Page 54 of Mean Moms
The only thing that Sofia was certain about was that tonight was whenshewas going to get screwed. In the middle of her party, somehow. That’s why she’d made her announcement about her new job; she had to get her narrative out before anything else happened. Morgan was trying to blame her for things that she didn’t do! Sofia was a cheater, yes, but she was a good person with good intentions. She hadn’t meant to break up her family. She’d just fallen in love. And now she’d fallen in with a bunch of psycho moms.
As the auction raged on, Sofia took a moment to walk around her apartment, checking in with the caterers, making sure the coat attendants were fine. She’d decided to stay sober that night—she needed to be sharp, to watch for any potential pranks or worse. She’d also set up hidden Nest Cams all over the apartment, stashed behind the surrealist decorations. She didn’t want to take any chances.
Frost hadn’t answered her text from the night of her art show, and Sofia was convinced that Morgan had turned both Frost and Belle against her. The three of them had looked very cozy all evening, as if Sofia hadn’t existed for all these months. Sofia wasn’t the type to get maudlin, but it did hurt her feelings that Belle and Frost were so quick to think she might be their enemy. The whole thing was like something out of the stories about Colombia her father used to tell her. The gangs, the violence, the allies who turned on each other for money. But this wasn’t Bogotá! It was Tribeca, for crying out loud.
Sofia pulled her Schiaparelli veil tightly over her head (the dress was a dupe; she’d found it hanging in a storefront on Canal Street, next to fake Prada purses). The wacky decor was making her paranoid. Would Morgan release rats into her apartment? Would a bombgo off, killing them all? What horrible thing could Morgan think up next?
The auction was popping off. Sofia could hear people bidding hundreds of thousands of dollars on items they didn’t need. Being poor again had reminded Sofia of how muchricherrich people were than the rest of the world imagined.
“Sofia! I’d love to be your first client.” It was Armena Justice, in a neon bodysuit, her feet clad in Moon Boots the size of small children.
“Oh, thank you, Armena,” said Sofia. She tried to focus, though she was distracted by the noise and the feeling that everything was about to fall apart. But this was important—it was what she’d been working toward this entire time. Becoming a trusted member of the community, someone that the other moms felt good about paying to help them live their best lives.
“We would love to go to a private island for next Christmas break,” said Armena. “Just our family. Somewhere out near Aruba—but nicer than Aruba, obviously. I’m thinking a budget of around eighty thousand. Think you could get me some options by next week?”
“Yes, definitely,” said Sofia. And she could. She knew of a few places like that; one of her friends in Miamionlydid private islands. Maybe Sofia could really be good at this job! The idea thrilled her.
“And I loved your pudding! So delicious,” said Armena, who then walked off. Sofia checked her phone. 11:56. Four minutes until midnight. The plan was for Art, who was now wrapping up the auction—$33,000 for the second grade to sit front row at a Rangers game, donated by a sports agent dad—to do the countdown on the microphone. When the clock hit twelve, a replica of the Times Square New Year’s Eve ball would lower dramatically from Sofia’s ceiling.
11:57.
“It’s almost midnight, folks, and that’s the last item gone. Bytomorrow, we’ll know how much in total we raised for Atherton, and I have a feeling the number is going to big! Huge! All thanks to you, our impressive Atherton community.”
Sofia moved toward the center of the room, looking for Morgan, Belle, and Frost, but she didn’t see them in the mix. The lights had gone down and the DJ had started up again, playing a very loud version of “Waiting for Tonight,” JLo belting as the millennial parents danced like they were in middle school.
11:58.
She then felt a powerful pull, someone dragging her toward who knows where. It was Frost, her pretty face reading total alarm.
“Sofia,” she whispered hoarsely. “You didn’t have any of your pudding, did you?” Sofia shook her head. Frost was scaring her. What was wrong with thepostre de natas? She’d slaved over batch after batch last night after the kids had gone to sleep.
“Oh, thank God. Something’s going to go down, and I don’t want you to be involved.”
“What on earth are you talking about, Frost?” said Sofia. Her heart was beating hard in her chest.
“Was it you? Did you vandalize my art show? Did you know Rodrick was at ZZ’s?” said Frost now. “Was it you?”
“Are you kidding? I hate Rodrick, you know that,” pleaded Sofia. “I do like to follow people around. I even followed you. But it was harmless fun. I was just bored. I’m poor, Frost! I have nothing to do.”
Frost seemed to understand this logic.
“I wouldn’t ruin Belle’s company—she worked so hard on it.” Here Sofia lowered her voice. “Though that dress was so ugly, I’m sorry.” Frost laughed and Sofia went on. “And I would never hurt Hildy—Hildy is a child! I would never hurt you. You’re my best friend.” Sofia felt on the verge of breaking down. She saw Tim walking toward them at the same time Frost did. Frost put her finger to her lips and slipped away to her husband. Art could be heard in the background, counting down from thirty.
“It was Morgan! Morgan is the one!” Sofia called after Frost now, but she couldn’t tell if she could hear her over the pounding music.
“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”
Sofia ran toward her kitchen, saying a quick thank-you to Jesus that the children were out of the apartment, in Miami with JP. The DJ had turned off the music for the final countdown, and people were pairing off, preparing for their big midnight kisses. Sofia was now standing alone near her stove, looking out at the chaos over her island.
“Three! Two! One!”
Everyone shouted at once, yelling “Cheers to Atherton!” as the ball, a glowing, otherworldly orb, began to lower to the floor, taking them all by happy surprise. The DJ put on Donna Summer’s “Last Dance” as couples smooched and swayed. There was Morgan with Art, Morgan’s arms tightly holding on to his waist, her face turned so her clam costume could fit into the nook of his chest. She saw Dr. Broker off to the side, watching them, and Belle and Jeff, nearby, Belle eyeing Dr. Broker as she danced with her husband. And there were Frost and Tim, huddled together by the front entrance. Tim tried to pull her onto the dance floor, but Sofia saw Frost resist, saying something to him and then pointing to her stomach. She walked off toward the bathroom, leaving Tim alone.
“Ahhhh!” someone then growled, loud enough to be heard over the music. Sofia couldn’t see who it was, so she lifted herself up onto the granite countertop to get a better look, peering over to see Bud Cunningham staggering to the ground, a big lump of a man, not really moving at all. Trina, in aGame of Thrones–esque getup, was hovering over him, fanning his face with her hands.
“Bud? Bud? Are you okay?” she kept asking.
Not a moment later, Gemma Corder went down, splayed on the floor next to Bud, and then the same for Julie Klein, and Cat Howell’s husband, Charles, and then Gabby Mahler in her polka-dot costume. About fifteen more people crumpled within the span of just a few minutes, stumbling about, unable to stand. “It was the pudding! They all just had the pudding,” she heard someone shout. “What did Sofia Perez put in it? She’s poisoned us all!”
