Page 28 of The Awful Truth

“Did you really?” Travis asked, wrinkling up his nose.

Miguel’s ears burned with anger and his heart pounded. “Yes, I believe I did.”

“Hmm. Well, you failed. Your next move should be to go tell that man of yours the truth.”

MERCY BISHOP

Mercy told her husband she was going to change into her swimsuit, then she hurried to their suite and locked the door. She would have to be fast so he wouldn’t know she was calling home. Checking in on their children was an affront to him. When they went away together, he wanted all her attention. But Travis didn’t understand a mother’s love. Or even that of most dads these days. Especially not when it came to their eight-year-old daughter, Grace, a highly-anxious child who overreacted to even the slightest change of routine. Mercy was almost certain Grace was on the spectrum, but when she broached the subject of psychological testing with Travis, he shut it down fast and hard.

Grace was the reason they were delayed by a day. When she saw Mercy packing, she had an epic meltdown, trashing her bedroom completely, followed by an hour of long, jagged sobs while Mercy held her tightly in her arms. By the time Mercy had gotten her settled in front of an episode of Summer Camp Island, the nanny had already packed her bags, leaving a note on the kitchen counter: I quit, effective immediately. Sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. Certainly not alone while you’re off yachting on the other side of the planet.

It wasn’t a surprise. After all, they went through nannies like most people went through paper towels. It was, however, exhausting. She was forever trying to hold it all together—a husband who saw his child as a burden; a child who could barely function in the real world and needed so much of Mercy every single day; her other two children, who were starting to resent how much of her energy went to their sister; the expectations of her in-laws, who demanded perfection from them all. And Travis would never have agreed to go on the trip alone, leaving her to stay home to care for their family. The optics of it would be terrible—especially with The Marriage Whisperers themselves on board. For him, this trip was a chance to show them who the best couple really was.

After the nanny abandoned them, Mercy had called her sister, Faith, her voice wobbly as she hid in her walk-in closet and relayed the details. Faith agreed to come stay, but needed a day to reschedule her physiotherapy patients and get there from her home in Austin. When Travis returned from the golf course expecting to leave for the airport, she gave him the bad news, glossing over the truth about why the nanny quit, then placating him with a quickie up against the bathroom counter, the entire time going over her to-do list in her head.

Faith answered the phone on the third ring. “Relax. I’m up. I’ve got your massive tome of a schedule here in my hand.”

“Did she sleep last night?”

“Eventually. I finally brought her to the guest room to sleep with me around midnight.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Mercy. You need to stop apologizing.”

Guilt stabbed at her chest. She certainly had things to apologize for. Not that she ever could. Maybe she had brought this on her daughter. “Yeah, well…” She let out a quick sigh, then went on. “Okay, in exactly five minutes, you’ll have to go into Rhett’s room and literally take the blankets off his bed or he won’t get up. He’ll fuss, but don’t worry about it.”

“I read the instructions. I’ve got it.”

“Just open the curtains, turn the light on, and leave. He’ll be over it by the time he comes down for breakfast.”

“Mercy, seriously. We’ll be fine. Just try to relax and enjoy yourself, okay? You need a break.”

She did. She was desperate for a break. But not here with these people and certainly not with her husband. What she really needed was a week in Fiji in one of those over-the-water bungalows. Alone. Completely and utterly alone so she could read books while listening to the gentle lapping of the water against the pillars and sleep whenever she felt like it, and not have to think about the needs of another living thing (person or pet) for a delicious seven days. Mercy needed a break so badly, she sometimes fantasized about being checked into a mental hospital. Not one of the scary ones where people were shouting in the halls all day and night, or they gave lobotomies. A nice, tranquil place surrounded by beautiful gardens. She would choose a tall willow tree and go sit under it for hours, just being. Not that she’d ever tell anyone she fantasized about being in an asylum, of course.

Compared to most women, she had it good. She never had to worry about money or where their next meal was coming from, unlike her own poor mother. In many ways, it was an extraordinary life. “It’s Delilah’s show and share day so she needs to have something to show the kids and a snack to share. Louisa is making cupcakes but please remind her to label them as free of nuts, dairy, gluten, and artificial dyes because last time she forgot and three of the kids couldn’t eat them and one of their shitty moms sent me a shitty text about it. Delilah will want to bring in her Magic Mixies Cauldron but tell her I said no because some of the kids might be allergic to the mist it creates.” She lowered her voice a little more. “The real reason is because McKinley’s mom is a pious bitch who will shit-talk our family because we’re letting the girls practice witchcraft.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, witchcraft? I bought her that.”

She put the phone on speaker mode and grabbed a bikini out of the drawer. “Ridiculous, I know, but you’ve got to play the game with these awful people or the kids are the ones who suffer. Suggest bringing her Squishmallow cow, Mr. Moos, instead. She loves him.”

“Aww, I bought her that too.”

“That’s because you’re the fun auntie,” she said, pulling off her panties to change into her bottoms.

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you have any questions about the rest of the day? Because I’m not sure when I’ll be able to talk again.” She tugged her dress off over her head and tossed it on the bed, then undid her bra. If Travis came in search of her and she was already changed, she wouldn’t have to account for her time.

“I just wanted to clarify one thing. It says here pick-up is at 3:05 p.m., but I have to be there by 2:40?”

“Yes, or you won’t get a spot. I just bring a book or make sure my phone is charged up. Oh, also park in the upper lot or you’ll never get out of there in time for the kids to poop before their activities.”

“Dear lord, Mercy. Do you think the kids might be overscheduled if they don’t even have time for a nice poop?”

“This is how it’s done these days. The goal is to have well-rounded children.”

“What about just letting them be kids?”