“She what?!” I shouted, my fury at Clarice brimming over any control I had in that moment. My hands went to my chest absently due to how tight it’d suddenly become.
“Uh-huh. She found her phone under the couch and then her watch in the oven and then she yelled.”
Wait. What?
“Ryla, how did her watch end up in the oven?”
My daughter merely crossed her arms. “I put it there.”
Aaaand, now things made a little more sense. Still, a child hiding your watch and phone was not a reason to call any kid a stupid brat nor smoke marijuana in their home.
“And while it wasn’t right for Clarice to call you that, you also can’t hide someone else’s property. If you do that again, you will lose any tablet-time privileges for a week.”
Ryla’s face went molten. “I’m going to takeyourtablet time away for a week!” Her little face started to crumple, pain slicing through me at her next words, “I want Giselle!”
The tears I’d been trying to hold back all day blurred my vision as Ryla scampered away and ran up the stairs. After a minute, I heard the sound of footsteps running through the house followed by a very faint door slamming—likely her bedroom door, a sound I’d been hearing a lot since we moved here.
Bone weary and drained, I put away the cushions, then went upstairs to check on dinner. As I shut the oven door and stood up straight, my muscles screamed against the pull, the tension in my body refusing to melt away, not allowing me to take in a full, deep breath. Sighing, I walked to the island and pulled up the tablet I used to track everything from the daily menu, our to-do list, and the kids’ schedule and goals for the day. The box beside Max’s reading and journal time was unmarked.
“Max!” I called out, walking into the living room to find him on the couch with his tablet. “Did you read any of your book today? Or do your journal entry? Remember Frank wants you to write in it every day.”
Max opened and closed his mouth silently, answering without speaking.
I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms. “Tablet time is over. Go upstairs and start reading. Now.”
Eyes wide and sorrowful, Max tentatively walked past me on his way to the stairs. I wanted to reach for him and hug him, not liking the chasm between us that I couldn’t cross. Once he was out of sight, I turned to stare out the windows, seeing the mountains that stood deep purple in the distance beyond. They looked cold. Distant. Unapproachable.
Like me.
I dropped my head into my hands, heart aching. How the hell did I get here? My daughter hated me so much, she wanted to run away. I was snapping at my anxiety-ridden son. And somehow, despite moving away twenty years ago, I’ve ended up back in a home I never wanted to live in again, finding that I’d turned into the person whose mask I wore: perfect Polly Alberton, the Stepford daughter who turned Stepford wife who was now a Stepford mother.
The problem was, I had no idea how to unmake her.
CHAPTERFIVE
POLLY
I told Georgie and the others that for a cheeseburger, I'd do just about anything. But having an alien lay claim to me feels . . . weird. I don't even get a choice? This is like me saying "I want a cheeseburger" and someone slapping a pickle into my hand and saying, "Fuck you, you get a pickle.”
RubyDixon, Barbarian Alien
Dr. Alberton,
Attached is a list of the events pertaining to the Judge’s bid for the Supreme Court nomination to which he requests the attendance of you and/or your children. Please let me know at your earliest convenience if you have any conflicts so we can remedy the situation.
It has also come to the Judge’s attention that Mrs. Gloria Simon is no longer in your employ. I have taken the liberty of finding suitable nanny replacements. Please review the enclosed information and let us know your choice or one will be chosen for you. If they don’t meet your standards, I am also including information on the boarding options for Eagleton Preparatory Academy so that you would be free to attend the following events as requested, preserve a full-time work schedule, and retain your current living quarters.
Regards,
Jeffrey Savient
I rubbed the suddenly spasming muscles at the base of my neck. I was in between patients, midmorning on Tuesday, and I already felt a migraine coming on. There really was no circle of hell suitable for “Regards Jeffrey” and his patronizing emails. If he thought for one minute that I’d ever send my kids to a boarding school, then he was obviously smoking the same thing as Clarice.
I debated making a voodoo doll of him with Ryla later and calling it a craft.
As expected, a headache pounded in my temples the rest of the morning. The threat was clear: attend these events or we’ll kick you out of your home. A brief review of the nanny “options” revealed militant older women who looked ready to whack a kid with a ruler if they stepped out of line. I wouldn’t let them watch a snake I didn’t like, much less my children.
During a break between patients, I searched in vain for homes for sale in Green Valley, something I’d been doing for months, still finding none that were within my budget. The houses in my budget looked like they came with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a family of raccoons in the kitchen.
