“She’s Team Taylor all the way.” Lucy is delighted Elle is so natural with her shy, awkward daughter, can see how KC is almost unfurling in the face of Elle’s attention.

  “So, what do you think about her and Travis. Forever?”

  KC shrugs.

  “I’m giving it six months,” Elle continues. “What do you think? Wanna bet?”

  “Elle!” Lucy attempts a reprimand, but KC is loving being treated as an adult, as an equal.

  “What?” Elle looks back at KC. “I’ll bet you five dollars it’s over in less than six months. I’ll pay you if I’m wrong.”

  KC grins and shrugs. “Okay,” before immediately going back to her phone as the two women leave and head to the garden.

  “She’s gorgeous. A mini-you.”

  “A mini-me she is, although she’s far too attached to the phone. I didn’t want her to have one, but of course her father bought it for her, and now she’s on it all the time.”

  “I think all the kids are these days. It’s a different world.” Elle settles herself on the sofa outside and looks around. “This house is magical. You’ve created something really lovely.”

  “Thank you. It’s very much . . . me. Which is very different to my old house when I was married.”

  “In what way?”

  “Oh, you know. We had your standard Connecticut McMansion. Everything inside was gray, white, and huge. I never figured out how to work the lights or the music properly. Too much technology. No coziness. All I ever wanted was cozy, and instead I ended up with grand.”

  “How? Your ex?”

  “Yes. But let’s not talk about him. It’s very dull. Except to say I finally have exactly what I have always wanted, and he would never have lived in a house this small. Also, I don’t have to ask permission if I want to buy a new chair, or change the artwork.” Lucy smiles. “I’m often lonely as hell, but I also have my daughter. I’d choose this house and occasional loneliness over my old life. There’s nothing lonelier than being in the wrong marriage.”

  “I was married briefly, years ago, which was a mistake. I’m not sure it even counts. We weren’t married long enough for me to have learned anything about marriage. It was in Vegas, on a whim, after what should have remained a six-week fling. Instead, it became a six-month marriage. God, I never tell people that.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Nineteen. My parents were furious. I’d like to think I know better at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, but I’m not sure. There’s still something so appealing about a bad boy and an adventure.”

  Lucy laughs. “Twenty-eight? You’re a baby.”

  “I’ve had a lot of lifetimes in those twenty-eight years. Sadly, most of them still seem to involve bad boys.”

  Lucy shudders. “Not for me. I have a mortal fear of the dating apps. And singles nights in bars.”

  Elle shrugs. “The dating apps are fun, as long as you take it for what it is.”

  “For you, of course they’re fun. How are you single? You’re so gorgeous!”

  “Thank you. Can I ask a personal question? How old are you?”

  Lucy adds more bourbon to each of their drinks. “Forty-four.”

  “No!” Elle is genuinely shocked. “I would have said my age, maybe a couple of years older.”

  “I’ll take it!” Lucy is delighted.

  Two hours later they are still talking, their words tumbling over the other’s, so much to say, so much to share. It is as if they have known each other forever.

  “Do you . . . smoke?” Elle looks hopefully at Lucy as she reaches down into her bag.

  “Cigarettes?”

  “Not cigarettes. Weed.” She brings out a joint. It’s pink. With a gold tip.

  Lucy snickers. “Where on earth did you get a pink joint?”

  “I rolled it myself. I grow sativa, which is happy and chill, and indica, which I smoke at night to help me sleep.”

  Lucy checks KC is nowhere near before gingerly taking the joint. “I don’t know . . . I haven’t done this in years.”

  Elle shrugs. “You only live once.”

  Lucy pulls once, deeply, before coughing for a solid two minutes.

  Elle takes the joint back and pats Lucy between the shoulder blades. “Yikes. I forgot to tell you it’s stronger than it used to be. Are you okay?”

  Lucy nods, finally able to breathe. “Good to know for next time.”

  An hour later they have laughed until tears were running down their cheeks, told each other their best stories, marveling at how much they have in common, how alike they are.

  “You’re amazing,” Elle says, finally standing. “I don’t want to go, but I have a dog that needs walking. How do you do it? How are you so, I don’t know, so cool, and independent, and fun, and . . . so unlike the women I usually meet here. You know you belong in New York City, right?”

  Lucy reels, astounded at what she presumes is a compliment. “Thank you but no. I need nature and green, and lots of quiet, hence no New York City for me. I’m not cool. I’m just a suburban mom doing a bit of writing here and there.”

  “What name do you write under?”

  “My own. Lucy Brearley.”

  “You know I’m going to google you.” Elle gathers her bag, and pulls out one more perfectly rolled pink-and-gold joint. “I’m leaving this for you. This one’s indica. You’ll sleep like a baby.” She looks up at the sky, now dark. “Thank you, Goddess, for sending me Lucy Brearley.” She envelops Lucy in a bear hug before skipping out the gate.

  “Goodbye, Lucy Brearley!” Elle shouts through the open car window as she guns her Mini Cooper and takes off down the street.

  Lucy stands in the doorway and grins.

  She doesn’t stop smiling until she falls asleep.

  A few weeks later, and Lucy has no idea what she did before Elle came into her life. Her life didn’t seem to have holes in it, seemed to be busy, and full, as happy as it could be when you emerged from a marriage where you had to make yourself smaller and smaller in order to survive.

  There is an ease and familiarity in the way they are with each other. The other week, when she and Lucy grabbed lunch at La Plage, sitting at the bar and sharing mussels and french fries, her neighbor Allyson came over to say hello.

  “I’m her sister from another mister,” said Elle, shaking Allyson’s hand.

  It was true. Elle felt like the little sister Lucy had always wanted.

  “Hey, I’ve finished that commission for the greeting cards. Can I show you before I turn them in? Your opinion is the one that matters most to me, Bear.”

  Elle has started calling Lucy “Bear.” It felt odd, at first, to have a female friend issue the kind of sweet, silly nickname you have in a romantic relationship, but then again, everything about this new friendship feels like a romantic relationship, but for the fact that there is no sex.

  Lucy is lit up with love by this friendship, the kind of best friend she has always wanted, has unknowingly longed for, during those long, lonely days and nights, both in her marriage, and out.

  She feels truly seen, and her reflection in Elle’s eyes is the first time she has ever felt truly beautiful. Not just beautiful, but talented, and clever, and funny, and the kind of woman she never thought she could be. Elle’s sense of fun, her joie de vivre, her hanging on to Lucy’s every word make Lucy feel like Superwoman.

  They both have what they call “difficult” mothers. They have agreed never to use the word narcissist, although they needed a term that wasn’t overused. Elle came up with naughtiness. Both agree that their respective mothers were the naughtiest of naughties. Both mothers had white-hot tempers, were unpredictable, would rage at invisible provocations, terrifying their small daughters. As a result, both women have finely tuned intuition, have learned how to read a room, how to read people: they know who is safe, and who is not.

  “That’s how I recognized you,” Elle likes to say. “I knew you were my soul sister.”

  Lucy understands that women with difficult mothers recognize each other. She likes to think the universe sent her Elle as a gift of apology for saddling her with Simon all those years.

  I deserve a friend like this, she tells herself. I deserve an Elle.

  They meet at the Old Mill Grocery for coffee, sit outside in the sun as Elle brings out the cards and hands them over, silently, expectantly, hoping for approval.

  The watercolor-and-ink drawings are delicate, funny, beautiful.

  “You have such unbelievable talent!” Lucy is delighted by the drawings. She suggests making changes to some of the phrases underneath, shortening them, making them snappier, punchier, which, in turn, amazes Elle.

  “We should do a book together!” Elle says. “I’ve always wanted to do a funny book for single women. The kind of thing you’d give to a single girlfriend as a gift.”

  “It would be amazing to work together!” says Lucy, knowing what a great partnership they would make, how much fun they would have.

  Could life get any better than being with your most favorite person in the world—outside of your family—most of every day? She looks at her phone. “Damn. I’ve got to grab KC from dance. I have to run.”

  “Can I come?”

  Lucy lights up. “Yes! I’d adore that, and more importantly, KC would adore that!” It’s true, KC is always asking if Elle can come over and hang out. Elle suggested a sleepover at her place one night, which sent KC spiraling with joy, even though it hasn’t yet happened.

  They pull in to the parking lot of the dance studio and go inside to the waiting area, already filled with anxious mothers, stressed by the invisible ladder of success they have found themselves on, where everyone is watching everyone else, trying to ascertain whether they are above or—heaven forbid—below you in the invisible social hierarchy.

  The mothers are glamorous, despite their ubiquitous athleisure wear. You can’t tell them apart with their Lululemon leggings and padded down jackets, their expensive designer bags, their ears sparkling with huge diamond studs, earlobes just visible under their beanies, perfectly situated on their beautifully straight, keratin-treated hair.

  Lucy has never fit in with these women, but with Elle at her side, she no longer cares. Usually she is ignored, but today a woman turns and gives Elle the appraising look, curious as to who this young, pretty outlier might be.

  “Elle? Oh my God! Hi! What are you doing here?” An appropriately glam mother, this one with honey-blond highlights, comes over and gives Elle a warm hug.

  Elle explodes with delight. “Julia! It’s so great to see you. Wow! What a surprise! Do you know my friend Lucy?”

  Lucy is about to nod, yes, of course they know each other, but Julia looks at her blankly and extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Julia.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m KC’s mum.”

  “Oh! We’ve met before!”

  “Many times.” Two of them being when Julia collected her daughter from a playdate at Lucy’s house. Does she actually not recognize me, wonders Lucy, or is this some sort of game these women play, letting her know she isn’t important enough to register?

  She was important enough when she was married to Simon. When they lived in the big house and drove the big cars and hosted the pool parties. When Simon yukked it up with the husbands, while she milled around the wives, not knowing how to connect with them, as the nannies watched the kids.

  Julia turns to Elle. “I haven’t seen you for so long! What happened?”

  “I know. Things get so busy, right?”

  “We should get together and have tea.”

  “Definitely,” says Elle as KC comes running out of the studio and throws herself into Lucy’s arms. “I would love that!”

  “How do you know Julia?” Lucy says, FaceTiming with Elle later that night. KC is asleep, and Lucy is tucked in her bed with her iPhone, Kindle, and a cup of tea on the nightstand.

  “Ugh,” Elle says. “She’s awful, isn’t she.”

  Lucy scrunches her forehead. “Do you know how many times I’ve met her? She never ever remembers me, and she’s been to my house!”

  “She’s so superior.”

  “She wasn’t to you. She was super friendly. She wants to get together.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen. I can’t stand her.”

  “Were you friends with her?”

  “For about a minute. Super close. She thought I was jealous of her or something. Just, no.”

  Lucy laughs, although it is disquieting to hear Elle’s vehement dislike, given how friendly she was. Lucy has never had the ability to do that. Faced with someone she doesn’t like, she will run the other way or, if forced, say hello, but it will be stiff and awkward.

  “Sleep time.” Lucy yawns.

  “For me too. Love you, Bear.”

  “Love you, too, Bear.”

  Bear. It has become their name for each of them. Lucy has never shared a pet name with a friend.

  As the months go by, the friendship grows. Lucy has never been happier. She finally has the little sister she has always wanted.

  On her way to New York, she pauses for a moment to gaze at the ceiling in Grand Central Terminal, the blue sky and painted galaxy, the grace held within the majestic arches. A smile dances on her face, for what a good day this is, what a productive, exciting day, a meeting with her literary agent to discuss the possibility of Lucy writing a series of children’s books.

  Lucy has had this literary agent for three years, signed with him when she wrote a semiautobiographical book about a woman trapped in an unhappy marriage. The agent, Peter, loved the book and took her on, but the book never sold. She has sent him future ideas, but none of them have grabbed him. What a wonder that he called last week and asked her in for a project that he thought would be perfect for her.

  He is packaging a deal for a children’s book and TV show. They need a good all-around writer to develop a series of books for seventh graders, with a subliminal message of the importance of putting down the phone and connecting with other people.

  Peter knows she has a seventh grader, knows she is a good writer. His gut tells him she is perfect for this project. He warns that it isn’t enough for her to retire, but few things in publishing are these days. Lucy can barely contain her excitement. To have her name on a book is enough. Frankly, she’d do it for free.

  She doesn’t mention that to Peter.

  He tells her they will attach an illustrator once they have secured the writer. Would she be interested?

  Would she! As soon as she says yes, she asks who they are thinking of for the illustrations. She mentions how she knows a hugely talented illustrator. Not a friend. She doesn’t say it is a friend. Certainly not her best friend, instead describing the beauty and subtlety of Elle’s slyly funny illustrations.

  “She sounds interesting,” says Peter. “Does she have a website?”

  She doesn’t, but Lucy passes on Elle’s details, knowing how thrilled Elle will be, how much fun they will have working together. Lucy will finally have her name on a book (and, yes, children’s books count), which is the stuff of which writers’ dreams are made. And maybe Elle will see her name in print too! It could launch Elle’s career, and how Lucy would love to help Elle, to launch her into the world.

  Those cards Elle showed her didn’t work out. The company loved them, but before they went into production, before, in fact, anything happened at all beyond the initial excitement, the company closed. Cottage industries, even bespoke and beautiful stationery cottage industries, are far harder than they first appear.

  As a result, Elle has picked up hours and days at Terrain, but Lucy is encouraging her to follow her passion, to think outside the box. Elle could paint watercolors of people’s houses dripping with snow and icicles for holiday cards. She could do illustrations of people’s children. She could produce bookmarks for the library.

  Illustrating a children’s book is a dream come true for Elle, and Lucy can’t wait to tell her to look out for a call. Imagine how much fun it would be to create a book, and not just one but a series of books, with your best friend!

  She calls from the train, dropping her voice to a low whisper to convey the news. Elle lets out a large scream, before much stomping around and whooping.

  “Sorry. Had to do my happy dance! Bear! You are the best bear ever! What would I do without you? What did I do without you? I can’t believe this! A series of children’s books! We’re going to make a fortune, Lucy! We’ll be rolling in money!”

  “I don’t know about a fortune, and I have no idea whether your style is what they’re looking for, but I sang your praises. Peter’s definitely going to call you.”

  “Perfect, perfect! Oh Lucy! You and me. That’s all I need, you know. You.”

  A warm glow envelops Lucy’s heart. “You’re my person too.”

  “Wanna go see a movie tonight?”

  “I can’t. I have a dinner.”

  “Oooh! A date?”

  “You think if I had a date, I would have kept that a secret from you? Are you out of your mind? No. No date. My friend Uma is having a dinner, which means it’s probably going to be a party. You know what, you should come. She loves meeting new people, and she’d love you.”

  “I’d love to come if you’re sure it’s okay.”

  “I know it’s okay, but I’ll phone and check. Uma and Greg were friends of mine when I was married. I ran into them in town after we separated, and they threw their arms around me and said congratulations. Apparently, they hadn’t ever trusted or liked Simon. I don’t see them often, as they’re always traveling, but they’re great. He’s in finance, but—wait for it—a cool finance guy!”

  “I thought they didn’t exist?”

  Lucy laughs. “Right? Who knew! She has a pop-up fashion business. And you’ll die over their house. It’s a mix of antique cottage and modern glass barn.”

  “Sold!”

  As Lucy predicted, Uma’s small, informal dinner turns out to be a party, this one with a Moroccan theme. With her innate style, the house is transformed by flowers, candlelight, and bowls of sweet oranges.

  Moroccan lanterns glimmer on every table, Berber rugs and kilim poufs strewn all over the floor, but it’s the view that you notice, the endless waters of Long Island Sound through the vast wall of glass, the sun setting as people lounge around the pool to admire the apricot glow before the evening gets too cold.

 

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