not right we haven’t gotten a chance to meet them,” Eleanor says, her brow furrowing with a disapproving expression I am all too familiar with. “They weren’t even at the wedding, for God’s sake. What kind of people miss their own daughter’s wedding? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hiding something.”
I choke on a mouthful of water, soaking the collar of my sundress and narrowly missing my son, who gurgles in his sleep. “Hiding something? What on earth would I be hiding?”
Warwick stops joking around with his father. Their little haven by the barbecue falls silent. I can feel their eyes burn into me as they watch the show.
“Well, I certainly don’t know, do I?” Eleanor hands me a napkin. “You’ve always been so mysterious, Sarah.”
My cheeks grow hot. “I’m not mysterious. It’s just—”
“All right, all right, that’s enough.” Warwick comes over and plants a kiss on the top of his mother’s head. “At ease, Mother.”
She swats at him, but I can tell she’s flattered by his attention. Her Ice Queen exterior softens. Only her darling son gets away with mussing her hair.
Good. Maybe now she’ll lay off, let me get some rest. Maybe Warwick will have a heart and tell her I’m exhausted, that Elliot has been waking up every hour on the hour and when I try to breastfeed it takes him forever to latch on.
No such luck.
“Is what I’m asking so wrong? I’m merely trying to include Sarah’s family. I want us to get to know one another.”
“Of course not, Mother.” Warwick perches beside her on the lounge chair and pats her hand. “You’re being completely reasonable, as always.”
“You know I don’t like sarcasm, Warwick. Seriously, though, it’s only a party. It’s not like I’m saying they should spend the entire summer—”
Eleanor’s eyes gleam, sending my heart plummeting into my sandals.
Uh-oh.
“Yes, that’s perfect,” my mother-in-low crows, clapping like a delighted child. “That’s a fabulous idea. Your family will spend the entire summer here, with us. That will give us time to really get to know one another.”
The thought of my mother, waltzing around the Taylor-Coxes’ multi-million-dollar estate with a glass of gin in her hand, makes me feel ill. Before I can respond, Warwick leans across and squeezes my thigh.
Don’t panic, his eyes say. I’ve got this.
“That might be a bit extreme.” He laughs, showing his lovely teeth, and I pray he’ll be able to talk some sense into her. “I’m sure Sarah’s family already has plans for the summer. They’re very busy people, as she said. But how about a compromise?”
I’d begun to relax when he intervened, but now a chill slinks up my spine. I stare at him, attempting to communicate telepathically.
No, no, no! What are you doing?
“What if they come for the week of the christening? That shouldn’t be too arduous, should it?” When he smiles like that, a dimple appears in his cheek. Ordinarily I find it endearing, but not today.
The three Taylor-Coxes wait for my answer. My mind races, but I can’t think of a single excuse. Silently I sigh. I know when I’m beaten.
“Okay, I’ll ask. But I can’t promise anything. Like I said, I don’t know where Maisey is right now. She could be in outer Mongolia.”
Maisey. An image of my little sister drifts through my mind. She’s twenty-four now, a woman. Has it really been ten years since I’ve seen her? So much will have changed. Maybe it’ll be fun to have her around.
“They’ll come,” Warwick says with the certainty of a man used to getting what he wants. He slowly trails his fingers over my arm, caressing it in the way he knows I like. “I’m sure they’d love to see the baby.”
As if on cue, Elliot wakes up from his all-too-brief nap and shrieks, momentarily deafening me.
“Sounds like someone is hungry,” Edward says, clearly relieved to change the subject. “And he’s not the only one. Shall we eat?”
“In a minute, dear. We need to wait for Sarah.” Eleanor watches as I struggle to my feet, holding my wailing infant. Warwick rushes to help and guides me to the French doors with his arm around my waist.
Eleanor’s words make me freeze in midstep, as if she’d doused me with the ice water she refuses to let me drink. “I do hope you’re nursing him. It’s the best way to lose that baby weight, you know.”
I don’t miss Edward’s assessment of my postpartum figure. At least he has the good grace to blush when he notices me noticing.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Warwick murmurs. “I’ll make sure you get the best steak, cooked exactly the way you like it.”
He kisses my temple and opens the patio doors, and soon I’m alone in my cool, dim house with only my son to comfort me. Elliot’s cries quiet to whimpers, and I wonder if he wanted to get away from Eleanor as much as I did.
“Thank you,” I whisper into my baby’s ear. “I owe you one.”
* * *
It’s a relief to remove the diamonds from my ears that evening. I wince at the stab of pain from my swollen lobes. It echoes the dull throb from my breasts, which are suffering the agony from another hopeless skirmish with my son.
He isn’t rejecting you. Some babies weren’t meant to nurse. At least he’s eating, that’s the important thing.
As I tuck the large gemstones into my dresser drawer, wishing yet again that my husband would let me wear something more discreet, I don’t hear him come up behind me. I move to hide the empty bottle, but it’s too late.
“Oh, Sarah.” Warwick’s voice is heavy with disappointment. “I thought we’d agreed you were going to try.”
“I am trying.” I attempt to keep the defensiveness out of my voice and fail miserably. “It’s not working.” Tears sting my eyes and I duck my head so he can’t see my face.
“How hard can it be? Millions of women do it. I’ve heard there are women working on the rice paddies in China who squat to give birth, sling the baby around their shoulders, and keep right on working. Nothing to it. None of this indulgent one-week-in-the-hospital stuff.”
My mouth drops open. How dare he? Warwick knows I had a hard time with Elliot. The sparkle in my husband’s eyes tells me he is teasing, but I don’t care. The frustration and humiliation of the day are wearing on me. “Perhaps you should find yourself a Chinese rice-paddy worker, then,” I say, shoving past him. “I’m sure Eleanor would approve.”
He smirks. “You have a point. Mother’s a tad obsessed with appearances.”
And you always let her get away with it.
“A
