Simon well enough, but thought Nina was setting a bad example for the children to be living with him before they were married. It was an argument that didn’t quite adhere to her mother’s views on personal choice, but Nina saw it for what it was—a poorly disguised way of masking her hope that her only daughter would move back home to live with them. Her father, who had loved Glen like the son he’d never had, worried Simon was taking advantage of a vulnerable woman in a very tricky situation, concerns that Nina herself understood.
Before her life had taken a U-turn, Nina had scoffed at those dolled-up reality show contestants who professed their undying love for each other after a few staged dates. Now she knew there were more than a few kernels of truth to their mawkish sentiments—and that a TV show wasn’t the only way to accelerate romance. Trauma, true bone-jarring trauma, did the job just as well, if not better.
“Love what you’ve done with the place…” Ginny said, spinning around in a circle as she surveyed the disordered kitchen. Susanna sent Nina a sympathetic look. This was the third time since move-in day they’d showed up to help unpack, and the place still looked like it had been ransacked by raccoons. Nina had wondered if her lack of progress was a subconscious reaction from a part of her that wasn’t wholly embracing the move. It wasn’t only her daughter she worried about. As much as she loved Simon, Nina harbored a mostly unspoken fear of opening herself up to being hurt again.
After uncorking the wine, Nina cut three big pieces of vanilla buttercream cake. The lasagna could wait. Susanna went to the fridge after announcing her intention to whip up a quick salad, took one look inside, and had to think again.
“Someone’s vying for the Mother Hubbard of the Year Award,” she said.
Nina laughed. She might have lost her mind in the mess, but not her sense of humor.
“The children aren’t starving, I swear. I just haven’t made it to the supermarket.”
“Like, since you moved in?” said Ginny, after checking the pantry.
“It’s been hard,” Nina said, slumping down on a metal stool at the kitchen island.
“A toast then,” Susanna proposed, raising her glass. “To a happy, healthy home.”
“Cheers to that,” Nina said as all three clinked glasses.
Susanna took a sip of wine and then went to work emptying the box closest to her, aptly labeled KITCHEN. Nina felt supremely grateful to have such good friends in her life, and couldn’t imagine where she’d be without them. Back when everything had first exploded, when her ordered world had become unmanageably disordered, Susanna had functioned as the family spokesperson. She was the perfect choice, already experienced with handling the media from her years as a reporter. An attractive woman with long chestnut hair and kind brown eyes, Susanna was a natural on TV. But now the cameras were long gone, and Nina’s great ordeal was nothing but a tabloid footnote.
When Ginny went to help Susanna unpack the box, the first thing she pulled out was an old issue of Real Simple magazine. “Thank goodness you brought this,” she said with a laugh.
But Nina wasn’t laughing. She hadn’t even realized she’d put that magazine in the box, but of course she had. She couldn’t have thrown it away. It was a reminder, a memento from the day that everything had changed.
* * *
NINA HAD been in her living room—her old living room—ready to decompress during a rare moment of downtime. A cup of chamomile tea waited on the coffee table, and that Real Simple magazine sat on her lap. She was interested in the cover story about—of all things—making life simpler. The issue also featured an article on four summer recipes to make outdoor entertaining easier than ever, which she found annoying because it was only the first week of spring.
She got cozy beneath a soft fleece blanket, sinking deeply into the faded beige cushions of her couch. She flipped to the desired article and read a page until her eyes glazed over. She remembered thinking she should have been working on the PTA newsletter, or even getting an early jump on the live auction, but no—she had been cocooned, supposedly guilt-free, beneath a fuzzy blanket, preparing to relax.
Even when she worked at it, Nina could not quite get a handle on how to unwind. It simply wasn’t in her DNA to turn off and do nothing. There was