Happy and You Know It by Laura Hankin

Happy and You Know It by Laura Hankin

Author:Laura Hankin [Hankin, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-05-19T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 16

A bag of fresh fruit—that was the first thing Claire noticed when she climbed into the twelve-passenger van that Sycamore House had sent to shuttle the women upstate. “Help yourselves,” said the driver after he finished putting their luggage in the trunk, carefully laying Claire’s black backpack atop a pile of designer suitcases. Claire reached her hand into the paper bag and pulled out a pear, ripe and unblemished.

As they drove up into the Hudson Valley, Whitney made conversation with the driver from the passenger seat. Ellie and Meredith prattled away to each other in the back while, next to them, Gwen listened to an audiobook of a Jhumpa Lahiri novel. Vicki stared longingly out the window as the bustle of the city faded into treetops, as if trying to commune with her baby despite the miles between them. Claire’s leg jostled against Amara’s, and they smiled at each other.

The past week, Claire had gone over to Amara’s apartment after both playgroup sessions, staying and talking until the sky outside started to darken. They didn’t mention their extra time together to the rest of the moms, so it had an exciting, illicit frisson, even though all they were doing was playing with Charlie and chopping vegetables for dinner. Amara had regaled Claire with tales of her late-night days, about which celebrities were secretly total pricks and which ones had been far too insistent that she do coke with them. Claire had made Amara laugh with stories of her various dating misadventures. But also, Claire had watched Amara tear up with relief as Charlie pulled himself to standing all over the living room. And Amara had wordlessly poured Claire a large glass of wine when Claire had come back in from the hallway, where she’d gone to endure one of her mother’s infrequent passive-aggressive phone check-ins. After ten minutes of questions about why Claire needed to stay in New York if she wasn’t in “that band” anymore, a glass of wine and a silent look of understanding from Amara had been exactly what Claire had needed.

Now, as they sat next to each other in the van, Amara rooted around in her handbag. “Hangman?” she asked, pulling out a pencil and a pad of paper.

“Yes, please,” Claire said.

An hour and a half later, the driver stopped at a guard booth. “Whitney Morgan, party of 7,” he said to the man inside, who checked a list and then waved them through, down a driveway lined with sycamore trees (very on brand, Claire thought). Ahead of them, a mansion came into view—regal, made of gray stone, like something out of The Great Gatsby, except for the modernized wings flanking either side of it. In spite of herself, a giddy anticipation overtook Claire, and she grinned at Amara. How weird and wonderful, to be there, with those women. It was like she’d pulled off a long con.

They walked into the wood-paneled lobby to check in. The woman behind the desk, an efficient ball of



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