The Push by Ashley Audrain (motivational novels TXT) 📗

gray and knitted, and the friend pressed it against her chest in thanks. Another woman joined and handed them each a glass of wine.

The room began to fill and soon I couldn’t see her from outside anymore. My heart sank. I needed more. I should have been terrified to walk through that door – surely she must have seen a picture of me at some point and knew what I looked like – but I went inside and added my coat to the heap. I recognized the staff person closing the till and leaned in to speak quietly to her.

‘Do you know where the host of this party is?’

‘It’s not really a party. It’s a moms’ group. Just a drop-in thing. Sometimes they have speakers come or brands give them free stuff. We just lend our space and hope to get a few sales out of it.’

‘So everyone here is a mom?’

‘I guess they don’t have to be, but not sure why else they’d come.’ She shrugged and excused herself to the back with a tray of cash. I looked around and suddenly heard the symphony of mom problems around me – sleep training, starting solids, sleepers with zippers instead of snaps, preschool waiting lists. I poured wine into a small plastic cup and meandered to the opposite side of the room, to a spot where I could still see her. I looked at my phone, hoping nobody would speak to me, and glanced up to watch her every few seconds. She seemed to be telling a story, using her free hand to make tiny, panicked flutters, like butterfly wings. The two other women nodded and laughed. One of the others leaned in and rolled her eyes as she spoke and they laughed again. She touched people a lot, I noticed. Their arms, their hands, their waists. She was affectionate, I could tell. I thought of your bare feet under the sheets, always trying to find mine at night, always trying to rub against my calves, to feel my warmth, and of the way I pulled away across the bed. Farther and farther and farther away.

‘Your first time?’

Someone with a very high ponytail and bright red lipstick popped up in front of me holding a postcard that said Mom’s Night Out with a collection of small business logos.

‘Yes, actually. Thanks.’

‘Great! I can introduce you to some people. How’d you hear about us?’

She put her arm at the small of my back and led me toward the middle of the room, not interested in the answer.

‘Sydney, she’s new,’ she said loudly, and pointed to me urgently above the crowd as though I needed a tag stapled to my ear so they could keep track of me. Sydney’s eyes lifted and she squeezed through the crowd to come over and introduce herself.

‘And you’re …?’

‘Cecilia.’ It was the only name that came to me. I looked over their heads toward the back, where she had been, but I couldn’t see her – she wasn’t with the other two women anymore. I scanned the room and started to feel sick.

‘Well, welcome, Cecilia! Congrats for getting yourself out of the house tonight! How old is your little one?’

‘Thanks – you know what, I just wanted to stop by and get some information. I’ll try to stay next time.’ I lifted my phone, as though someone had been texting me, as though I were a person who was needed. ‘I’ve got to run.’

‘Of course. Come back again.’ She took a sip of her wine and turned around to squeal hello to someone else.

My coat was still at the top of the pile but I dug through them anyway, buying time, looking over my shoulder to find her in the thick crowd. I had to go – I had been there long enough. I pulled my hood up and went outside where the snow flurries whipped around the street. I sat on a bench across from the bookstore and put my head between my knees.

She was a mother. You had found a better mother for our daughter. The kind of woman you always wanted.

65

The second time I was nervous.

I’d bought the long, brown wig at a theater supply store. You would have described it as mousy, but mousy was the look I was going for. My heart raced as I tucked my blond hair into the silk cap. I wasn’t sure I looked different enough, but I couldn’t think of what else to do. I practiced a happier smile in the mirror, and then hung my head. You fool. You absolute fool. For wearing the wig, for thinking I’d get away with it, for believing you had answered me truthfully when I asked if she had a child – any one of those. All of those.

When I got there, Sydney, the unofficial leader of the group, was at the door handing out samples of natural diaper cream to whoever walked in. I touched the ends of my new hair.

‘Hi! Is this your first meeting? Welcome!’ She spoke slightly over my head, as though she were looking for someone better to come up behind me. I nodded and thanked her and put the diaper cream in my bag. There was a speaker setting up a presentation they were calling ‘A Natural Household, a Natural You.’ The room was full of chairs. I got my wine and surveyed the crowd. I pretended to browse the bookshelves while I kept an eye on the door, watching as groups of women congregated, complimenting outfits and asking about one another’s kids. The brown strands blurred my periphery and made me want to swipe at the hair like pesky flies – I wasn’t used to being a brunette yet. The high-pony woman who had spoken to me last time sought me out from across the room. God, had she recognized me? My cheeks burned and I