The Friends We Keep

Gabby tried to understand that the resulting fits of rage and depression weren’t about her. Makayla needed to blame someone and Gabby was a safe target. When things got tough, there was always chocolate, and the knowledge that whatever else was going on, Makayla loved her half sisters.

Gabby drove through Friday-afternoon traffic. The three blocks on Pacific Coast Highway took nearly fifteen minutes, but once they made it into their neighborhood, the number of cars lessened.

Gabby had grown up not five blocks from here. She and her siblings had gone to the same elementary school as Kenzie and Kennedy. She’d attended the same high school as Makayla. She knew where the kids liked to hang out, the exact amount of time it took to walk home and the quickest way to get from their house to the beach.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have moved here from somewhere else. To discover Mischief Bay as an adult. For her there was only complete familiarity.

She pulled into their driveway. Makayla got out of the SUV, then opened the back door to help the twins. Gabby went to unlock the front door. She could already hear Boomer baying his greeting and scratching to get out. The only thing preventing him from going through the door was the metal plate Andrew had screwed into place.

As soon as she opened the door, Boomer raced past her to get to his girls. Because while Boomer loved his whole pack, Makayla and the twins were his girls. He followed them around, did his best to keep them in line and when they disobeyed his list of rules, he ratted on them.

Now he ran in circles, looping around all three kids, baying his pleasure at seeing them again, as if it had been weeks instead of a few hours. Gabby thought about pointing out that she’d been home much of the afternoon, but doubted that information would impress Boomer.

Makayla and the twins stopped to pet him before heading toward the house. Once they were moving, Boomer wiggled his way to the front and darted through the open door. The girls followed. Gabby made sure that Jasmine hadn’t bolted for freedom, then stepped into the foyer and pushed the door closed behind her.

It was nearly four. By her calculations she had less than two hours to get the twins settled in for the evening, dinner started, the pets fed and herself turned from frumpy mom to glamorous, charming wife to successful Andrew Schaefer. It was going to be a push.

She went directly to the kitchen and dropped her handbag on the built-in desk that was her catchall for crap. Next she looked at the calendar posted on the wall, the one with all their activities color coded by person. Makayla’s mom was picking her up at six, Gabby and Andrew were due to leave at six-fifteen and Cecelia, their go-to sitter, was due at five forty-five.

“Mommy, can I wear my purple hat to dinner tonight?” Kenzie asked as she ran into the kitchen. “Kennedy wants to wear her green one. I like my purple one better. It has feathers and lace.”

“Did you pick up my dark-wash jeans from the dry cleaner?” Makayla asked as she, too, entered the kitchen. “I’m going to need them for this weekend. Mom’s taking me to the movies and out to dinner and you know that means we’ll be going somewhere nice.”

“I did. They’re in your room.”

Which you would know if you’d bothered to go look. But she didn’t say that. Nor did she mention she thought it was ridiculous that a fifteen-year-old was allowed to send her jeans to the dry cleaner. Couldn’t she wash them with the rest of her clothes? But Makayla had deemed it critical and Andrew had agreed. Gabby felt that if she was going to have to die on some hill when it came to her stepdaughter, it wasn’t going to be the one about dry cleaning.

Makayla sat on one of the stools by the island. “Mom said she’s going to take me to her stylist and get my hair cut. Maybe I’ll get bangs. There’s enough time to grow them out before school starts. You know, if I don’t like them.”

As she spoke, she stretched her long arms out across the granite countertop. Her hands were laced together as she stretched. Kenzie watched closely and Gabby knew that in the morning, she would see the same pose at breakfast. Because there was nothing the twins liked more than to imitate their older sister.

“We might do some school shopping. She can get me in to see all the fall clothes that aren’t out yet. We went through the look books already and I chose some things.”

Candace was a buyer for an upscale department store and had access to a lot of things, including styles and brands not yet available for sale to the public. Gabby told herself it was nice that Makayla got to feel special with her mom. That was how it was supposed to be. Most of time she nearly believed herself, as well.

Makayla raised one shoulder dramatically. “It’s because I have an eye for trends.”

“You do.”

Makayla eyed Gabby’s baggy, knee-length shorts and oversize T-shirt, the blue one with a stain on the front and a small but growing hole near the hem.

“You want me to talk to Dad about giving you a make-over?”

“Thanks. Sweet, but no.”

She told herself that she didn’t have it so bad. Makayla was a pretty good kid. She had her moods, but most of those were either hormone or mother-induced. She loved her baby sisters and looked out for them.

What made things difficult was the nagging sense that Makayla wasn’t treated like a member of the family. Her place was more revered guest, with everyone circling around her illustrious orbit. Like the dry cleaning. Seriously? For jeans? Or that Makayla didn’t mind looking after the twins if Gabby needed her to. But only for an hour. Never for an afternoon or evening. And even the few minutes of watching was always a favor—never something Gabby could depend on. Giving Makayla orders wasn’t allowed.

Second-wife syndrome, Gabby told herself firmly. Every now and then she got a twinge from having to deal with Andrew’s past. The most he’d had to suffer through was an old boyfriend flirting with her at her ten-year high school reunion. And that was hardly the same thing.

“Mommy, I think Jasmine’s gonna throw up.”

Kennedy shouted the announcement from somewhere upstairs. Makayla and Kenzie took off running. Gabby paused long enough to grab a few paper towels. As she headed for the stairs she wondered if it was wrong to hope Boomer got there first and took care of things for her. The big guy could always been counted on to clean up messes.

By five o’clock, the household was in that delicate transition from chaos to calm. At least that was what Gabby told herself. Dinner was in the oven, Makayla was packing for her weekend and the twins were in their playroom, deciding on what to do that evening with Cecelia.

“Dress up,” Kennedy said firmly, a small green hat perched on her head. “And Legos.”

“Legos for sure,” Kenzie agreed. Her hat was all feathers and lace. They were both adorable. Stubborn, but adorable.

Gabby found evenings with the sitter went easier if everyone went in with the right expectations. To that end she always provided a plate of snacks for both her kids and the sitter. She also made sure that toys, books and movies were chosen in advance.

The toys were picked out and put on the small, five-year-old-sized table. Next to it were three books Cecelia would read to them at bedtime, along with several DVD choices. Jasmine, recovered from her fur-ball attack, strolled in. She walked over to Gabby and gave her delicate girlie meow—the one that indicated all was right in her feline world. Boomer followed, his nose pressed into the carpet as he searched for fallen crumbs and who knew what else.

The twins pulled their pets close. Gabby used the distraction to escape to her room. She still had to shower—because she hadn’t had time that morning—and do something with her hair.

For a while she’d been trying the blonde thing, but honestly, with three kids, it was too hard to get in for regular appointments. She was going to be starting back to work soon. If she didn’t have time now, she sure wouldn’t then. So she’d spent the past year or so easing the color toward her natural shade of sort-of-brown, sort-of-red. She was thinking of getting highlights to celebrate her return to the office, but only if her hairdresser promised her they wouldn’t need touching up more than once every six months.

She managed to get in the shower without being called or having to deal with a crisis. By the time she was out, the twins, Boomer and Jasmine had moved into the master bath where the four of them lay on the floor, watching her as she reached for her towel.

Kenzie and Kennedy each had one of Boomer’s ears in their tiny hands. They stroked his silky fur while leaning against him. Their dress-up hats were askew. Jasmine watched from the mat by the sink, as if in charge. Which was probably true. Jasmine did love to control situations.

“What are you going to wear, Mommy?” Kenzie asked. “You’ll be pretty.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure yet.”

“A dress,” Kennedy said firmly. “With high heels.”

Because the twins loved to wear high heels when they played dress up.

“And lipstick,” Kenzie added.

Gabby slipped on her underwear and bra, then walked into the big closet she shared with Andrew. While his side was organized according to the type of clothing, and then by color, hers was slightly more haphazard. A few things were piled on the floor, under the hanging racks. She wasn’t sure if they were there by design or if Jasmine had pulled them off, and this wasn’t the moment to find out.

Double racks and a built-in dresser should have helped with the organization but somehow that never happened. At least not for her. Andrew’s drawers were meticulously arranged. Socks sorted by color, exercise T-shirts separate from the T-shirts he wore under dress shirts. Why was that? She put away the laundry. So she was the one who maintained his organized ways while doing nothing to move herself beyond controlled chaos.

The whys weren’t important right now, she told herself as she dug through the single tall rack, searching for a reasonably clean, slightly dressy LBD. She found it in the back, next to a fuzzy pink robe she’d never liked.

The dress was long-sleeved, with a faux wrap bodice and knee-length skirt. She hadn’t worn it in a while but it looked clean enough. Except for pink fuzz from her robe, which would come off easily enough with masking-tape strips. The bigger issue was would it fit?

She knew she had a killer Spanx slip hanging somewhere, but before she suffered through the indignity of that she wanted to see if the dress was even a possibility. She undid the side zipper, then pulled it over her head.

The arms felt tight and the fabric bunched right above her boobs. She pulled and tugged and shimmied until it settled over her body. Even before she reached for the side zipper, she knew there was going to be problem.

The dress looked awful. It accentuated her round middle and the roll above her waistline. The fabric gapped a good four inches at the zipper and no amount of prayer was going to make it close. Not even the killer Spanx would be enough.

How much did she weigh? She hadn’t been on the scale in maybe a year. Sure, there were the extra few pounds since she’d had the girls, but this was unexpected. She hadn’t actually put on more weight, had she?