my house ten minutes early. It took her only thirty minutes to send me a text agreeing to pick me up.
“I thought we could grab a coffee on the way,” she says.
Right … the get-a-coffee excuse I so conveniently provided her with.
“Coffee sounds great,” I say, grabbing a short suede jacket, aware that I can’t take a hoodie today.
In the drive-through, I clasp and unclasp my hands as we order our drinks, mimicking Olivia’s anxiety.
As we wait for our coffee, Olivia stares into the distance. I follow her gaze and see a billboard of a baby. It’s one of those anti-choice pieces of propaganda shit that prey on poor women who are too hormonal to think of a time when an abortion could be necessary.
“Don’t worry,” I say softly. “That baby is still alive.”
Bad joke. I know it immediately. Still, I stifle a laugh.
“Huh?” she says, turning to study me.
“The poster … you were looking at it?” I point in its direction.
“Oh, yeah. I know. I was just … lost in thought,” she says, taking her foot off the brake to bring the car to the window.
She watches the baristas through the glass until one of them slides it open.
“You really like your coffee black like that?” she asks, handing me my hot paper cup, her attempt to change the subject.
“I do,” I answer.
I could tell her why I don’t order extravagant beverages packed with dairy, but I don’t want to. Besides, nobody likes a vegan, and I need to be liked right now. Following up with a statement about how I don’t like any of the artificial crap they offer won’t win me brownie points either.
“So, what’s this chef product being sold today?”
“Glorious Kitchen?” Olivia giggles. “It’s a company that sells kitchenware, mostly. It’s a bit expensive, but it’s quality. You’ll like it.”
Her chipper certainty makes me want to proclaim that I won’t, but I bite my tongue.
“I’m sure that I will.”
Olivia turns the radio on, and I fidget and drum my foot to the beat, pretending to be nervous.
When we’re stopped at a red light, Olivia keeps her eyes fixed forward, not moving them to the young man on the corner holding a Need Help sign. I take a banana and a five-dollar bill from my bag, then roll the window down and hand both to him.
Olivia’s nervous energy fills the car, only easing when I roll the window back up. I ignore her. She has no idea what it’s like to be the person needing help.
She lets out a sigh of relief as she pulls from the light and turns a corner. To hide my disgust at her reaction, I stare into the side mirror. There’s a black car behind us, much like the one that was behind us before the Starbucks drive-through.
My muscles twitch in anticipation of an altercation.
I’m being followed, because nobody’s following the basic housewife to my left. Olivia pulls into a neighborhood and the car continues down the main road.
Not following us. Not after me.
“Charlie lives in this neighborhood?” I ask as we pull into a development with massive homes.
“A bit further up here, yeah.”
“What does she do?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Funny thing.” Olivia chuckles. “Charlie is debuting her new business today. She and you may have something in common. She’s getting into the jewelry business.”
“Very cool,” I say more monotone than I should.
Charlie and I have nothing in common, not even our professions.
When we arrive at our McMansion destination, Olivia jumps into last-minute preparations while Charlie retreats to her room, taking full advantage of her bestie.
I shuffle napkins around, pretending to be helpful, like a guest who doesn’t want to leave her only friend’s side.
Charlie doesn’t rejoin us until the women start to pour in through the front door, chatting loudly and filling the large space with their fake, overly perky presences.
There are more than twenty women circling about, sipping champagne like it’s brunch, and daintily eating crackers with various spreads, when Charlie clears her throat and grabs everyone’s attention. She introduces Beverly, though I’d be shocked if all of them didn’t know one another already.
“Thank you, Charlie, for this wonderful gathering. It’s so nice to see all you women here today, coming together to celebrate your sisterhood. I won’t keep you all too long, but I’d like to share with you a couple of basics regarding Glorious Kitchen.”
She holds the room’s attention as she rambles, walking along the display she’s set up. She affectionately touches each object, smiling like a proud mother.
“I’d also like to tell you a bit about me. Why shop with me? Well, for those of you who don’t know, I’m a mom of three kiddos who are an absolute delight, and my husband, Mike, is so wonderful. He works so hard to support our family, and this is my way of giving back. With your purchases, I get to help pay the utility bills and buy the kids clothes and school supplies. I even get to support more local charities. This year, all three of my kids get to do an extracurricular activity of their choice, thanks to all my loyal customers.”
Her eyes glisten, and I try desperately not to laugh. Her false gratitude is sickening.
I hardly care about a woman wanting to help her husband pay the bills, especially when it’s a line—nobody here struggles. Neither do the two women to my right, who whisper about Beverly’s sales tactics and clothing choice and how they do it far better than her. If she confessed her need to do something for herself, I might be intrigued, and these dumb bitches to the right may shut the fuck up about their superior company.
As she finishes her speech, Charlie adds, “Ladies, don’t forget to check out my display on the kitchen table. Each piece of jewelry is handcrafted with love, by me.”
Charlie searches the room for something, and Olivia jostles nervously next to me, pulling her hair from behind her ears so it drapes around her cheeks. Charlie glares across the room at her, but nobody else notices—or nobody fucking cares.
The women are already making their way to the table, picking up various objects. They scan a barcode on the table to place their orders.
Olivia weaves through the crowd, picking up scattered napkins and paper plates, mothering all these grown-ass women who should be taking care of their own trash. One woman stops her, gives her a big hug, then lifts her phone above their heads, posing for a selfie. Olivia smiles with her, then slips out of the woman’s grasp as soon as the picture is taken.
After tossing her collected trash, Olivia drifts away from the crowd. She sits on a couch on the opposite side of the room by herself. I decide to give her a moment alone and join the rest of the crowd in ogling the items on display. I purchase some plastic organizers and a set of steak knives—investing in my deception—before making my way to Olivia to instigate tedious small talk.
“You have a lot of friends. I saw you taking some selfies.”
“Yeah, Lexi. She’s big on Instagram.” Olivia’s words are laced with annoyance. A woman after my own heart.
“I used to post things all the time,” Olivia adds, her head dropping. “Back when I thought I had something to say.”
She’s keeping secrets, but she’s not ready to confess them to me—or herself—just yet.
“So, alternately, you go around the room, picking up after them?” I ask in a calm, understanding tone.
“My mom, she was a nanny. Which basically meant she cleaned all the time. I’d help her out on the job, at home.” She smiles faintly at her recount. “It’s just habit to take care of others, like she’s always done.”
“My mom cleaned up other’s messes as well,” I tell her honestly.
“Past tense? Did she retire?” Olivia asks, looking at me.
“Something like that,” I say, only comfortable with mild truths. “She owned a small jewelry store with my dad. It wasn’t all luxury like it sounds. It was hard work; money was always tight.” She nods. At least we have something in common, aside from taste in jewelry.
Charlie comes toward us, and Olivia shifts, her body tightening.
“Olivia,” Charlie says, her bravado nauseating and her lurking annoying. “Did you get your order in?”
“I will before I leave.” Olivia puts on her dutiful façade, smothered in honey. “Just deciding what else to add first.”
“And your party … have you signed up for one yet?” Charlie sits on the arm of the couch next to her, positioning her towering body to mimic her personality.
“Oh, not yet. I—”
“Have you seen how successful my new jewelry biz is? I’m almost sold out … you always wanted your own business, to finally put that degree of yours to use, right, Olivia?” Charlie’s condescension is grating.
“Someday,” Olivia says, keeping her same sweet tone, but her fingers start tapping rapidly on her knee.
“It’s tough work, creating a product that people will love. Maybe you should choose something simpler, like joining Glorious Kitchen. You could finally start cooking for Cam. He does love a homecooked meal,” Charlie says, her face like stone, but her lips still upturned, putting on a show for the rest of her guests. “If you signed up to be a consultant today, that would help more than the party you’re avoiding hosting.”
“I—”
Charlie doesn’t bother sticking around for whatever Olivia’s about to say. She rises and spins on her heels, calling out to the next guest in the crowd. One that needs decidedly less shaming.
Olivia’s head falls, and she begins fidgeting with the ring on her finger. It was Travis’ favorite.
“That’s a beautiful ring,” I say, leaning in her direction.
“Thank you.” She lifts her hand up between us and admires it.
“Do you mind if I take a look at it?”
“Sure,” she finally agrees, sliding it off her finger and placing it in my palm.
“It’s gorgeous,” I gush. “I didn’t tell you this yesterday. Officially, I’m a gemologist. I studied the history of jewelry in college. Antiques are my favorite. So much sentimental value.”
My body thrums with excitement. My family ring in my possession.
Carefully, I run it through my fingers, inspecting it for myself and creating an illusion for Olivia.
“This prong is worn.” I crinkle my face in concern. “It should be repaired soon, or you’ll lose the diamond.”
“Really?” Olivia reaches for the ring, and I return it to her. She squints, inspecting it for herself. “I’ll have to take it in.”
“I could …” I let the thought trail off, lingering between us.
“You could fix it, when you clean it?”
Friendship at its finest. We can finish each other’s sentences.
“If you’d like me to. I have the equipment.”
She beams, nodding her agreement.