“Or that I would be the one to cry. And that if I did, those tears would be a combination of stress, fear, loneliness, shame, and feeling buried alive in a gold mine. It was Marilyn’s idea. She bullied me into it. Currently drowning in the domesticity brought on by nine-month-old twins, and representing the closest thing I had to a best friend at that point – or any point in my mixed-up, disaster-strewn, battle-scarred life – she ignored my protestations that it was a waste of time. “No argument...s, Faith. I need some romance! I’m going to remind myself what life was like before existing on four hours’ sleep a night and leftover mushed-up vegetables. And you need to show that bag of Botox Larissa who’s boss. Get your jacket.” Marilyn and I had met three months earlier, at my first meeting with the Houghton Country Club Committee, known to its members as HCC. Most of the sleek, silky, skinny women greeted me with patronizing smiles, before dismissing me as irrelevant. None of them recognized me from my time serving on the other side of the bar, but they had no doubt heard the gossip.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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