Free The Best Laid Plans by Lynn Schnurnberger Page A

high,” Bill says evenly. “Sometimes parents just need to let off some steam.” Then Bill guides Peter toward the den. Several moments later he comes back to say that Peter wants us all to know that he’s sorry to have made a scene and he just needs a little time to decompress.
    Sienna comes over to stand next to Bill. She squeezes his arm. “Thank you. That was very nice.”
    I tilt my head to the ceiling, trying in vain to fight back a round of tears. Dr. Barasch reaches out awkwardly to try to comfort me and even Naomi—tactless, thoughtless, unfiltered Naomi, who in the forty-four years I’ve known her has never had an unexpressed thought—knows not to say a word to me about Peter. Although that doesn’t stop her from stumbling like a bull in a china shop into other territory.
    She leans in toward me and traces her finger along my nasolabial laugh lines. The one that Dr. B. filled with Evolence—and the one that he didn’t. “Tru, why is the right side of your face so much smoother than the left? Look, Gordon.” She laughs merrily. “Tru’s a walking before and after!”
    “Yeah, Mom,” asks Paige, moving in for a closer look. “Naomi’s right, you look all lopsided. And what are those pinpricks on your cheek?”
    “War wounds,” I say, wrapping my arms around a pillow and giving it a little hug. Suddenly, life seems like a constant battle.

Six

Let’s Get Fiscal
    I HAVEN ’ T HAD A drop of alcohol since the sip of piña colada Naomi gave me when I was fifteen that sent me racing to the hospital with hives. Still it’s five A.M. and I feel the way I’ve read a hangover feels. My mouth is dry and my skull feels like it’s the size of Mr. Potato Head’s. My palms and my feet itch, too, which can only mean one of two things. Either I’m coming into some money—or I’m leaving my husband. Although neither seems like a real possibility.
    Naomi and Dr. Barasch left after it was evident that Peter had holed up for the night in the den and wasn’t coming back for a rematch. Sienna and Bill stayed around to talk for a while, but at a certain point I just wanted to be alone—there’s only so much you can chew over a husband’s bad behavior before you feel like throwing up. Besides, I couldn’t help noticing there was a frisson between the sweet, slightly disheveled lawyer and my gorgeous, sophisticated best friend. Good for them, I hope they enjoyed a nice evening together, although never in a million years would I have thought to set them up—Sienna’s awoman of the world, while Bill looks and acts like the boy just out of college that he practically is. Still, there’s no accounting for chemistry. Or understanding it, either, apparently. I’m trying to talk myself into getting up and out of bed when Paige appears before me holding a textbook.
    “What are you doing up at this hour of the morning?” I ask, heading toward the guest bathroom to brush my teeth.
    “Test,” Paige says succinctly.
    “Now?”
    “You’re always saying I should come to you to study.”
    You’d think after being a mother for fourteen years I’d have learned that kids are like vampires—they strike under the cover of darkness. When was the last time a baby got a raging fever during the doctor’s regular office hours? I don’t have to ask, I know by the look on Paige’s face that the test is today—and she probably doesn’t know a proton from a pretzel. “Paige Newman,” I begin, between gritted teeth.
    “I know, Mom, I know. You think I
like
asking? Swear, just this once? I’ll never ask you again.”
    “Oh yes you will.” I splash some water on my face, and slip into a pair of jeans and sneakers. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
    Luckily for me Paige doesn’t have to understand Stephen Hawking—because honestly not even Stephen Hawking understands Stephen Hawking—she just has to memorize symbols, and she’s already got most of them down pat. “ ‘Ca’ for calcium, ‘Zn’ for zinc,”