{"product_id":"friends-and-strangers-a-read-with-jenna-pick-isbn-9780525436478","title":"Friends and Strangers: A Read with Jenna Pick","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLER \u003c\/b\u003e• A TODAY SHOW #ReadWithJenna BOOK CLUB PICK \u003cb\u003e•\u003c\/b\u003e An insightful and compulsively readable novel about a complicated friendship between two women who are at two very different stages in life, from the best-selling author of \u003ci\u003eMaine\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eSaints for All Occasions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Once again, Sullivan has shown herself to be one of the wisest and least pretentious chroniclers of modern life.\"—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth, an accomplished journalist and new mother, is struggling to adjust to life in a small town after nearly twenty years in New York City. Alone in the house with her infant son all day (and awake with him much of the night), she feels uneasy, adrift. She neglects her work, losing untold hours to her Brooklyn moms' Facebook group, her \"influencer\" sister's Instagram feed, and text messages with the best friend she never sees anymore. Enter Sam, a senior at the local women's college, whom Elisabeth hires to babysit. Sam is struggling to decide between the path she's always planned on and a romantic entanglement that threatens her ambition. She's worried about student loan debt and what the future holds. In short order, they grow close. But when Sam finds an unlikely kindred spirit in Elisabeth's father-in-law, the true differences between the women's lives become starkly revealed and a betrayal has devastating consequences.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA masterful exploration of motherhood, power dynamics, and privilege in its many forms, \u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e reveals how a single year can shape the course of a life.\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eA #ReadWithJenna TODAY Show Book Club Pick\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eAn Amazon \"Best Book of 2020\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eWashington Post\u003c\/i\u003e \"Book to Read this Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eReal Simple \"\u003c\/i\u003eBest Book of 2020\"\u003cbr\u003eAn \u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly \u003c\/i\u003e\"Book to Read this June\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eParade\u003c\/i\u003e \"Best Book of the Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eA theSkimm \"Hottest Book of the Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eA\u003ci\u003e Vogue\u003c\/i\u003e \"Book to Read this June\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e magazine \"Best Book to Read this Summer\"\u003cbr\u003e A \u003ci\u003eGood Housekeeping \u003c\/i\u003e\"Best Beach Read\" \u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eMarie Claire \u003c\/i\u003e\"Best New Book to Read this Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eBustle\u003c\/i\u003e \"Most Anticipated Book of 2020\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eSheReads\u003c\/i\u003e \"Most Anticipated Book of 2020\"\u003cbr\u003eA\u003ci\u003e RealSimple \"\u003c\/i\u003eTop Pick for Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eTravel and Leisure \u003c\/i\u003e\"Most Anticipated Book of the Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eParade\u003c\/i\u003e \"Best Beach Read of 2020\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eGood Morning America \u003c\/i\u003e\"Book to Read This Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eTown and Country \u003c\/i\u003e\"Must-Read Book of the Summer\"\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e \"Book to Watch For\"\u003cbr\u003eA CNN \"Perfect Summer Read'\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"J. Courtney Sullivan’s fifth novel, which examines the intricate relationship between a babysitter and her employer, begins in the middle of the night, in the middle of the suburbs — 'Nobody up at this hour besides mothers and insomniacs' — from which promising vantage point we’re given delightful permission to sit back and spy... Drawn by Sullivan’s deft hand, the relationship feels authentic and richly textured... \u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e is a big novel with big ideas... An honest rendering of what happens behind closed doors.\"\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e—Clare Lombardo\u003ci\u003e, New York Times Book Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"There’s a rare degree of emotional maturity in\u003ci\u003e Friends and Strangers, \u003c\/i\u003ea willingness to resist demonizing any of the players, a commitment to exploring the demands of family with the deliberate care such complex relations require. Once again, Sullivan has shown herself to be one of the wisest and least pretentious chroniclers of modern life. Every hard-won insight here is offered up with such casual grace.\"\u003cbr\u003e—Ron Charles,\u003ci\u003e The Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Friends and Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e is a compellingly readable book that feels a little bit like a beach read, but at the same time tackles themes of acceptance of others and also of yourself... The novel takes on modern issues surrounding adulthood, motherhood and class. It also offers a broader look at issues we are facing as an American society...  as hilarious as it is insightful and paints an authentic picture of modern motherhood and the power of female friendship.\"\u003cbr\u003e—\u003ci\u003eToday\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“What's crucial about... \u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e, though, is that they are more than \"nanny novels\" predicated on a Manichaean dynamic between employer and employee. They expertly lay bare the shortcomings of the employers they represent, but they allow them humanity too: These mothers are lost, isolated and often have no one else to whom they feel they can turn other than their nannies. More importantly, while these books center the young women who have been transported into unfamiliar and luxe surroundings under the auspices of caregiving, they take care to define their protagonists by more than their work.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Vogue\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Courtney Sullivan’s new\u003ci\u003e Friends and Strangers...\u003c\/i\u003e fits neatly into my preferred category of summer reading: literate and smart, but also a heck of a lot of fun and a break for my news-addled brain... a gimlet-eyed examination of classism and privilege in America and a close look at the complicated terrain between parents and hired caregivers, with the ensuing guilt and resentments that so often accompany such relationships.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Portland Monthly\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Extremely timely.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e—New York Post\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"One of summer's most delicious reads.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Town and Country\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"A hilarious and insightful novel about a complicated friendship between two very different women... When their differences are revealed, a betrayal takes place with devastating consequences.\u003ci\u003e\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—SheReads\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"You’ll like this one...  a modern look at power dynamics, privilege, and motherhood, and is one you’ll be seeing all over Insta.\"\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e—TheSkimm\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"The clash between rich and poor animates \u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e, J. Courtney Sullivan’s quietly perceptive new novel about two women on different sides of America’s economic divide: a new mother and the college-age nanny she hires for her son... \u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e is at its best when Sullivan emphasizes the widening class difference in America between people who can afford $46 peony-scented hand soaps and those worried about meeting basic needs. Sullivan dares to further complicate her narrative by showing that financial security doesn’t guarantee happiness. The result is a poignant look at the biases of modern society.\" \u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e—BookPage\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Sullivan’s writing is captivating and witty as the characters observe the disconnects in their respective lives and those around them.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—New Canaan Advertiser\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Courtney Sullivan's \u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers \u003c\/i\u003eexposes fraught truths about power dynamics, class, and privilege.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Marie Claire\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"This new novel from the author of \u003ci\u003eSaints for All Occasions l\u003c\/i\u003eooks at how our locations, both geographic and where we are in life, can take their toll, and delivers what promises to be one of summer's most delicious reads.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Town and Country\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Sullivan... once again displays her keen observation skills with this insightful examination of two women at very different places in their lives. With well-developed, very real-feeling characters the story moves seamlessly from one perspective to the other. \u003ci\u003eFriends and\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eStrangers\u003c\/i\u003e is a deeply personal yet profound exploration of motherhood, friendships, and the role of privilege in determining how we shape our lives.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Booklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Readers should jettison any expectation they have for the book--fish-out-of-water story, manipulative-nanny chiller, send-up of campus culture. J. Courtney Sullivan's fifth novel offers something more interesting... \u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers\u003c\/i\u003e is about whether the unfairness of privilege can ever be sufficiently offset by good deeds. And what of bad deeds: Are they forgiven if they result from good intentions?... . Sullivan massages her themes in scenes as barbed as they are funny, by way of characters as infuriating as they are heartbreaking.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Shelf Awareness\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sullivan... writes with empathy for her characters even as she reveals their flaws and shortcomings. And while the story she tells focuses primarily on two women from different backgrounds and at different stages of life, it also illuminates broader issues about money, privilege, and class; marriage, family, and friendship; and the dueling demands of career and domesticity with which many women struggle. This perceptive novel about a complex friendship between two women resonates as broadly as it does deeply.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Kirkus, \u003c\/i\u003estarred\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sullivan’s intimate, incisive latest explores the evolving friendship between a new mother and her babysitter... Readers will be captivated by Sullivan’s authentic portrait of modern motherhood.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers \u003c\/i\u003eis a smart and deeply compelling exploration of female friendship and the complicated politics of motherhood and childcare. J. Courtney Sullivan is a shrewd and sympathetic observer of our current cultural moment, with an unerring eye for the way that the unspoken realities of money and class can affect even our most intimate relationships.” \u003cbr\u003e—Tom Perrotta, best-selling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Leftovers \u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“J. Courtney Sullivan is one of our great literary treasures, and \u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers \u003c\/i\u003eis permeated with her brilliance and heart. The novel is a captivating, wise, laugh-out-loud-funny story about the life-changing friendship between Elisabeth, a new mom, and Sam, her college-age babysitter. I loved this novel from the first word to the last.\"\u003cbr\u003e—Ann Napolitano, best-selling author of \u003ci\u003eDear Edward\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“I have long been a fan of J. Courtney Sullivan's insightful and rich novels—\u003ci\u003eFriends and Strangers \u003c\/i\u003eis her best yet! Sullivan has a stunning ability to capture the tenderness and frailty of human relationships. Her newest is a poignant, wise, big-hearted novel full of complicated women doing their best and striving to do better. I loved it.”\u003cbr\u003e —Taylor Jenkins Reid, best-selling author of \u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eDaisy Jones \u0026amp; The Six\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“J. Courtney Sullivan is a writer of extraordinary gifts, and this is her most affecting book yet, which I just wanted to keep reading and reading straight through to its climactic and emotional last pages, because its world felt completely realized, and completely real. Sullivan is a writer who offers up small human moments and large social ones, all within the frame of a truly good story. I loved it.”\u003cbr\u003e—Meg Wolitzer, best-selling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Female Persuasion\u003c\/i\u003eJ. Courtney Sullivan is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebest-selling author of the novels \u003ci\u003eCommencement\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eMaine\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Engagements\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eSaints For All Occasions\u003c\/i\u003e. Her work has been translated into 17 languages. Sullivan's writing has appeared in \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Chicago Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNew York\u003c\/i\u003e magazine, \u003ci\u003eElle\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eGlamour\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eAllure\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eReal Simple\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eO: The Oprah Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e, among many others. She lives in Brooklyn, New York with her husband and two children.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe awakened to silence. Nobody up at this hour besides mothers and insomniacs. She did not need to look at the clock to know that within seconds the baby would cry, and she would lift him from his bassinet before her eyes were quite open, exhaustion giving way to acceptance, devotion, as she held the warm heft of him in her arms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA flash of hot rage sparked in her at the sight of her sleeping husband, but just as quickly it was gone, and she was changing the diaper, walking downstairs, wondering what would happen if she dropped the baby, if he died. The answer as familiar as the question: she would go out a window. That settled, Elisabeth kissed the top of his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA video affirmation she had found online began, in soothing tones, \u003ci\u003eEvery time I nurse my child, I drink a glass of water. In this way, I remember that I too deserve care.\u003c\/i\u003e Filling a glass of water required more than she had at the moment, but she thought it was good enough that she knew she ought to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the living room, her eyes adjusted. She saw the black and blue shadows of the glass-and-gold coffee table with which she would soon have to part, the pair of armchairs, the potted fiddle-leaf fig tree, seven feet tall. She had arranged these items in the exact configuration they had occupied in the Brooklyn apartment, but somehow it all looked different here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth reached under the sofa and pulled out the ugly pillow with the stupid name. My Brest Friend. Someone, she couldn’t remember who, had given it to her as a shower gift, swearing that it was a godsend. This turned out to be true, even though she felt like she was wearing a life preserver around her waist whenever she put it on.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe sat down, laying the baby across her padded lap. She lifted her T-shirt, unhooked her bra. He latched on and began to suck, an easy rhythm that had seemed impossible four months ago. In order to be discharged from the hospital after giving birth, she was required to attend an hour-long class about breastfeeding. The entire time, Elisabeth kept falling asleep, waking when her head slammed against the wall behind her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe held her phone aloft in one hand now, above the baby’s head, and used her thumb to navigate to Facebook. Straight to the BK Mamas page, as usual. Elisabeth scrolled until she came to the place where she’d left off before bed. The page buzzed with questions from mothers at all hours. They kept one another company there. She imagined the rows of brownstones in the old neighborhood, bathed in blackness but for the tiny screens, lit up, connecting them all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was a post from a woman looking for tips on flying cross-country with a toddler. Elisabeth read all thirteen responses with interest, even though she didn’t have a toddler or plans to fly anytime soon. Someone was asking about the flu shot. Someone else needed a unicorn birthday cake on short notice. Mimi Winchester, who had recently purchased a townhouse for three million, was selling a used boy’s coat, size 2T, for nine dollars.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth had once mocked women like this—women who graduated from prestigious universities and excelled in their chosen fields, only to be felled by the prospect of clipping a newborn’s fingernails. Now they were her survival. The only people alive who cared about the exact things she did at this moment, with as much intensity, the people with all the answers. They were learning an evolving language, one you spoke for a week or two before everything changed again. What else to do with that accrued knowledge but share it. Someone with a child six weeks older than hers was a prophet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe switched sides after ten minutes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA new post popped up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eSlightly off topic, but . . . last month, as usual, my husband was a no-show on a visit to my parents in Minneapolis. While I was there, I ran into my college boyfriend, recently divorced. Now we’re texting at all hours. Is this an emotional affair? Am I supposed to stop? Because dammit, it’s FUN, and I think I deserve some fun.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn her profile picture, the woman was blonde and smiling and toned, a tall guy’s arms wrapped around her. They stood on a white sand beach, palm trees in the distance. Their honeymoon, maybe. Half the women still used their wedding photos, including, Elisabeth had noticed, the ones who complained most about their useless husbands.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe secrets they divulged to one another amazed her. The group was marked Private, but that only meant that you had to ask to join. There were 4,237 members, and in theory at least, most of them lived within twenty blocks of one another. Yet it felt like a safe space. At once intimate and anonymous.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe same fifteen women commented on everything, each with her own predictable slant on the issue of the day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen someone asked about whether to have a third kid, the self-righteous environmentalist said that she had not done so because of fears about global warming and her family’s carbon footprint; someone posted an easy chicken recipe, and the Environmentalist wrote a manifesto in the comments section about why she was raising her kids vegan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMimi Winchester managed to complain about her brownstone (she’d kill for open concept), her cleaning lady (she wouldn’t do windows), and even, somehow, her Hamptons house (\u003ci\u003etraffic!\u003c\/i\u003e).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe nanny tattlers loved to report on sitters they saw feeding a child junk food or talking on the phone to a degree they deemed excessive. There were also those who stood up for any nanny’s behavior, no matter how terrible.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth’s best friend, Nomi, said her greatest source of irritation was the friends who didn’t come to them with problems but instead posted them to the BK Mamas page. Last spring, their college friend Tanya, who also lived in the neighborhood, spent an entire dinner making small talk, only to post to BK Mamas two days later that she was on the hunt for a divorce attorney.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m not acknowledging it unless she tells me directly,” Nomi said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I think she assumes you’ll see it on Facebook and then ask her about it,” Elisabeth said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Well, I won’t.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth, like most people, was a lurker, rarely commenting, never posting, despite the time she spent reading the page each day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWithin five minutes, twelve women said that what the smiling blonde was up to with her college boyfriend was nothing but a harmless flirtation. Ten others said to cut it off immediately.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis sort of question appeared once a month or so, standing out among so many queries about potty training and playgroups. Someone would confess a husband’s alcoholism or infidelity, or a disturbing desire to run away, and everyone else would reply in a rush, energized by being in possession of a secret.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey were the posts Elisabeth told Andrew about the next morning, even though she knew he didn’t care. Half the pleasure of the group was talking about it with someone in real life. She missed Wednesdays in Brooklyn, when Nomi worked from home and would meet her at the crepe place on Court Street for lunch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe kept revisiting their last lunch in her mind. How they sat and talked, both unwilling to end the conversation, until the kid behind the counter said it was closing time. Then they lingered on the sidewalk in the sticky August heat, as they had done in the parking lot on the day they left college.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNomi once swore she’d never live in Brooklyn. The first time she came out from Manhattan for brunch, just before she climbed into a taxi, she swept her hand across Elisabeth’s forehead like Barbra Streisand in \u003ci\u003eThe Way We Were\u003c\/i\u003e and said, “Your borough is lovely, Hubbell.” But it was another two years before she and Brian moved. They bought a three-bedroom in a new high-rise with an elevator and a swimming pool. Elisabeth had only ever lived in dusty walk-ups, with crown moldings and creaky wooden floors. Places that were listed as having \u003ci\u003echaracter\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003echarm\u003c\/i\u003e, if not central air or laundry in the building.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe attributed the longevity of their friendship at least in part to the fact that she and Nomi had opposite tastes in men and real estate. It was impossible for either of them to be jealous of the other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Am I making a huge mistake?” Elisabeth said as they parted, locked in a hug, the baby asleep in the stroller at her side.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes,” Nomi said. “You are.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That is not a supportive answer.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m still mad at you for leaving.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I always said I was going to.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But you’d been saying it for so long, I stopped believing you at some point.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth had been so lucky to have the friend who knew her best right nearby, all that time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe supposed this was another reason why she clung to a neighborhood Facebook group—it made her forget that she lived 250 miles away now, in a town where she had no friends.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eI’m your friend\u003c\/i\u003e, Andrew said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHusbands don’t count\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe hadn’t made friends either, but he at least had coworkers and the odd amusing story to tell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMost days, Elisabeth took Gil for a walk after lunch and passed a playground where mothers stood in a cluster, gossiping, laughing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eJesus, you’re not the new kid at middle school\u003c\/i\u003e, she chided herself. \u003ci\u003eGo over and say hello\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey were grown women. They had to be nice, at least to her face. But she couldn’t do it. Some mix of self-consciousness and fatigue stopped her. That, and the fear that she wouldn’t like them anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEven as she talked herself out of wanting to know them, she hoped they might notice her and wave her over, but they never did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe baby drank himself drunk and closed his eyes, his head an anchor seeking the bottom. Elisabeth carried him upstairs and lowered him gently, deliberately, into the bassinet, as if he was a bomb that might detonate if handled improperly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the hours before he woke again, she lay in bed unable to sleep. She knew she should find a way, that the day would be hectic. An interview with a potential babysitter, emails to answer, those stretches of time with an infant that got eaten up by she couldn’t say what. But she kept looking at the phone, eager to see how the BK Mamas were weighing in on the blonde woman’s emotional affair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eViolet, her therapist, would say that Elisabeth was trying to distract herself—from the secret she was keeping from her husband, from her father-in-law’s recent struggles, and from her relationship with her own parents, which had always been a mess, but had become more painful of late.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth had gone to see Violet in the first place with no intention of returning week after week. She wanted someone to tell her she was clinically depressed, or anxious, or else that her worries, her spinning thoughts, could be explained by a protein deficiency. She wanted a clear diagnosis and a simple treatment she could buy at a pharmacy or a health-food store and feel working immediately.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThat is so not how therapy works\u003c\/i\u003e, Nomi said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Postpartum depression is real,” Violet said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I know it is, but no,” Elisabeth said. “I’ve always been like this.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was only addressing it now because of Gil. She had an urge to fix herself before he became aware of all the ways in which she was broken.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eViolet said to remember that thoughts are vapor. She said to read Eckhart Tolle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Elisabeth googled Violet, she came across an essay she’d written years earlier for an anthology about mothers and daughters, so she knew that Violet had no children, that her mother had died, that her dear old father was lost to Alzheimer’s.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSometimes, when she complained about her family during a session, Elisabeth wondered if Violet was suppressing an urge to scream, \u003ci\u003eMy perfect mother dies, my dad doesn’t know who I am, while your shitty parents go on and on. How is this fair?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eViolet yawned a lot, which hurt Elisabeth’s feelings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer eyes opened. She woke up. This was how Elisabeth could be certain she had slept. For ten minutes? An hour? Impossible to say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was five o’clock in the morning. In a moment, the baby would wake. She wondered how long their bodies would remain in sync like this, hers anticipating what his was about to do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe checked BK Mamas on her phone while she waited.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA woman named Heather had posted around four, asking if, after two glasses of wine, it was necessary to pump and dump. The replies came swift, a resounding chorus of nos. Heather thanked them, then admitted that she was feeling guilty. About not getting enough vitamins, about having an Oreo when she had sworn to eat organic for the baby’s sake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGuilt was their common bond.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eStop overthinking it\u003c\/i\u003e, someone wrote. \u003ci\u003eMultivariate regression analysis on the impact of that Oreo is a dangerous path.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eElisabeth considered this, amused.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe baby cried. 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