Social Lives Read Online Free PDF Page A

conversation from thoughts that were spinning recklessly in her head. “Is this another suburban secret? Having big closets for doing the deed?”
    Nick laughed, relaxed. Contented. “After that, I think it will be from now on. Let’s just burn that bed. I mean, who needs it?”
    They stayed there for a while, and as the time passed, Sara grew increasingly unnerved. Beyond her altered state and the abduction of her entire being by alien forces, she felt the question coming.
    â€œDo you think we did it? Did we make a baby?”
    He was so careful to hide his anticipation, his growing worry that they might be joining so many of their peers who couldn’t have a second child, and the fact that he was being considerate felt like a giant knife of guilt plunging into her.
    â€œWe’ll see.” Her tone was encouraging but also dismissive, and Nick quickly changed the subject.
    â€œI’d better get my rock-hard ass in the shower so we can be on time.” He kissed her and got up from the floor.
    â€œThanks.” Sara smiled as she stood up, pulling the robe around her. She watched him turn the corner, heard the shower come on. Still, she couldn’t move from where she stood. Her head was swimming—drowning, really—in a dull, unrelenting anxiety. Finally, she ran her hands briskly across her cheeks and turned toward the enemy she had been so terrified toface. Embracing the sense of defeat fully now, she pulled on clothing, shoes, jewelry.
    â€œI’m going down,” she yelled into the bathroom as she walked past their bed, ignoring the blue-and-green flowered spread, the one that matched the pale yellow walls and plaid draperies.
Shit
. She didn’t even like French country.
    Walking quickly to outpace the thoughts that were following close behind, Sara made her way to Annie’s bedroom across the hall and peeked her head inside.
    â€œShe’s asleep.” Their Brazilian nanny, who went by the name Nanna, was standing by Annie’s bed, looking over the small child.
    â€œI was going to kiss her good night,” Sara said.
    â€œOh,” Nanna answered, her face taking on a hint of pity. “You’re too late.”
    Sara felt a vise around her temples as she nodded and forced a smile. “We won’t be late.”
    Nanna smiled back and nodded but did not leave the room. And as Sara hurried down the hall to the back stairs, she closed her ears to Nanna’s soft humming. She focused instead on gathering her belongings and fitting them into her clutch purse—keys, phone, lipstick from her other bag. She reached the kitchen and caught a heel in the plastic that covered the floor. Pulling off her shoes, Sara passed through the room to the back hall, where she set the shoes on top of more plastic, this time covering the antique pine benches that no one ever sat on and were, of course, very last year. The powder room door was closed, though this did little to keep out the dust and other debris from the tearing down of walls and floors in the neighboring rooms, and she fought not to notice as she went inside, closing herself in. She flipped the toilet lid closed and sat down, hanging her head between her knees, face in hands. She wanted to cry then, for so many things, but she held it back. There was nothing to be done tonight. Not about her marriage, her child, her ripped-apart, poorly decorated house, or her red van. Or the fact that she could not find one moment of happiness in a life with a two-million-dollar-a-year price tag, the life her husband slaved to give her.
    Tonight, she would go to the party, an important party. She would make nice, safe conversation and look for the cheapest auction item to help a school that needed no help. She would drive home with her husband, force herselfto say nothing about the people who silently judged her, then pray for sleep. And in the morning, when her head was clear, she would think about what was