with twenty-four-hour room service and an eighteen-hole golf course.
“I’ll go,” I say, still leaning against the counter. “We’ll go. Happy?”
She beams at me and immediately starts cleaning up her pencil mess. “So what are you going to wear?”
“No.”
“No what?” she asks innocently, stacking the remaining boxes of unsharpened pencils on the counter by the phone.
“I’ll go to the meeting, Eva. But I’m going as I am.”
“Don’t you think you want to dress up a little?”
I know in her eyes I’m the mom who doesn’t volunteer very much in the classroom. I’m the mom who doesn’t know all the kids’ names. I’m the mom who sits alone at the country club pool. “I’m not going to dress to impress.”
“Other moms do.” She’s gotten the Formula 409 and a paper towel from under the sink and is spraying and wiping away all pencil residue.
“And if that works for them, great. It doesn’t work for me.”
She almost slams the 409 on the table. “Why not?”
My hands go up. “I think it’s fake.”
“Why? Because you want to make a good impression?”
“It’s more than that, Eva. It’s changing who you are just to satisfy others. It’s worrying about what people think—”
“Which is important—”
“
No!
No, it’s not.”
She stares at me long and hard.
She’s such a pack animal, and I appreciate her need to be part of a group, but there are dangers in a group. If you’re part of a pack, you must think like the pack and follow the pack leader, and I won’t do it. I’m not a follower. I’m a lone wolf. Leader of my own pack.
“I will go to the meeting,” I say more quietly as I carry our sandwiches to the table. “But I won’t change who I am.”
Chapter Four
The Young home is something straight out of
Traditional Home
or
Renovation Home
or perhaps that iconoclast
Architectural Digest.
Like other houses circling low on the lake, it’s a big shingled house that rambles on a full acre with a huge green swath of grass that seems to unroll right into the lake itself.
“Mom,” Eva breathes, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the bright midafternoon sun. It’s clear and hot today and almost too dazzling with the sun shimmering off the lake.
This, I know, is Eva’s idea of paradise. In her mind, the only thing that could make the setting more perfect would be the addition of an outdoor wedding reception. She’s shown me her idea for my wedding. A big party tent. Strings of pink Japanese lanterns. Tuxedoed waiters.
“It is pretty here,” I say. Movies are filmed in locations like this, movies and the illustrations for books and magazines. I grew up across the lake in a big, proper house surrounded by other big, elegant houses, but these new shingled confections on the Eastside of Lake Washington are almost otherworldly with their fairy-tale touches of arbors and trellises, towers and cupolas. For a split second I have total house envy, thinking that anyone in a house like this must have such a beautiful life, a life blessed.
It is Taylor who opens the door, and her smile is wide, welcoming. She recognizes Eva and greets her by name.
Taylor’s wearing a white sleeveless sheath with aqua stitching around the square neckline and strappy sandals that show off sleek legs and pedicured toes. “The girls are upstairs, Eva,” she says, “in the media room, and they’ll be so happy to see you. If they’re not there, check the game room. They might be playing on the computer.”
Eva smiles and dashes up the stairs, and I wish I had an ounce of her enthusiasm as I trail after Taylor into the living room, where everyone has gathered with notebooks and pens.
Taylor introduces me around the room. There must be about twelve women there, but their names and faces are just a blur during the introductions, and they all seem to be the same—perfect tawny-haired bronzed mommies.
The kind who wear Prada loafers and 7 for All Mankind jeans.
The kind
“I’ll go,” I say, still leaning against the counter. “We’ll go. Happy?”
She beams at me and immediately starts cleaning up her pencil mess. “So what are you going to wear?”
“No.”
“No what?” she asks innocently, stacking the remaining boxes of unsharpened pencils on the counter by the phone.
“I’ll go to the meeting, Eva. But I’m going as I am.”
“Don’t you think you want to dress up a little?”
I know in her eyes I’m the mom who doesn’t volunteer very much in the classroom. I’m the mom who doesn’t know all the kids’ names. I’m the mom who sits alone at the country club pool. “I’m not going to dress to impress.”
“Other moms do.” She’s gotten the Formula 409 and a paper towel from under the sink and is spraying and wiping away all pencil residue.
“And if that works for them, great. It doesn’t work for me.”
She almost slams the 409 on the table. “Why not?”
My hands go up. “I think it’s fake.”
“Why? Because you want to make a good impression?”
“It’s more than that, Eva. It’s changing who you are just to satisfy others. It’s worrying about what people think—”
“Which is important—”
“
No!
No, it’s not.”
She stares at me long and hard.
She’s such a pack animal, and I appreciate her need to be part of a group, but there are dangers in a group. If you’re part of a pack, you must think like the pack and follow the pack leader, and I won’t do it. I’m not a follower. I’m a lone wolf. Leader of my own pack.
“I will go to the meeting,” I say more quietly as I carry our sandwiches to the table. “But I won’t change who I am.”
Chapter Four
The Young home is something straight out of
Traditional Home
or
Renovation Home
or perhaps that iconoclast
Architectural Digest.
Like other houses circling low on the lake, it’s a big shingled house that rambles on a full acre with a huge green swath of grass that seems to unroll right into the lake itself.
“Mom,” Eva breathes, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the bright midafternoon sun. It’s clear and hot today and almost too dazzling with the sun shimmering off the lake.
This, I know, is Eva’s idea of paradise. In her mind, the only thing that could make the setting more perfect would be the addition of an outdoor wedding reception. She’s shown me her idea for my wedding. A big party tent. Strings of pink Japanese lanterns. Tuxedoed waiters.
“It is pretty here,” I say. Movies are filmed in locations like this, movies and the illustrations for books and magazines. I grew up across the lake in a big, proper house surrounded by other big, elegant houses, but these new shingled confections on the Eastside of Lake Washington are almost otherworldly with their fairy-tale touches of arbors and trellises, towers and cupolas. For a split second I have total house envy, thinking that anyone in a house like this must have such a beautiful life, a life blessed.
It is Taylor who opens the door, and her smile is wide, welcoming. She recognizes Eva and greets her by name.
Taylor’s wearing a white sleeveless sheath with aqua stitching around the square neckline and strappy sandals that show off sleek legs and pedicured toes. “The girls are upstairs, Eva,” she says, “in the media room, and they’ll be so happy to see you. If they’re not there, check the game room. They might be playing on the computer.”
Eva smiles and dashes up the stairs, and I wish I had an ounce of her enthusiasm as I trail after Taylor into the living room, where everyone has gathered with notebooks and pens.
Taylor introduces me around the room. There must be about twelve women there, but their names and faces are just a blur during the introductions, and they all seem to be the same—perfect tawny-haired bronzed mommies.
The kind who wear Prada loafers and 7 for All Mankind jeans.
The kind
Similar Books
