I’ll find something else.”
“But you loved your job!” Melissa said, which was exactly what Jo had been thinking.
“It was just a lot,” Kim said. She was trying to smile, doing her best to sound happy. “If I went back I was going to be the lead attorney on a new case they were bringing to trial. It would’ve meant fourteen-hour days, plus commuting, and I just couldn’t.” She smoothed her free hand on her napkin, then patted her hair and repeated, “I just couldn’t.” She looked at her mother, and for the first time Jo could see the dark circles beneath Kim’s concealer, the pallor beneath the blush. “And I want to be here for my daughters. I’ll never get these years back if I miss them. I missed Flora’s first step . . . her first word . . .” Kim’s voice was cracking, and Jo, keeping her voice light, said, “You saw her second step. And you heard her say ‘Mama’ that night instead of that afternoon. Flora knows you’re her mother. She knows you love her. And, honey, if you’re not happy, she’s going to know that, too.”
“I’m going to be happy.” Kim sounded like she was making a promise, although Jo wasn’t sure if she was making it to her, or her daughters, or herself. “I’m going to be here for them, and I’m going to be happy.”
Jo and Shelley looked at each other, and Shelley took Jo’s hand. “You know I’m free if you ever need help,” said Jo, and Sandra put down her wineglass and said, “And I’m just down the street!” Which she was, Jo thought, Goddamnit. She poured herself more wine, wondering if she had it in her to make her announcement here at the table. Maybe it would be better if she told everyone individually—Kim first, then Missy, and Lila, if Lila even showed up. She was thinking it through when the door slammed, heels clicked across the marble floor, and a voice called, “Let the games begin!”
And there was Jo’s youngest, her baby, in a tiny, clinging Lycra miniskirt, black tights, black boots with stacked heels, and a black leather jacket over a crop top that revealed a sliver of smooth belly and the glint of a new piercing. Lila’s hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, with tendrils escaping to brush her cheeks and the back of her neck. Her lips were painted a vivid red, and her eyes looked unfocused. Down at the opposite end of the table, Jo saw her son-in-law and his mother exchange a look as Lila sauntered toward the table.
“Auntie Lila, sit near me!” Flora crowed.
“Jo, Ro, and Flo!” said Lila. She pulled out the chair beside Flora. “What’d I miss?” she asked, helping herself to a biscuit.
“Well,” Kim said, with a tight smile. “I just told everyone that I’m going to be extending my maternity leave and looking for a new job.”
“Oh?” Lila’s eyes glittered as she cocked her head, looking like a curious, malevolent bird. “The Stepford Wives of Fort Lee finally got to you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Kim, smoothing her napkin.
“Bitch, please,” Lila drawled.
“Language,” Sandra murmured. Lila ignored her.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Every single woman on this street went to an Ivy League school, and most of them have advanced degrees, and all of them stay home full-time with their kiddos. They drive around in Range Rovers and take the kids to Tot Shabbat.” Lila filled her glass with red wine, took a swallow, and reached for the turkey as Kim said, “It’s true, some of the women have put their careers on hiatus . . .”
“Hiatus!” Lila hooted.
Kim’s voice was high and indignant. “But they’re going to go back to work. I am, too.”
“So what’s your plan?” Lila’s voice was silky. “You’re going to take five or six years off and then walk back in there and pick up exactly where you started?”
“Maybe not there,” Kim said, “but I can find a job that’s more flexible. I’ve got skills. I’ve got experience.”
“Sure you do,” said Lila. “And what’s a little five-year vacation when you’ve got skills and experience?” She paused for a swallow of wine. “Personally, I think Melissa’s the one who’s got it figured out. No kids. No husband. Excuse me, no spouse,” she said, giving Jo and Shelley a look of exaggerated apology. “Nothing on her plate but the great Lester Shaub. Right, Missy?”
Jo thought she