Read Online The Glass Wives by Amy Sue Nathan - Free Book Online

pearls, and an apron. And if her ex-husband’s widow weren’t asleep on the sectional.
    Strange as it was, the vignette gave Evie a sense of accomplishment. She—they’d—made it through another night. Her kids were awake, vertical, and one of them was eating cookies right out of the oven. Although to be honest, these days she got the same feeling from showering and by making her bed before noon. Or at all.
    “Will you make more?” Sam asked with his mouth full.
    Evie let it go this time. Manners could be important tomorrow. “Sophie promised to help me make cookies, didn’t you?”
    Sophie shrugged.
    Sophie never shrugged away a chance to bake. Evie knew the kids would change, it had only been about a week, but when everyday moments shifted, she quaked, unable to find an internal balance.
    Sam was quiet, chewing quickly, swallowing loudly, refilling his fist for the same reason Evie filled her cookie jar—just so it wouldn’t be empty. During the day Sam was composed, almost serene. With his friends he let loose all the good stuff, the laughter with his head thrown back, the shrieks of catching video villains. But the real villains came out to play at night.
    “Morning,” Nicole said from the doorway. Unkempt and unaware, as if she belonged to the house and the family, she walked to Luca and lifted him into her arms. She cradled and nuzzled him as if she hadn’t seen him in a week, then leaned and kissed both Sam and Sophie on the tops of their heads. “You’ve been busy,” Nicole said to Evie.
    “Just passing the time,” Evie said. “Help yourself.”
    She really had to be more careful with her words.
    *   *   *
    Evie poured a capful of pine cleaner into the toilet and flushed.
    “Are you kidding me?” Laney said.
    “It took you longer to get here than I thought it would,” Evie replied. “I think it’s almost ten.”
    “Very funny. Would you like to tell me this story somewhere besides the bathroom?”
    Laney followed Evie into her bedroom, where in tandem the friends pulled and tugged and smoothed the bed in silence. Then they climbed on top of the covers, creating personal divots Evie would later fix. Laney crossed her legs like a pretzel—or like an Indian if Evie were being old-fashioned and politically incorrect.
    “Well?”
    “Luca was teething. He was screaming. I had Baby Anbesol.”
    “There’s a twenty-four-hour drugstore right on Western Avenue,” Laney said.
    “I felt bad. It was about Luca, not about Nicole. I wasn’t going to let him be in pain to make a point.”
    “And they slept here because?”
    “Because they just did. I don’t have any other explanation.”
    “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Laney climbed off the bed and readjusted the comforter and pillows. Evie did the same.
    “Now what are you warning me about?”
    “You don’t want to do this alone and you’re going soft. You don’t want her help, you don’t need her help. You’ll figure out how to do this on your own.”
    “I’ve been doing it on my own,” Evie said.
    Parenting alone was nothing new. But having someone to talk to and share a cup of coffee with while she made the kids breakfast, that was something new. It was true that being the only adult in the house hadn’t bothered Evie, it had empowered her—walking around the dining-room table while the kids worked on homework, bouncing from bedroom to bedroom at bedtime and when it was time to wake and go-go-go. She chose vacations and meals and wall colors. It would have been nice to have help, but it was also nice to not have anyone looking over her shoulder. And with the Divorce Days came the every-other-weekend respite not only from single-parenting, but all parenting. It wasn’t lackadaisical; it was essential. Evie loved her kids ferociously and ached with the need to protect them, especially now. But she also needed to love and protect herself. How would she do that now? For three years Evie had been granted time to