Page 12 of Made for You

The thing tearing at my chest must be grief. I bow over the floor and imagine myself losing it. Crying. Screaming. Cursing. I can’t protect myself, Josh. They’re cornering me and my claws are useless, I can’t fight back—

“Stop,” I whisper to myself. My breathing is too quick. I’m nearly hyperventilating. This won’t do at all—not now, when so much is at stake—

The ticking isn’t real. The voice in the nursery wasn’t real. A fox screamed, or another animal, not the ghosts of Royce Sullivan’s dismembered victims—not the girls who found themselves alone, helpless before the axe, here on this very land I stand on—

“Ba,” says Annaleigh, her brow furrowed with deep concern, like she can sense I’m about to come undone.

Fuck. I can’t lose it. I’m all Annaleigh has.

Abandoning the rag, I lift my baby up, ignoring the retreating edge of my panic, ignoring the tick-tick-tick that still sounds so real, so close, like Josh is standing right behind me. She coos softly and gives her eyes a double-fisted rub.

“You’re ready for a nap, aren’t you?” I kiss Annaleigh’s warm forehead and head upstairs. There’s nothing like a baby’s very practical needs to bring you back to earth. I’m feeling more normal already as we nurse in the glider. One step at a time, I remind myself.

I can’t find her favorite blanket when she finishes, the blue one with the embroidered suns and clouds, but I quickly locate her second favorite. She raises it to her face with a sigh. Then I settle her into her crib and pull out my phone to text our babysitter, Eden.

I need to run out for the afternoon. Any chance you’re free?

God love her, Eden’s response dings before the phone has even left my hand.

Sure. B over soon.

Finally, I go to the window to draw the curtains closed.

Ah. Bob. Watching me through binoculars from one of his usual spots on the second floor. For a minute, I stand there, looking straight back at him. I thought we had turned a new leaf Sunday, when he came by. That the spying would stop. Apparently not.

I raise a hand. Hello, creep. Do you see me, seeing you? Do you care?

He doesn’t move. We stare at each other for a while longer. Then I yank the curtains closed and turn the sound machine to the Rain setting. It sounds like a hundred layered whispers. That’s how I heard the male voice. It has to be.

Not Josh. Not an intruder. Not a ghost.

Just a digital blip in the white noise.

THEN

The mansion is all recessed lighting and cameras and wine. So much wine. The first glass is pressed into my hands the second I cross the threshold, and I find myself sipping immediately, like a reflex.

But getting drunk is dangerous tonight. I need all my faculties. I set the glass down on the marble counter of the gorgeous kitchen where a few girls are perched on barstools. One is draped over the island, maybe already drunk. Texas is nowhere in sight.

“Isn’t this house incredible?” says right-hand brunette, sidling up to me. “I’m Emma, by the way. And you’re Julia?”

I nod, feeling cautious despite her warm approach. Once bitten, twice shy.

“How’d your meeting with Josh go?” she says, smoothing her hair over her shoulder.

There’s a cameraman just feet away from us. Resisting the urge to look at him is like trying to ignore a buzzing insect.

“I think okay,” I demur, locking my attention onto my new acquaintance. “It’s hard to tell. There’s also something personal I have to tell him soon. It might be a deal-breaker.”

Emma nods. “I have something, too. I’m a mom. My little girl just turned three. I’m so nervous to tell him.”

“You’re a mom?” pipes up Drunk Girl, raising her head slightly. “Oh my God, that’s so sweet.” Her head slumps back down on her arms.

Emma lowers her voice. “Do you get the feeling that tonight is going to be, like, balls-to-the-walls crazy?”

“It already is,” I say, resisting the urge to look at the nearby cameraman, resisting the urge to take one more sip of the wine, even though it would be nice to release some of the tension that feels like it’s squeezing all my organs. Huh. In my first hours of life, I’ve had to resist a lot of urges already.

“Ladies, please gather around!” The show’s host, Matt Driver, is clinking a fork against his wineglass. He’s a surprisingly short man with wide shoulders, straight teeth, and a perma-twinkle in his eye. A rose is tucked into the breast pocket of his impeccable black tux.