Page 26 of Mean Moms

Belle and Frost approached, Belle with a grin so big Sofia thought her face might crack in half.

“Ava! I am thrilled you could make it!” said Belle, as if greeting a long-lost relative instead of someone she saw nearly every day.

Belle looked Ava up and down, her face freezing in disappointment when she realized that Ava had all but hidden her Dress under her blazer. Sofia ached for her.

“It all looks fab,” said Ava. “So smart of you to ask guests to participate—we’re like unpaid models!” She laughed, but Belle didn’t. Ava fingered her Dress, as if touching a particularly pungent piece of cheese.

“Thanks for wearing it,” said Belle. “It does feel like everything is coming together. The site goes live tomorrow, and I hope that this moment will solidify some orders.”

At that, Ava took her phone out of her bag and starting snapping pictures. Belle’s eyes lit up. Jeff walked over and put his arm around her.

“It’s a triumph, babe,” he said.

“Can you hold this for a second?” asked Ava, handing her phone to Sofia as she aggressively scratched one of her legs.

At the same time, Sofia noticed that she, too, was feeling a little…

itchy. She went from foot to foot, wiggling a little to try to relieve the feeling.

She rubbed her leg. Then rubbed it again.

She saw that Morgan was peeking underneath her shirt, and that Frost was inspecting her arms. Belle was facing away from them, watching the twenty or so women milling about.

Everyone who’d agreed to put on The Dress seemed twitchy.

Touching themselves as if swatting away a mosquito.

Sofia looked under her Dress to see that her skin was beginning to bloom in pink. Frost flicked Sofia, gesturing to herself silently, pulling The Dress up her arm enough for Sofia to see that she, too, was breaking out in an angry rash.

“Guys, I have to go,” said Ava, continuing to scratch herself. “I’m having some kind of allergy—sometimes I get a mild reaction to shellfish. Belle, there’s no shrimp nearby, right?”

“Definitely not!” Belle said. “Ava, I’d so love it if you could wear The Dress for the rest of the night,” continued Belle, her voice cracking in desperation.

“I know you have some other events to go to, and it would be so wonderful if you were photographed out in Pippins Cottage Home!” There was a beat of silence as Ava decided how to respond.

Sofia stared at the ground; the awkwardness was overwhelming.

“Aw, Belle, I’m sorry, but I have to say, I’m feeling a little uncomfortable in The Dress. I think the fabric doesn’t agree with me. I have supersensitive skin…”

Belle audibly swallowed.

“Sure, I totally get it,” Belle said, trying to recover. The women looked in diverging directions. Sofia wanted to disappear.

“But congrats again,” said Ava. She then hurried to the dressing room, momentarily emerging in her regular clothes, waving goodbye to the jealous group.

“Please remember to post!” Belle shouted after her.

“Belle, I’m a little itchy also,” said Frost, her fingers going up and down both arms. Morgan didn’t say a word, but Sofia could tell she too was physically uneasy, her mouth twisting in a strange way.

Belle shook her head, confused.

Jeff, who’d been on his phone, looked up, registering his wife’s concern.

“Why is everyone so quiet?” he said. Sofia felt like her legs were on fire.

“I think…” said Belle, nearly choking. “I think there might be something wrong with The Dress?” she said.

Frost held up her arm in the middle of the circle for them all to see. Scarlet bumps snaked up her skin. She grimaced.

The blonde and brunette from earlier walked over to Belle, who’d turned a ghostly white. Sofia began to fantasize about tearing The Dress off her hot, bothered body.

“Uh, Faith and I here are both having some weird skin thing? Like, it really itches,” said the blonde. “What kind of fabric did you use? Is it mohair? It doesn’t feel like mohair.”

“It’s pure cotton, a hundred percent pima, sourced from northern Italy,” said Belle.

“Hmmm,” said the brunette. “That’s strange. How are we both reacting to cotton?” Belle raised her hands, as if to say “no idea.”

“Did you two come in the same car? Maybe it was something from the Uber?” said Frost, trying to be helpful (and also trying not to scratch herself as she said it).

The blonde shook her head.

“Oh shit!” someone shrieked. They all turned to look. A willowy fashion editor type with a prominent beak nose was jumping up and down. She was in a Dress and black heels, her legs bare despite the cold outside.

“I need Benadryl!” she yelled, charging toward the door.

In an instant, everyone was making their way toward the dressing room, a herd of inflamed influencers, as Belle tried unsuccessfully to calm them all down.

“It’s all fine! It can’t be the fabric. The fabric is pristine,” she was saying repeatedly, though no one was paying attention to her.

Sofia knew that as part of the inner circle, she had to stay in her Dress until the end.

But it was excruciating, like the biting sand flies that attacked her when she’d visited her relatives in Colombia.

“I’m calling my dermatologist right now,” said someone. “I have her personal cell number.”

“I feel like I’m burning up,” moaned another, who Sofia recognized as a mom from Atherton.

“Belle, what did you make these out of?” said another.

Jeff was helping the door attendant find jackets and scarves. The guests, in such a rush to get out, left their Dresses in a discarded pile on the dressing room floor, a sad metaphor for the disastrous evening.

The friends stood there helplessly as Belle’s dream was crushed by “textile contact dermatitis,” as one wellness editor put it loudly, causing the rest of the room to google the condition.

After five frenzied minutes, only Sofia, Morgan, Frost, Belle, and Jeff remained, plus a couple of manic staffers (they’d been required to wear all black, to differentiate from the guests, and so had been spared).

Jeff was rubbing Belle’s back rhythmically, in the same way Sofia used to soothe her babies.

“I… I… I,” Belle said. “I don’t know what happened. Something must have gone wrong with the samples. I’m wearing an earlier version, and I don’t feel anything.” Jeff nodded sympathetically.

“Belle, I’m going to change now,” said Frost. Belle sniffled her assent. Sofia and Morgan followed her into the dressing room, each heading into a separate stall. Sofia nearly ripped The Dress off, changing back into her jeans with relief.

They found Belle sobbing next to the jewelry display, Jeff stress-googling “contact dermatitis” and “cotton allergy” and “fabric malfunction.”

“It’s all ruined,” cried Belle. “All my work. Everything. SOMEONE IS DOING THIS TO US. I know it.” She stared at them imploringly, but no one volunteered any information.

“Someone is trying to fuck up our lives,” Belle whispered.

“I’m not seeing a good explanation,” said Jeff, still looking at his phone.

Was he ever not looking at his phone? Sofia wondered.

“There’s no type of fabric that can cause a universal allergy.

Unless the samples were tampered with, and someone put something on them that caused itching. But… why would anyone do that?”

Belle wiped her eyes. She gave them all a meaningful look.

“It doesn’t make sense,” continued Jeff, shaking his head in confusion. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll get to the bottom of everything.” He went back to his screen.

“Belle, I’m so sorry about all this,” said Frost. Sofia could see that Frost’s arms were still lightly red, the color mirroring the highlights in her hair.

“I’m also sorry that I have to go,” she said.

“I wish I could stay and help, but I told the boys I’d be home for bedtime.

I’ve been spending a lot of time on my collages, and so I promised.

But I know this will all work out. No one will even remember it tomorrow.

” Frost gave Belle a quick peck on the cheek, then waved goodbye to them all.

“I’ll start a chain about our Friendsgiving costumes! ” she said.

“I also have to take off,” followed Morgan. “I’ll call you in the morning. You are a fighter. You’re resilient . You’re strong. You can survive anything. And we are here for you.” Belle nodded solemnly.

Sofia glanced out the window to see a young homeless woman, possibly strung out, walking past the store.

She pressed her face against the glass, squashing her nose, then locked eyes with Sofia, who couldn’t bring herself to look away.

Then she gave Sofia the middle finger and scurried off.

No one else in the group saw. Sofia winced.

“My gorgeous friend, I also must leave,” said Sofia.

“Let me know if I can help in any way,” Morgan had just exited, and Sofia rushed after her, making sure to stay far enough away so that Morgan didn’t notice that Sofia was on her tail.

Sofia followed as Morgan walked down Hudson Street and turned onto Leonard.

One World Trade loomed ominously in the distance.

Morgan kept going, walking so fast that Sofia had to jog to keep up with her.

Sofia thought about money as she followed. Everyone in New York was always thinking about money. How they’d get more of it. What they’d spend it on. Money equaled freedom from JP. Money meant Sofia would get to keep her kids. And she’d do anything for that.

Morgan eventually slowed, entering the park in front of the imposing white building of City Hall, Sofia staying a healthy distance behind.

It was getting dark, and Sofia was cold in her Orolay coat, which she’d recently bought on Amazon (though it was hideous, it was affordable, and the moms all had one for some unknowable reason).

The park was relatively empty at this hour, and so Sofia was carefully striding from tree to tree, hiding behind trunks to avoid being seen.

Morgan passed a statue of an old guy in a chair— HORACE GREELEY , the plaque read—and continued to the south side of the wooded area, finally stopping in front of a large fountain, its water off, a tall, cross-like structure rising in its center.

The only other person in view was a woman sitting on a bench off to the side.

She was piled in jackets, maybe five in total, and was scattering crumbs on the ground, attracting a sizable crowd of pigeons, the birds fighting each other for scraps.

Sofia wasn’t exactly sure why she’d followed Morgan here. What did she suspect she’d be doing? But her gut had told her to go, so she had. Sofia shivered yet again, unable to shake the chill.

Maybe Morgan just wanted some alone time.

Maybe she’d found out Art was cheating on her, and she was upset.

Maybe she was worried about Gertrude. Sofia was starting to feel like a weirdo standing there, watching Morgan do…

nothing. What was this stalking thing all about, anyway?

Trailing her friends around the city like she was a private eye! Estúpido.

That’s when she saw a man walking toward Morgan.

His back was to Sofia, so she couldn’t see his face.

He was in a bomber jacket, and a black baseball cap was pulled down low on his head.

As he approached the fountain, the bird-woman chucked a handful of bread onto the ground, and a swirl of pigeons swooped down, some of them flying close to the man’s head.

He ducked for cover, and as he did, turned toward Sofia, giving her a quick view of his profile.

Sofia gasped. Then she ran away, fast, pulling her scarf tightly around her neck. The wind in New York was whipping.