The Perfect Mother(5)

“And sangrias,” says Nell, her eyes lighting up. “Or better yet, why don’t we do something like that at night? Go out without the babies.”

“Without the babies?” Francie asks.

“Yeah. I’m going back to work next week. I’m dying to have a little fun while I still can.”

“I don’t think so,” Francie says.

“Why not?”

“The baby’s just seven weeks old.”

“So?”

“So isn’t that a little young to leave him? Plus, he’s impossible in the evenings. We are, apparently, at the height of cluster feeding.”

“Have your husband take care of him,” Scarlett says. “It’s important for them to bond during these early months.”

“My husband?” Francie asks, her brow furrowed.

“Yes,” Nell says. “You know, Lowell? The man whose ejaculate conceived one-half of your baby?”

Francie winces. “Nell. Gross.” She looks at Winnie. “Would you go?”

Winnie folds Midas into the Moby Wrap at her chest and collects his blanket. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh, come on,” Colette says. “It’ll be good for us to have a break from the babies.”

Winnie stands, her petal pink sundress cascading to her ankles. “I don’t have a babysitter for Midas yet.”

“What about your—”

“Shit,” Winnie says, glancing at the thin silver watch on her wrist. “It’s later than I thought. I have to run.”

“Where are you going?” Francie asks.

Winnie puts on a pair of large sunglasses and a wide-brimmed cotton sun hat that shades her face and shoulders. “You know, a million errands. See you next time.”

Everyone on the blanket watches Winnie walk across the lawn and up the hill, her black hair loose around her shoulders, her dress fluttering at her heels.

When she disappears under the arch, Francie sighs. “I feel bad for her.”

Nell laughs. “You feel bad for Winnie? Why, because she’s so gorgeous? Or wait, it’s how thin she is.”

“She’s a single mom.”

Colette swallows her wine. “What? How do you know that?”

“She told me.”

“You’re kidding. When?”

“A few days ago. I stopped at the Spot for the air-conditioning and a scone. Will had a fit while I was standing in line. I was mortified, and then Winnie appeared. Midas was asleep in the stroller, and she took Will and held him to her chest. He calmed down right away.”

Nell’s eyes narrow. “I knew those boobs were magic. Just looking at them has calmed me down a few times.”

“We hung out for a little while. It was nice. She’s so quiet, right? But she told me she’s single.”

“She just offered that?” Nell asks.

“Yeah, sort of.”

“Who’s the dad?”

“I didn’t ask. I’ve noticed she doesn’t wear a wedding ring, but asking outright? It felt intrusive.” Francie’s expression turns wistful. “She also told me I’m doing a great job with Will. It was sweet. We don’t say that to each other enough. Will can be so difficult.” Francie breaks a pretzel in half. “I feel like I’m failing at this most of the time. It’s nice to hear that maybe I’m not.”

“Oh, Francie, don’t be silly,” Colette says. “Will’s great. You’re doing fine. None of us know what we’re doing.”

“Isn’t it strange we didn’t know that about her?” asks Yuko. “That she’s single?”

“Not really.” Nell sets her wine beside her and pulls down the stretched collar of her T-shirt. She lifts her daughter, Beatrice, to her breast and begins to feed her. “All we talk about are things related to the babies.”

“Having a husband?” Francie says. “That’s kind of related to the babies. God, can you imagine? Doing this alone? How lonely.”

“I’d die,” Colette says. “If Charlie didn’t take some of the night feedings, make sure we have diapers, I’d lose my mind.”

“Me too, but—” Scarlett starts to speak but then stops herself.

“What?” Colette asks.

“No, nothing.”

“No, Scarlett, what?” Francie is staring at her. “What were you going to say?”

Scarlett pauses for a moment. “Okay, fine. I’m worried there’s something else going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to betray anything she’s told me, but we’ve taken a few walks together. We’re neighbors, and we seem to travel the same route when we’re trying to get the babies to nap. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t think I needed to, but she’s depressed.”

“She told you that?” Colette asks.

“She’s hinted at it. She’s overwhelmed. Doesn’t have anyone helping her. She also told me that Midas is a very colicky baby. He can cry for hours.”

“Colicky?” Francie asks in disbelief. “Will is colicky. Midas seems so easy.”

“A friend of mine in London was diagnosed with severe postpartum depression,” Nell says. “She felt too ashamed about the thoughts she was having to tell anyone, until her husband forced her to get help.”