Page 92 of The Good Girl Effect

“Actually, yes,” I say with a sense of unease. “Camille and I are taking Bea to Disneyland next week for her birthday. I thought you might like to come.”

All the contempt in Elizabeth’s features melts into compassion. “Really?” she asks. “Andyou’regoing?”

I nod with a sigh. It stings to hear her ask that, rightfully so. “Yes, I’m going.”

She watches me, studying me as if I’m a new foreign creature. “Has this new nanny put a spell on you or something?” she asks.

Shuffling my feet and clearing my throat, I put my hands in my pockets as I lift my chin. “Maybe. Is it that bad?”

“No,” she replies. “I quite like it. Let me check my schedule,” she adds, “but I would like to go.”

Inside, I’m practically screaming. An entire day spent in close company with my sister after two years of the silent treatment. This feels like a miracle. I ran a club with her in hopesthat I could get this much, and all I had to do was offer to take her to Disneyland.

“Excellent. Beatrice will be thrilled,” I say, trying to keep my cool. “I will, uh, I’ll get you a ticket then.”

“Okay,” she replies.

With that, I walk out of her office, feeling a bit more hopeful than when I walked in.

Bea is wearing a long-sleeved auburn corduroy dress with a tweed coat and a black bow in her hair—and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. Pinned to her dress is a massive round button proclaiming that it’s her birthday. Emmaline was always so meticulous about Bea’s style, even as a baby. She must have had hundreds of dresses for her before she even turned one, far more than she could wear.

Somehow, that affinity for fashion stuck with our daughter, even after Em passed. At only five, Bea picks out her own clothes and dresses herself every day. I’m not sure she even knows this is something she inherited from her mother. Regardless, it warms the hell out of my heart.

As we walk through the park, she swings between me and Camille, gripping our hands like a small monkey. Elizabeth is staring, and I know how it looks. I glance down at my daughter, and she beams back up at me. Who am I to push her away? Especially after two years of doing it every day.

Admittedly, theme parks and Disney attractions are not quite my style. This is definitely something Em would have pushed us to do, though. I probably would have agreed to it begrudgingly.

But I have to say, something about it reminds me of my childhood. Time spent with family, even when it was just meand my mom. A time when things were simpler and gray clouds didn’t hover over even the happiest of days.

Bea seems so happy, and I’m envious of her ability to put the sadness aside to make room for the joy. For me, it feels like every ounce of my joy tastes bitter and undeserved. Why do I get these moments while Em does not? How can I smile if she’s still gone?

“Can we go on the merry-go-round?” Bea pleads while simultaneously tugging us toward the ride.

“Of course,” Camille replies, smiling down at Bea.

“Will you ride it with me?” Bea asks.

“Yes,” Camille says as she glances up at me.

I release Bea’s hand, and the two of them walk briskly over to the line, leaving Elizabeth and me alone. We hover near the outside of the ride, standing in tense silence as we watch them.

When Camille helps Bea climb onto one of the horses, they both wave to us, and I wave back with a grin. Suddenly, Elizabeth glances my way. I catch myself smiling too brightly, so I clear my throat and press my lips together.

“I like her,” Elizabeth says flatly as she glances back at them when the carousel slowly starts to spin.

“She’s good for Bea,” I reply without emotion.

Elizabeth nods. “I think she’s good for everyone.”

Should I feel bad for hiding the fact that Camille and I are also fucking like animals every night after she puts my daughter to bed? It’s just sex. It doesn’t get in the way of her job at all.

So it’s no one’s business.

Of course, I’m also harboring the fact that I do really like this woman. I love the way she challenges me and isn’t afraid to stand up to me when I need someone to argue with. I like that she puts my daughter first in every scenario. I even love those little fucking drawings I find all over my house.

I like the way it feels to stare into her deep blue eyes and know that I can be at ease with her. And the way I can speak to her without the weight of judgment or condemnation.

Sex doesn’t complicate things. These feelings are what complicate things.