It’s not like I’m going anywhere. I look at the window. Whiteout.

“Yes, Ms. Browne. Anything else? We are serving a full dinner menu.”

I’m a contentment eater, remember? And I am SO not content right now.

“No, thanks, just the drinks.”

That first martini may be the best thing I have ever tasted. The second is pretty damn good, too.

“Yes, Ms. Browne?”

“Hi. Hi,” I say softly, sweetly. “I was wondering if you could maybe send up another of these fantastic martinis? With lemon?”

“Of course. Will there be anything else? We’re featuring tagliatelle pasta with a puttanesca sauce. It’s excellent.”

“Oh no, no, thank you. No pasta. Just the drink.”

I have no clothes to change into, but there’s a white robe in the closet. So much more relaxing than work clothes and stockings.

I should be giving Holly her bath right now. I can practically smell the lavender baby shampoo. What is happening there? Why is no one picking up my calls?

At last, my phone lights up:

Text from Nick: She’s crying. Been crying for about fifteen minutes, no sign of stopping. All 4 of us have tried everything. What does she want?

All four of us? Huh?

Me: I don’t know, what’s happening? Who’s with you?

Nick: I gave her bottle, now crying. Me and my three kids here to help.

Oh, they’re all there? The bridge of my nose prickles with a rush of emotion, eyes filling. Nick managed to call in reinforcements. I couldn’t find anyone, but he has this network.

I need a network.

I need him.

Me: Did you try her binky?

Nick: What is binky?

OMG! Does he not speak English? Should I check Google Translate?

Me: Binky! Binky!

Nick: ???

I stare at the screen, thinking hard.

Pacifier, I type.

No dots. A very long minute goes by.

YES! appears in a grey bubble.

I fall backwards on the bed in relief.

Found it in cat litter box. Wiped on pant leg. She’s sucking on it happily, he answers.

I burst out laughing.

If I weren’t in your debt, you’d be dead, I reply.

You owe me? he types back. That could get interesting.

I’ll be home first thing tomorrow, I tap out.

Doubt it, Nick replies. There goes our date.

Oh no no no, oh please no… I really need that date…

Facetime, I type.

Nick: ?

If we can’t be together, we’ll Facetime our date.

Blank screen.

G2G need to rock her now chat later

Seriously? He needs to rock her? I need him to rock me.

Hello? I type. Facetime date. I promise you’ll have fun

Sometime later, he responds: ;) Exhausted G’night

I can’t imagine why he’s so tired?

I click on the TV and scroll through the offerings, which seem to be mostly described as ‘Adult.’ Which gives me an idea.

Nick

“There’s Mama,” I say, pointing to the iPad screen. Elodie’s sharing hers with Holly so Chloe can “talk” to the baby. Chloe looks haggard and frayed, deep grooves of worry in the muscles of her face, but her eyes light up when we get Holly on screen.

“Hi, baby!”

Chloe promptly bursts into tears.

Holly tries to gum the corner of the tablet.

“She’s fine,” I soothe, at a loss. How do you comfort someone on Facetime? You can’t hug the screen and have that count.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe says with a sniffle. “It’s just so good to see her. Thank you. How is everything going?”

“We want to babysit more!” Amelie chirps, half her face coming into view from the left side of the screen. “Holly’s a blast!”

“Hi Amelie!’ Chloe says with a shaky smile. “Are you all there?”

“Yes!” Elodie says, waving.

“Hey,” Jean-Marc grunts.

“You have four adults for one baby. You’ve got this covered,” she says, her voice filled with awe. It hits me. She doesn’t have three people she can call for help. She has Jemma and Henry, but they’re more like one person.

That’s it.

I bounce Holly on my knee as she slimes the glass screen, trying to touch Chloe, who makes raspberries at the baby.

Chloe has Jemma and Henry.

And now she has me.

The kids talk to Chloe while I balance the baby, her hands sticky with saliva, little baby noises indicating happiness. Chloe’s engaged in an intense discussion with Jean-Marc about the restaurants closest to her hotel in NYC as Amelie sneaks off to do her laundry. Elodie watches me.

I hope she can’t see all the pieces of me, slowly falling to the ground, like a tree shedding fall leaves.

Free. For years I’ve spent so much time spinning my wheels, taking care of kids, building a business, finding stability, with my eyes on the prize. Not freedom.

No.

Family.

I look around the room, at Jean-Marc scavenging for food again, at Holly playing with my shirt button, at Elodie telling Chloe they’re about to make a toy run for Holly and not to worry about BPA or red paint in any toys, and the concept of freedom turns to mist.

One gust of wind and it’s gone.

One deep breath and it blends.

Chapter 21

Chloe

Date night.

11:00 p.m.

Showtime.

I’ve spent the day watching the snow pile up, plows rumbling by on the streets, small Bobcat vehicles clearing the sidewalks. Constantly checking Weather and the airline site doesn’t seem to have any effect on accumulation. It just keeps relentlessly falling.

Twice today, I’ve tried Facetime with Holly. Nick has held the screen right in front of her, and I’ve recited The Runaway Bunny from memory. This was not as successful as I’d hoped, partly because every time I tried to say, “If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you, for you are my little bunny,” I broke down and sobbed.

Again.

And partly because Holly showed no interest in the screen whatsoever, other than using it as a chew toy. She patted it a few times, but then twisted in her high chair, reaching for Nick. I thought all children, no matter how small, adored technology? Clearly she is not destined for a career with Mark Zuckerberg. Damn.