“And honestly, I don’t even want kids.” “Why would I ruin my figure and deal with stretch marks?” “I’d rather buy a nice handbag.”
“I got that diagnosis from a private clinic.” “For enough money, they’ll write up anything.” “And Dasha can be mad all she wants.”
“The condo is jointly owned. We’ll push her into the back room eventually. She’s not going anywhere.” Dasha froze. The pencil in her hand stopped before she finished writing the number five.
She looked at Nastya. The little girl was staring back at her over her workbook with a remarkably steady, grown-up expression.
“Mom, she’s lying about being sick, isn’t she?” Nastya whispered. “She’s tricky, like the fox in that story about the rabbit’s house.” Dasha smiled slowly.
It was the cool, anticipatory smile of a person who had just been handed the final piece needed to win. “That’s exactly right, sweetheart.” “She’s tricky. But we’re smarter.”
Dasha did not confront anyone right away. Telling Mike privately would have been pointless. He would have said she misunderstood, that she was taking things out of context, that Susan was just talking big because she was hurting.
No, this kind of operation needed an audience. Sunday evening turned out to be the perfect setting. Eleanor came over with a bag of hand pies to “feed poor Susan.”
Mike sat in his recliner, tired from a trip to the home improvement store. Susan was stretched out on the living room couch, propped up with throw pillows and wrapped in another silky outfit. Nastya sat on the rug drawing in her sketchbook.
Her marker squeaked faintly across the paper. Susan winced. “Dasha, can you tell your child to stop squeaking that marker?” she groaned. “That sound goes right through me.” “And honestly, she keeps fluttering around with those childish drawings.” “It’s exhausting.”
Eleanor stepped in right on cue. “Dasha, take the child to your room.” “Susan needs complete peace.”
“Any reminder of children, any childish sound, it cuts right through her broken heart.” “Have some tact.” “Let Nastya sit quietly in your bedroom while Susan uses the living room.”
As if on command, the air in the room thickened. Even the ceiling light seemed to glare. Dasha slowly closed her laptop with the calm dignity of a woman who had finally decided the meeting was over…
