Frayed Silk(29)

“Of course. It would if it’s”—my throat bobs—“if it’s nothing.”

He nods. “It’s too bad I’m not in the mood to make you feel better then. Sorry, but I’ve got shit to do.” He moves the paper to the side, clicking away at his mouse and then resumes typing.

My jaw drops open. He’s dismissed me. His own wife. Like I’m a fucking nuisance.

In a daze, I turn around, walking out and back to the kitchen. What did he even mean? Is it as bad as it looks, or is it nothing? Knowing I’ll get no answers by stewing on it, I get the kids ready for bed then pack up the cupcakes for tomorrow before heading straight for my chocolate stash and the wine.





Picking up the Tupperware containers, I move them to the end of the table before squatting down to reach into a box underneath to grab the pack of napkins.

“Oh, my fucking God,” Lola groans around a mouthful of chocolate mint cake. “It’s like heaven has visited my mouth.”

Lara Sparks and Melanie Trundle turn to glare at her as I rise and rip open the packet. I bite my lip, trying to stop the laugh from escaping. Lola notices and bugs her eyes out at them. “What?” she snaps. “There’s no kids out here yet.” She busies herself with separating some paper plates. “Give me a fucking break,” she mutters under her breath.

“I wonder if Fiona will come,” I hear Lara whisper, not very quietly, to Melanie a few minutes later.

“Ha! I doubt it. I mean, could you even imagine showing your face after that? God, I’d just die,” Melanie declares rather dramatically.

A disbelieving laugh finally escapes my mouth, and Melanie turns to glare over at me. “Something funny, Dahlia?” she snaps.

My shoulders lift. “Oh, no. Just that I remember you didn’t seem to like it very much when everyone was talking about your husband’s affair with your nanny.” I tap my chin. “What was she? French? Seventeen?”

Lola gasps theatrically. “Yes, I remember that.” She turns to Melanie. “Quite the scandal, wasn’t it?”

Melanie looks like she’s about to throw the bottle of juice she’s holding in a death grip at our heads.

Lara clears her throat. “Yes, that was ah, interesting.” She changes the subject back to Fiona. “How’s she doing, though? She’d be heartbroken,” she says with forced gentleness.

I shrug again. “She’s doing as well as can be expected.”

But to be honest, I don’t actually know. I sent her a text yesterday, which she didn’t return. I’ll have to call her if she doesn’t show today. But when I glance up a moment later, there she is, strutting over to us in her … sweatpants, tank, and cardigan. Oh, shit. She normally wouldn’t be caught dead in sweatpants, not even in her own house. I share a worried look with Lola quickly before Fiona arrives at the table and says, “Well, I’m here. Where do you want me?”

Melanie clears her throat delicately. “Did you bring anything?”

Fiona lifts her sunglasses to her head to give her the full power of her green-eyed glare. “Does it look like I did? Christ, you bitches are lucky I even showed up.” She walks around the table to join Lola and me while Melanie and Lara stand there gaping at her.

“You okay?” I whisper then wince. “Stupid question, sorry.”

She shakes her head; her brown hair pulled back into a messy bun that bobs around with the movement. “I’m fine.” She grabs a cupcake and shoves half of it in her mouth then picks up a piece of caramel cake. “Holy fuck. I feel like I haven’t eaten in years,” She moans around the chocolate filling her mouth.

“Didn’t you say you were gluten intolerant?” Lola asks her.

Fiona throws her head back with a loud laugh, her teeth covered in cake. “Yes, what bullshit. Just another way to say no to carbs.” She rolls her eyes and snatches the juice from a still gaping Melanie before pouring herself a large cup full and draining it in three gulps.

“God, that shit would taste amazing with some vodka.” She goes to grab what looks like a flask out of her purse that’s still hanging over her shoulder. Lola grabs her arm and tugs her over to a box of custard tarts. “Could you help me put these out? Your eye for decorating has always been so much better than mine.”

Fiona huffs. “Oh, fine.” Then gets to work unpacking them and spreading them out over some trays just as the recess bell rings and the kids start racing out into the quad.

“Here they come,” Lola mutters, snapping some gloves on and mentally preparing herself. Laughing, I do the same. We spend the next fifteen minutes selling almost everything to the children and teachers alike.

“Hi, Mommy,” Greta sings, coming around the table to wrap her arms around my waist.

I take my gloves off to quickly fix her ponytail that’s come loose.

“How’s your day been? Have you seen your brother?” I ask.

“He’s right here.” Sophie giggles and I glance over to find Charlie busily sampling some of the treats still left on the table.

“Charlie!” I hiss. “We need to pay for them.”

He glances up at me, chocolate coating his lips. “But you made some of them,” he mumbles around the food then licks his fingers before going for another slice. Lola laughs as I swat his hand away and grab a slice with a napkin, passing it over to him. He gives me a chocolate-tooth-coated grin before running off to join his friends. I reach down underneath the table to grab a ten dollar bill from my purse and toss it in the ice-cream bucket.