hit by a scooter! It just feels like a lot of bad stuff at once.”
“I guess I see what you’re saying,” said Morgan. “But how could all that be connected? In my meditation practice, we’ve discussed this idea of negative event clusters. Sometimes stuff like this just piles up, and no one knows why. It could just be a cycle of the moon.”
Belle pursed her lips dubiously. “It started on the first day of the school year. The day we met Sofia. Like you said!” Morgan didn’t respond. “Anyway, thanks for the help,” said Belle, deflated. “Enjoy the PA meeting. Does Dr. Broker go to those?”
“Sometimes,” said Morgan. “Why?”
“Just curious,” said Belle, brusquely opening the door for Morgan, who stepped outside alone, breathing in the fresh air. She was relieved to be out of that stuffy, stressful room. She saw she had two missed calls; one from Art, who’d also texted (“Honeydew, won’t be home tonight until late, have more of those meetings. Sorry”) and one from an unknown number, which had left a voicemail. Morgan put her phone back in her purse, feeling her needle pack as she did. She’d give herself her Wegovy dose at the school, as it was too late to go home before her meeting.
