LITMIR.BIZ

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he won’t be home by seven. He never is.”

      “He’s not going to work late on the day of his party.” She said it with more conviction than she felt and Mack shrugged.

      “Whatever.” She sauntered off with an indifference and nonchalance that Lauren could never have managed to achieve at any age, certainly not sixteen.

      One teenage girl. How hard could it be to handle one teenage girl?

      Lauren went upstairs to change and put on her makeup and tried not to think about the time Mack would have sat in the middle of the bed, watching her mother with hungry, admiring eyes.

      It seemed that idolizing your mother had an expiration date.

      Before leaving the bedroom she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror.

      The dress was new and flattered her slender frame. She was the same size she’d been at twenty. Four times a week without fail she went running. She also did yoga and Pilates and was careful what she ate.

      It was important to always have a plan and stick to it. She wished Mack could see that.

      She tried to ignore the voice in her head that reminded her what she’d been like at sixteen.

      She needed to focus on the party.

      Of course the one thing you did need at a party to celebrate a fortieth birthday was the person whose birthday it was, and by seven thirty there was still no sign of Edward.

      “Told you.” Mack wandered past wearing a pair of skinny jeans that clung and a pair of heavy boots that Ed said made her look like a construction worker.

       Don’t say a word, Lauren. Not a word.

      “Dad probably got caught up at the office.” But as soon as Mack vanished into the den to watch a movie, Lauren pulled out her phone and sent Ed a quick text.

      Are you on your way?

      The doorbell rang and she felt a rush of relief. Maybe he’d forgotten his key.

      But no, it was the string quartet arriving early.

      She let them in, showed them where to set up and walked back to the kitchen, where the caterers seemed to have everything under control.

      The champagne was chilling. The glasses were ready. The canapés were in the oven. Everything was perfect.

      The door sounded again and this time when Lauren opened it she saw her mother-in-law standing there.

       Maybe not completely perfect.

      If there was one accessory she would never choose to have at a party, it was her mother-in-law, but how could she not invite her to her only son’s fortieth birthday party?

      “Gwen! Wonderful to see you.” Lauren always overdid the greeting to compensate for her true feelings. On one occasion she’d leaned forward to kiss Gwen, but the other woman had turned her head sharply and Lauren had ended up pecking her on the neck like a drunken chicken.

      Still, Gwen loved her son and that was a quality Lauren could respect.

      Gwen was clutching a parcel. “Where’s my precious boy?”

      He’s forty, Lauren thought. Not a boy.

      “He’s on his way home.”

      Gwen handed over her coat. “He’s still at work? On his birthday?”

      Her tone stung like a jellyfish and Lauren felt her face burn.

      Gwen seemed to hold Lauren personally responsible for the fact her son worked long hours. Not that she expressed her disapproval directly, but the pursed lips, sighs and eye rolls conveyed her message with perfect clarity.

      Ed was fond of saying that his mother spoke fluent body language.

      Privately Lauren had often wondered whether she would have married Ed had she met Gwen first.

      “Come and talk to Mack, I know she’ll be thrilled to see you. She’s in the TV room.” Lauren took the stairs down to the TV room and Gwen followed.

      “She’s watching American TV?” She said it in the same tone she might have said taking drugs and having sex?

      Why couldn’t she find a single nice thing to say?

       Nice dress, Lauren.

       House is looking beautiful.

       Did you arrange all this yourself?

       My son is so lucky to be married to you.

      “I don’t know what she’s watching.”

      “She could be watching porn. I read that all teenagers watch porn.”

      “She’s not watching porn, Gwen.” Ed, if you’re not home in the next five minutes, I’m going to kill you.

      Mack appeared in the doorway. “Mom, that American porn film you suggested I watch is—” She broke off and gave a dazzling smile. “Hi, Nana, didn’t see you there.”

      Gwen swayed and clutched at the wall to steady herself.

      Lauren had an inconvenient urge to laugh. There had been a time when she definitely would have laughed, but she’d worked hard to suppress that side of herself. Unfortunately it seemed determined to make a reappearance.

      She didn’t dare catch Mack’s eye, although since Gwen already thought she was the world’s worst parent, she probably couldn’t sink any lower in the approval ratings.

      “Mack, can you come upstairs and help greet people?”

      The way Mack sighed you would have thought Lauren had asked her to donate a kidney.

      “Can’t you and Dad do it?”

      “Dad isn’t home yet.” How could he be late tonight of all nights? As she kept listening for the sound of his key in the door, her irritation became tinged with anxiety. It wasn’t like him to be late when there was a reason to be home, and it wasn’t like him not to answer his phone, but so far he hadn’t responded to a single one of her texts. Maybe his battery had died. “I’d appreciate help.”

      “Sure. That would be awesome, Mom.”

      Lauren winced. Gwen hated mom, and her daughter knew it.

      There was a gleam in Mack’s eyes and for a moment it felt like old times when they’d shared a joke.

      And then the doorbell rang, announcing the first of their guests, and the moment was gone. Lauren opened the door to their neighbors who were armed with bottles of champagne and balloons with the number forty emblazoned in swirling writing.

      The rest of the guests arrived in a steady stream. The string quartet fought valiantly to be heard above the sound of laughter and conversation. Champagne flutes clinked together and sparkled under the lights. The house hummed with celebration. Only one thing was missing.

      Ed.

      By nine o’clock irritation had given way to anxiety.

      She’d left eight messages on Ed’s phone, each one more desperate. Their conversation of that morning kept going round in her head.

       She’s not the problem.

      Did the “problem” have something to do with the reason he was late?

      An image inserted itself into her head. Ed, with his pants down, pumping into an unknown girl on his desk. Why did she have to think of that now? She pressed her fingers to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut to block it out.

      She was wondering about the etiquette of cutting a birthday cake when the birthday boy wasn’t present, when the doorbell rang again.

      All the guests had arrived,

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