Page 7 of Mean Moms

“You can be friends with us,” said Frost, remembering that they’d already promised to take Sofia to drinks.

Frost linked her arm with Sofia’s. “You’ve already proved you’re good in an emergency!

” They’d arrived at the school, surrounded by mini groups of moms and nannies, chatting, looking at their phones, waiting for their charges to exit.

As Frost and Sofia approached the lower school entrance, heads turned to watch them go, a new alliance formed.

Frost caught sight of Morgan and Belle and Jeff.

Belle, in her usual minidress, this one covered in great big sunflowers, saw them and waved.

Belle was set to launch a capsule clothing line called Pippins Cottage Home this winter, something she’d been talking about doing since Frost had met her.

Frost knew this was Belle’s “passion,” but as a true fashion person, someone who still occasionally got invited to sit front row, it was hard for Frost to ignore: Belle’s sense of style was the pits.

She dressed the way little girls did in the 1980s, with the frills and the bows and the Laura Ashley of it all.

It was all so infantilizing and, frankly, weird.

And that hair… Belle would look so much chicer with a bob, in Frost’s opinion.

Funnily enough, it was Hildy, in her carefully curated hoodies, who had the sartorial spark Belle lacked.

“Belle, I see you’ve brought your bodyguard,” said Frost, motioning to Jeff, who didn’t look up from his phone to hear the joke.

The incident with the homeless man had spread through downtown society like wildfire, scaring the bejeezus out of everyone with an Amex Black Card.

The police were still looking for him; Frost wasn’t sure what was taking so long, though she supposed in a city riddled with crime, this wasn’t exactly a top priority.

Parents had taken the issue into their own hands, forming committees, including one called Atherton Parents Against Persons Experiencing Homelessness.

Dr. Broker and the board had added extra security out front, nearly barricading the entire block, reminding Frost of that time just after 9/11, when city schools and temples and churches had armed guards stationed at the doors.

“Hi, hi!” said Morgan, pulling Frost in for a kiss on the cheek, her perfume washing over them.

Morgan’s unending energy was both her best and most grating trait.

She was in another of her many workout outfits, this time a cropped mock neck, her toned abs exposed.

Frost couldn’t imagine how Art could want Frost after wanting…

that. They were so different. But people changed, she supposed.

Frost knew it was marginally insane that she was able to maintain a close friendship with the woman whose husband she was sleeping with.

But Frost had the ability to be two people at once. Most women did, she thought.

“And so nice to see you, Sofia,” continued Morgan, kissing her, too, which Sofia seemed grateful for.

“Sofia and I ran into each other on the street on the way here,” said Frost, squeezing Sofia’s arm. “I told her we’d be her friends.” Sofia laughed, a sparkly lilt.

“Of course we will!” said Belle gamely. “I am in debt to you forever, Sofia. That man might have killed me if you hadn’t stepped in.”

Sofia shook her head, pleased by the attention.

“Belle, Jeff, what are you guys even doing here? Since when do you pick up the kids?” asked Frost.

“Hildy has an orthodontist appointment after school, to tighten those horrible train tracks of hers,” said Belle with a shudder.

“Dr. Ta? At Tribeca North?” said Morgan.

“You were the one who told me to go to her. Ask Morgan! Duh,” said Belle.

Morgan smiled sheepishly. “And Jeff and I just had a meeting with a marketing firm about Pippins Cottage Home, so he decided to tag along.” Jeff finally looked up from his phone at the mention of his name, clocking Sofia for the first time, his eyes bulging out of his head appreciatively.

He was in the typical uniform of the Tribeca dad: a beard, a backward baseball cap, and limited edition Air Force 1’s.

Jeff was the kind of guy who constantly talked about their place “out East,” and the best butcher for dry-aged meat, and cited stats from his Oura ring, like his resting heart rate and his “readiness” for the day.

He loved to say “we’ll bake it into the model” when referring to the high cost of life in New York City.

Sleepaway camp? “We’ll bake it into the model.

” Private lacrosse lessons for Miles? “We’ll bake it into the model.

” A bat mitzvah for Hildy at the Rainbow Room?

“We’ll bake it into the model.” (Good thing for Jeff that “the model” was funded by Belle’s dad.) Jeff turned back to his phone and the women turned to each other.

“I have something to tell you all,” said Morgan.

“And it’s a life decision that you might be surprised by.

” Morgan’s voice had a strange timbre, and Frost’s breath went shallow.

Was it something to do with Morgan’s marriage?

Could she have somehow found out about Frost and Art?

Frost swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

Frost wasn’t in love with Art, but she loved that he made her feel young and wanted.

Yes, Frost was still beautiful, and men still turned their heads when she entered a room.

But, at forty-two, she could sense her inevitable, middle-aged invisibility stalking her like a drunk guy at a club.

Frost hated the idea that she might have peaked too early in life.

She didn’t want to be a has-been, a “former” anything.

At least Art looked at her like she was someone . Tim certainly didn’t anymore.

“I’m going to open a sound bath spa!” Morgan announced, to Frost’s relief. “I’m calling it Thyme & Time.” A sound bath spa was better than a divorce, even if Frost had no idea what Morgan was talking about.

“What?” said Belle. “Why?” She sounded offended.

“What do you mean, ‘Why’?” said Morgan. Belle, caught, shifted her scowl into a supportive smile.

“Sorry, I’m just confused,” said Belle. “You’ve never said anything about wanting to open a spa. When did you decide to do that? Why not just go back to being a nutritionist?” Frost glanced at Sofia, who was quietly listening to the exchange.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while,” said Morgan.

“I had a sound bath when we went to LA last year—they’re all the rage there—and noticed there was a hole in the downtown market here.

So I thought: I should be the one to open one!

Gertrude’s getting older, and you know I like to have new goals. ” Belle raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Forgive me,” interrupted Sofia. “And I’m probably just stupid. But what’s a sound bath?”

“A sound bath is a meditative experience,” said Morgan. “You enter a small room, either alone or with others, and you’re bathed in sounds. It’s very cleansing, and you emerge feeling refreshed and energized.”

“I see,” said Sofia. “So, like, classical music, or wind chimes, or something?”

Morgan clarified that the sounds could range from things like gongs to crystal singing bowls to tuning forks to screaming human voices.

“Screaming human voices? Sounds relaxing,” Frost heard Jeff mutter, still not looking up from his phone. Frost stifled a laugh.

“So what neighborhoods are you looking at? And what’s the overhead?

” Belle asked, probing. Before she’d had children, Belle had worked briefly at Deutsche Bank, and she never let any of them forget it.

Belle had been talking about launching her own company forever, so Frost had to imagine that if Morgan, who’d never expressed interest in such things, got there first, it would certainly sting.

“We already found a small space in Tribeca, next to the Jacadi on Reade Street. We’re opening in a few weeks!”

Belle’s face fell. She looked off to the side, and Frost could tell she was fuming.

“Congrats!” said Sofia.

The children had started to file out of the school, down the staircase, comprised of eight large stone steps. Up top stood Dr. Broker, chatting with the kids as they left.

“Ms. Perez!” Dr. Broker called down, motioning to Sofia to come join him.

Sofia, somewhat alarmed to have been singled out, raised her eyebrows at the women and then trudged up the stairs, stepping around children to get to Dr. Broker, who gave her a vigorous handshake and then said something into her ear.

Sofia grimaced. Right then, Gabby Mahler and Ava Leo walked up, their eyes on Sofia.

“I wonder what they’re talking about,” said Gabby, tipping down her black framed glasses, as if that would let her see the situation better instead of blurrier.

“Maybe he’s saying that she’s the hottest woman he’s ever seen, and he has to have her right now, or he’ll die,” said Ava with a wicked smile.

“I don’t think there have ever been boobs like that on an Atherton mom,” said Gabby, joining her friend in the fun-making. “He’s got to be salivating. Hell, I’m salivating.” She and Ava tittered.

“And look at her shoes,” said Ava with a sneer. “It’s like Louboutin-meets-lady-of-the-night.”

“Guys, stop being bitches,” said Frost sharply. “She’s nice and lonely and we’re going to befriend her,” she continued, feeling protective for some reason. Gabby put up her hands, as if to say “you do you.”

“Right, right, she’s your hero , I forgot,” said Ava with a smirk. Sofia looked pained as she and Dr. Broker spoke. He gave her a final handshake and sent her on her way.

Students were streaming out of the building, skipping across the steps, glancing left and right in search of their grown-ups.

Sofia gingerly made her way down, searching fruitlessly for a banister.

She got caught in the mix of yelling, teasing youth, her tall, impossibly pointy high heels causing her to walk like an elderly woman afraid of rebreaking her hip.

Even Jeff was torn away from his phone, rapt.

Dr. Broker, witnessing the impending calamity, bounded down to try to help her, reaching for Sofia’s hand.

But instead of helping, he somehow sent her flying forward, her heel catching on a stone edge.

She careened into a group of young girls, sending them right into a growing line of little ones, who all began to fall, slowly then fast fast fast, an entire school tumbling onto the pavement.

Cries of agony could be heard as the students hit the hard ground.

“My knee!” “Mommy, my arm!” “Ow!” and so on, until what felt like the whole block was filled with whimpering children.

Frost couldn’t believe what she was witnessing, as child after child went down, like a gory scene out of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.

Then out of the pile rose Sofia, a phoenix in a sexy pink skirt, her hair a little mussed but otherwise looking pretty damn incredible.

She took in the chaos, swiveling her head this way and that, her chest heaving.

Frost had the impulse to comfort her, before realizing that no, Sofia wasn’t crying.

She was laughing. A great, loud, attractive laugh.

“I told you she was my hero,” said Frost, in awe. They all shook their heads in disbelief at the alien among them.