Chapter 4

A few minutes later I walked out of the kitchen.

Ethan and Richard were on the couch like nothing had happened.

Neither of them intended to apologize for what they'd said.

They had already decided it was over. That I'd swallow the hurt the way I always did, digest it alone, and be back in the kitchen tomorrow morning.

Not this time.

I crouched and gathered the pages of the divorce agreement off the floor. I was just opening my mouth when the doorbell rang.

Vivienne came gliding in like she owned the place.

She was in an ivory silk wrap dress, pearl earrings, a strand of pearls at her throat. Her hair was pinned up, each curl catching light. The diamond still sparkled on her finger.

When she saw me crouched on the hardwood, her eyes flickered with something close to amusement.

"Josephine, look at you. What are you doing? Cleaning at this hour?"

I saw myself reflected in her pupils — pale, exhausted, the too-big sweater sagging off my shoulders, streaks of something yellow on my hands from fishing the chain out of the sink.

I looked like a woman who had been crushed by her own life.

My husband made seven figures a year. I had no business looking like this.

Vivienne didn't wait for an answer. She stepped over me — over me — and crossed into the living room.

From her tote she produced two beautifully wrapped boxes and handed one to Richard, one to Ethan.

"Ethan, sweetheart, I picked out a tie for you. And Richard — this one's for you."

Richard opened his. Several pairs of designer silk boxers inside. He actually coughed, caught off guard. Color rose up his neck.

Ethan didn't seem to register that a woman who was not his mother had just given his father underwear. He was too busy holding his tie up to the light.

"Vivienne, wow. How'd you know I needed a new tie? I'm getting married in two days and I —"

Richard slapped his son's arm.

Too late. I'd heard him.

My son was getting married.

In two days.

And I was finding out now.

I stared at both of them. My voice came out rough. "Why didn't I know? I haven't even met the girl."

Ethan's jaw tightened. He recovered with his usual indifference. "You're not exactly presentable, Mom. If Caroline had met you first, the engagement wouldn't have happened."

"Who took my place?" I said. I was suddenly shouting.

He flinched. Then, quickly: "Vivienne did. Vivienne went as Mom."

Something in my chest came loose.

Ethan tried to patch it. "Come on. She's your best friend. It's basically the same thing. Can you stop making a scene?"

"I'm your mother." The words came out of me at a volume I didn't know I had. "I am your mother."

He went still.

What broke the silence was Vivienne's soft, mocking laugh.

She plucked the divorce papers out of my hands and read through the first page, bemused.

"Oh, Josephine. You're at an age where pulling stunts like this isn't cute anymore. Back in college, sure. Now?"

"Careful. Richard might actually sign. And you won't find another man like him at your age."

Like a favor. Like a woman instructing her housekeeper.

Every word was a pin under my skin.

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose, a long-suffering sigh. "I don't know what's gotten into her. One concert and she melts down. You and I have always been above reproach, Vivienne. She's the one making this dirty."

He turned to her, complaining to her, about me, in front of me.

Vivienne reached up without thinking and began massaging his temples. The way a wife would. The way I never had.

I laughed out loud.

"I'm the one filing. That frees up the seat for you, Vivienne. So you don't have to keep squeezing into it sideways."

Richard's eyes flashed with impatience. He opened his mouth.

Vivienne stepped in front of him. "Josephine, please. You don't understand."

She reached for my hand. The diamond ring scraped across the back of it hard enough to leave a red stripe.

The pain broke something loose in me. I shoved her.

She went down onto the Persian rug.

Richard's face transformed. "Josephine! Have you lost your mind?"

He rushed to pick her up, eyes going over her inch by inch like she'd been hit by a car.

"Are you hurt anywhere? Don't engage with her, she's deranged, don't waste yourself on her."

His eyes were wet with concern.

Vivienne wobbled dramatically, dazed.

Richard turned on me, furious, disappointed — the full theater of it. "Josephine, I've told you, there's nothing between Vivienne and me, and you put your hands on her?"

He seated her gently on the couch. Then he took the divorce papers out of her hand.

"You want a divorce? Fine. Done. I'll sign. Pack your things and get out."

He scrawled his signature so hard the pen nearly tore the page. Then he threw the agreement back at my face.

He took Vivienne's hand and led her toward the staircase, saying loudly, for my benefit:

"Vivienne, let's go upstairs. I'm a free man now. There's nothing to misunderstand."

And he pulled her up the stairs of my house.

I didn't say it was my house. I didn't tell him to get out.

I just picked up the divorce agreement, flattened it on the table, and signed my name one careful letter at a time.

Behind me, Ethan muttered, "Now are you satisfied? You've blown up our whole family."

His eyes were full of that practiced, performative disappointment.

I didn't answer.

Inside my head I said, quietly: I'm disappointed in both of you, too.