Confession time. I'm not going on the annual girls' weekend with Alex and Rainey. But how do you tell your best friends you're breaking a ten-year tradition because you don't trust your husband enough to leave him alone for two nights?
It's embarrassing. Humiliating.
Rainey would hate Corbin if she thought he was having an affair. And Alex — she'd kill him. Then they'd both rally around me, like a prizefighter's coaches who were training for the kill.
I'm not ready to deal with it. Saying it out loud makes it so…real.
I can hear Alex now. "Kate, if he's cheating, your staying in town isn't going to stop him. So you can't miss our weekend." And that would inevitably prompt her to add, "If you even think he's cheating, why don't you hire a private detective and find out for sure?"
Don't think I haven't considered hiring someone. But for God's sake, it hasn't even been a full twentyfour hours since the bomb dropped. I need time to think, to sort out my options and figure out how to deal with the aftermath, should I discover the man I sleep with every night is being unfaithful.
This ugly jealousy is so new. All I can think of is this time yesterday I trusted my husband. I loved him and was so sure he loved me.
Right now, I don't even know my next move. Let me figure that out first. Then I'll sic Alex on him.
So instead of leveling with them, I resort to diversionary tactics. "Palm Beach is too stuffy." I sink into the couch cushions and slant a glance at Rainey. I catch her almost imperceptible eye roll.
"Come on, Kate." Alex scowls at me. "You've managed to pooh-pooh every suggestion we've made tonight. South Beach is too wild. Palm Springs is too boring. Napa's too far." She says this in a singsong voice that makes me want to jump out of my skin. "New York's too… What was wrong with New York?"
I shouldn't have come tonight, but after what happened today, I've been running on autopilot, trying to regain my equilibrium. Quite unsuccessfully, I might add. So I can't blame them for being annoyed. I'd be irritated with me, too. Especially since this girls' getaway is the last one we'll take as thirty-somethings.
Yep, the big four-oh looms right down the pike. For each of us, one right after the other. Boom, boom, boom. I'm the first of the three to cross that dubious threshold in May. Alex turns right after me in August —
Turns.
Turns? That's horrible. It sounds like one day we're light and lively and the next day we're soured milk. I'd never thought of it that way and wish I hadn't, because it gives me yet another reason to dread turning forty. Anyhow, Rainey is the baby of the bunch, the last of us to outlive her shelf life. She turns in November.
We started the annual girls' getaway the year of our thirtieth birthdays. So in a sense this year is a double celebration — ten years of annual getaways and our foray into the fabulous forties. I guess that makes me a double party pooper.
"Must we decide this tonight? It's late." I stand up and prepare to leave, ignoring the pair of disapproving looks. Rainey levels me with a stare that screams stop being so difficult.
"Palm Beach is perfect. It has spas and shopping.
What more could we ask for? All in favor of Palm Beach?"
As I pull my car keys from my bag, the two of them raise their hands, voting yes, looking at me with equal parts exasperation and impatience.
I hitch my Coach bag onto my shoulder. "Okay, fine. Palm Beach. Whatever."
At this point, I'll agree to anything, even though I have no intention of actually going. I just want to leave before the walls close in on me. Later, I'll think of a plausible excuse to bow out of the trip. Maybe I'll even tell the truth.
Ha. The truth. What a novel idea.
I don't have to tell them about my suspicions, mind you. The other truth is that my six-year-old, Caitlin, hates it when I go away, which is not very often. So I can't go because Corbin's not a good babysitter. He's a good dad, and Caitlin loves him as if he were a prince. But when it comes to bedtime, she wants me.
God, that's lame. They'll never buy it.
Well, we're all adults. Alex and Rainey will understand. Eventually.
Alex makes a satisfied noise. "This is going to be a blast." She does a little merengue step. "We're going to get every imaginable spa treatment known to womankind, then we're going to par-tay and we're going to shop — Oh, Kate, that reminds me, I still have your pearls. Let me run upstairs and get them before you go."
She's out of the room before I can tell her not to worry about it. Rainey and I stand face-to-face for an awkward moment. I can tell she's going to ask what's bugging me. So I drop my purse onto the chair, pick up my champagne flute and carry it to the kitchen.
She follows me.
The room is too small for both of us and the pregnant questions wedged between.
Continues...
Excerpted from Out With The Old, In With The New by Nancy Thompson Copyright © 2005 by Nancy Thompson. Excerpted by permission.
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