Her fingers closed around a Sharpie. Perfect.

Chapter 14

After this, Claire was going to stop showing up to playgroup hungover. At least this time, she wasn’t alone in her nasty headache. She caught Amara’s eye during “The Hokey Pokey,” and Amara winked, then winced.

“Keep a lookout,” Amara had said last night, right before charging up to the bank of Vagabond posters and scribbling all over them with a kind of drunken, demented glee. She drew little devil horns on Marcus and a word bubble coming out of his mouth reading, “I’m an asshole, and my penis smells like mold.” Claire had watched first in shock, and then in stitches of laughter, as Amara had kept going, filling poster upon poster with blacked-out teeth and creative, filthy insults.

Sure, it was completely immature. But it was also the first time that Claire had been able to look at something related to Vagabond and laugh about it.

Watching this Upper East Side stay-at-home mom graffiti posters like she was a rebellious teenager had brought on a particular, confusing infatuation. Claire hadn’t wanted to say good night. She’d wished she could invite Amara back to her place for an old-fashioned sleepover like in middle school, to stay up all night with her laughing and talking about everything, and okay, sure, maybe practicing kissing. Despite her hangover, Claire had power-walked to playgroup, eager to be in the same room as Amara again.

Perhaps dancing “The Hokey Pokey” had been a little ambitious, movement-wise. Now seemed like a good time to sit down and sing some peaceful, quiet songs. She’d bought some sparkly egg shakers on Gwen’s advice (“When my elder daughter, Rosie, was in playgroup, the kids loved egg shakers!”), and she pulled one out of her bag as she sat, then shook it above her guitar. She tried to catch Gwen’s eye to get a smile of approval, but Gwen was looking a little distracted today, her reserved-but-typically-constant smile just an occasional flicker.

Charlie, that tiny monster, reached out and grabbed at her guitar strings, clamping onto them with his strong fists. “Whoa, bud,” she said. “Gentle.” She tried to pry his fingers off before he snapped a string, but he was surprisingly strong and persistent. She peeled one of his hands off a lower string only for him to brace himself on her arm, rise up to standing with a gurgle, and grab a higher string. Why wasn’t Amara doing anything to stop him? Claire looked toward her for some assistance, but Amara was staring at her baby, her eyes wide and shining.

“Oh. Oh, my God,” Amara whispered.

“He did it,” Whitney said in a similarly awed tone.

And then Amara was up off the ground, lunging forward, swooping Charlie up into her arms and whirling around the room with him. “You little bastard,” she shouted, peppering him with kisses. “You did it! You brilliant, brilliant boy.” She looked at all the women and said, half laughing, half crying, “He can pull himself up!”

A sense of rapture overtook the room. Meredith and Ellie reached for each other’s hands as Meredith wiped a tear from her eye. Even Vicki paused in her breastfeeding and gave a little hum of approval. It felt like church, church at its best moments, with the Baby Jesus swapped out for the Baby Charlie. They were worshipping something miraculous, something holy.

“I’m going to see if we have any champagne,” Whitney said, standing up.

Amara pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed a number as she bounced Charlie on her hip. Charlie looked around at all the women cooing at him that he was a strong, brave boy, and began to frown, overwhelmed. “Daniel, answer the phone! Ah, you’re working!” Amara said. “But he did it, Danny. He stood up! Oh, thank the Lord. I love you. Call me back!”

A faint pop sounded from the direction of the kitchen, and moments later, Whitney reappeared, carrying a tray crowded with champagne flutes, which she passed out to all of them, Claire included.

The women all held their glasses out toward one another. “To Charlie,” Whitney said. “Soon he’s going to be running all over the place, and Amara will be wishing she could go back to the days when he couldn’t stand.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Amara said as all the other women chorused, “To Charlie.” The clink of glass rang out, and Claire took a sip. This was the good stuff. She’d never had champagne this nice.

The women all continued to sip and reminisce and see if they could coax Charlie to stand again by holding up those egg shakers. Nobody said anything about Claire leaving, so she just stayed, pulled into their warm, joyful conversation, sitting next to Amara and feeling the happiness and relief radiating from her.

“This is such perfect timing with the retreat coming up,” Whitney said to Amara. “Now, when we go, you can just relax and not worry about a thing.”

“That’s going to be so nice,” Amara said, then turned to Claire. “Whitney gave us a group wellness retreat for Christmas.”

“Sycamore House!” Ellie cried. “I cannot freaking wait.”

“She texts me pictures from their website like every hour,” Meredith said.

“Were you ever able to get them to change the size of the package?” Gwen asked Whitney quietly. “You know, after Joanna . . .” Whitney shook her head, a brief grimace contorting her features. Amara nudged her leg against Claire’s, as if to say, See? The bogeyman!

“We could always invite a husband along,” Meredith said.

“No way,” Ellie said. “It’s their turn to take care of the babies and see how we feel all the time. Although I’m honestly a little worried that John might forget Mason at the playground.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Gwen said, and Ellie raised an eyebrow.

“So now you’re going to tell us that handsome Christopher is amazing with kids too?” She waggled her eyebrow up and down in a faux-lascivious way. “Does he have any flaws? I mean, I guess if he wanted to come on the wellness retreat . . .”

“Claire!” Whitney said, leaning toward her so intently that Claire startled, convinced that Whitney had realized she’d overstayed her playgroup welcome and was about to kick her out. “You should come!”

“What?” Claire said.

“We have this extra spot, and it would be so fun to have you take it,” Whitney said, warming to the idea. “It’s already all paid for. Consider it a belated Christmas present.”

Claire wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. She did not belong on some fancy wellness retreat, not with these women. She turned to Amara for confirmation, but Amara looked back at her with excitement.

“You should absolutely come,” Amara said.

“I mean,” Claire said, “are you sure?”