Page 7 of Mean Moms
“So what neighborhoods are you looking at? And what’s theoverhead?” Belle asked, probing. Before she’d had children, Belle had worked briefly at Deutsche Bank, and she never let any of them forget it. Belle had been talking about launching her own company forever, so Frost had to imagine that if Morgan, who’d never expressed interest in such things, got there first, it would certainly sting.
“We already found a small space in Tribeca, next to the Jacadi on Reade Street. We’re opening in a few weeks!”
Belle’s face fell. She looked off to the side, and Frost could tell she was fuming.
“Congrats!” said Sofia.
The children had started to file out of the school, down the staircase, comprised of eight large stone steps. Up top stood Dr. Broker, chatting with the kids as they left.
“Ms. Perez!” Dr. Broker called down, motioning to Sofia to come join him. Sofia, somewhat alarmed to have been singled out, raised her eyebrows at the women and then trudged up the stairs, stepping around children to get to Dr. Broker, who gave her a vigorous handshake and then said something into her ear. Sofia grimaced. Right then, Gabby Mahler and Ava Leo walked up, their eyes on Sofia.
“I wonder what they’re talking about,” said Gabby, tipping down her black framed glasses, as if that would let her see the situation better instead of blurrier.
“Maybe he’s saying that she’s the hottest woman he’s ever seen, and hehasto have her right now, or he’ll die,” said Ava with a wicked smile.
“I don’t think there have ever been boobs like that on an Atherton mom,” said Gabby, joining her friend in the fun-making.“He’s got to be salivating. Hell, I’m salivating.” She and Ava tittered.
“And look at her shoes,” said Ava with a sneer. “It’s like Louboutin-meets-lady-of-the-night.”
“Guys, stop being bitches,” said Frost sharply. “She’s nice and lonely and we’re going to befriend her,” she continued, feeling protective for some reason. Gabby put up her hands, as if to say “you do you.”
“Right, right, she’s yourhero, I forgot,” said Ava with a smirk. Sofia looked pained as she and Dr. Broker spoke. He gave her a final handshake and sent her on her way.
Students were streaming out of the building, skipping across the steps, glancing left and right in search of their grown-ups. Sofia gingerly made her way down, searching fruitlessly for a banister. She got caught in the mix of yelling, teasing youth, her tall, impossibly pointy high heels causing her to walk like an elderly woman afraid of rebreaking her hip. Even Jeff was torn away from his phone, rapt.
Dr. Broker, witnessing the impending calamity, bounded down to try to help her, reaching for Sofia’s hand. But instead of helping, he somehow sent her flying forward, her heel catching on a stone edge. She careened into a group of young girls, sending them right into a growing line of little ones, who all began to fall, slowly then fast fast fast, an entire school tumbling onto the pavement. Cries of agony could be heard as the students hit the hard ground. “My knee!” “Mommy, my arm!” “Ow!” and so on, until what felt like the whole block was filled with whimpering children. Frost couldn’t believe what she was witnessing, as child after child went down, like a gory scene out ofChicka Chicka Boom Boom.
Then out of the pile rose Sofia, a phoenix in a sexy pink skirt, herhair a little mussed but otherwise looking pretty damn incredible. She took in the chaos, swiveling her head this way and that, her chest heaving. Frost had the impulse to comfort her, before realizing that no, Sofia wasn’t crying. She was laughing. A great, loud, attractive laugh.
“I told you she was my hero,” said Frost, in awe. They all shook their heads in disbelief at the alien among them.
Chapter 3Girls’ Drinks!
Morgan Chary was tired of being so fucking cheerful. She’d been cheerful her whole life. Why did some women always have to be cheerful? She’d been the cheerful kid, the middle daughter of three, the one who always had a happy face on while her two sisters got to be total sticks in the mud. She was the cheerful friend, the one who pepped everyone up when they were low, who brought cupcakes when they were sick, with herbal remedies and recommendations for the best acupuncturists. She was the cheerful mom, never yelling at Gertrude, always gentle parenting, letting her feel her feelings. Sometimes Morgan just wanted to shout at her, “I know you don’t want to go to swimming today, but sometimes we HAVE TO DO THINGS WE DON’T WANT TO DO! That’s fucking life!” But she kept it in. She always kept it in. And she was also the cheerful wife, supporting Art in his career, keeping everything perfect at home with a smile, her one cheek dimple in overuse, sunny and positive.
She’d been cheerful for forty-one years. That was a long time to be smiling. She looked in the mirror in the bathroom of Thyme &Time, the walls a pale shade of moss, the sink an attractive block of gray marble with a hanging gold faucet. She studied her jutting cheekbones, giving her all-American appearance an alluring angularity. Her face had changed shape as she’d aged, hollowing out in a way she liked. She’d just gotten her hair colored with Jacob Schmidt at Sally Hershberger, the best (Ask Morgan!), toning down her summer blond into a lovely fall honey. She looked good, all things considered.
Perimenopause had recently hit Morgan like a ton of hormonal bricks. Drenching night sweats, her wickedly sharp brain always in a fog. Her body chemistry felt altered. Some days she was Morgan, some days she was a stranger with a temper and a pounding headache. The worst part had been weight gain, a padding around her middle that her entire adult life she’d worked so hard to avoid. No amount of Tracy Anderson seemed to matter, it was just… there… like an unwanted guest at a cocktail party. Morgan rubbed the scar on her forehead, the one she’d gotten the day she and Art met, just a faint line at this point. She frowned, her mouth curving downward, her face muscles unused to such an expression.
Morgan then reached into her purse, a dainty green Bottega Bucket Bag, and unzipped the side pocket. There, alongside her Chanel lipstick, was a thin blue container that looked like a cross between a tampon and a pen, plus a clear plastic packet. She took both out and opened the top of the larger one, revealing a vial of clear liquid. Then she unwrapped the second piece, a needle, a silver sliver of metal. She inserted it into the vial, then pulled down her high-waisted leggings, all the way to the top of her pubic bone. She stuck the instrument into the flesh right above her underwear, just to the left of her C-section scar, and held it there for a count of six, until the medicine had entirely drained into her body. She pulledher leggings up and put the mechanism back in her bag—she’d dispose of it later in a New York City trash can.
Morgan felt a jolt of exhilaration, the semaglutides coursing through her veins. Her weekly Wegovy shot was her little secret, not even Art knew. It was none of anyone’s business how she remained so fit, and she loved the way it made her life so much easier, not having to worry about food, not having to exert all that self-control. She was now as thin as she’d ever been, perimenopause be damned. For years, Morgan had felt almost nothing; a black hole wrapped in an Alo Yoga matching set. She’d been hiding in plain sight. Now her appetite was suppressed, but her true self had been unleashed. She felt free. She felt angry. She felt everything lately. It was a new Morgan.
Next up, she had early drinks with the girls—Belle, Frost, and Sofia—whom they’d been seeing quite a lot of lately. Morgan stripped out of her workout garb and into a crisp white shirtdress, its collar popped up, walking out through Thyme & Time, which officially opened later that week. She’d had an architecture firm, Ronan Lev, known for designing the Goop offices, outfit the three-thousand-square-foot space. The granite shelving was filled with gorgeous books with titles likeChakras,Enchantments, andArt in the Age of Anxiety, interspersed with essential oils, sleekly designed gut supplements, and clean skincare, all available for purchase.
Morgan walked the two short blocks to the Odeon to meet her friends. It had been Frost’s choice for cocktails, because “it makes me nostalgic for my youth,” she’d written to their group text, followed by a slew of Old Woman emojis. The restaurant was full at the early hour, mostly with polished thirty- and fortysomethings, all of whom likely had the same idea as the Atherton moms. Morgan spotted Sofia in a booth toward the back, radiant in a printed silktank, which dipped low in the front and displayed the tops of Sofia’s bouncy, possibly fake breasts. A handful of delicate gold chains hung around her neck, and her lips were covered in a striking matte red. Morgan felt self-conscious, as if she were dressed for a PA meeting while Sofia was off to a fabulous evening event.
Sofia was sipping a large martini and already had a plate of french fries in front of her, dragging each one through ketchup the color of blood. Morgan felt nauseated at the sight of them.
She slid in next to Sofia, not quite sure what to say to her.
“Nice to see you,” enthused Sofia, looking at her intently. “How are you doing? How’s the spa?” The rings around Sofia’s pupils were nearly glowing.
“All set for opening,” said Morgan. “We already have bookings through the month, which is a great start.”
“Have you always wanted to open a spa?” asked Sofia. “Belle told me she’d been dreaming of launching a company for her entire life, so I wanted to know if you felt the same way. You women up here are so smart and focused. In Miami, we just like to work out and shop.” She giggled.
They were interrupted by Belle and Frost, who’d come into the restaurant together. After hugs and hellos and drinks delivered to the table (another vodka martini for Sofia, who’d polished off her first in a jiffy; a champagne for Frost; a chardonnay for Belle; and a room-temperature water, no ice, with lemon, for Morgan), the ladies settled into a chat. The three originals had known each other forever, so this was more about Sofia, as most of their meetings had been lately.
