12. DAGGERS FOR EYES

DAGGERS FOR EYES

T hey stared, stared, stared as I stepped through the doors of The Forest Excelsior School on Monday morning, one daughter on either side of me. I tried my best not to notice the judgemental gazes of every single parent in the hall; the looks that some of them shot in my direction felt like daggers. Kim's lips pressed together in a thin line as I ushered Victoria and Olivia past her in the hall, and I shot her a look that read something like, "You're a fucking twat." Two mothers off to the right, both in nearly identical high-end workout gear, whispered something to each other while glancing at me sideways. Another mom, Layla (who I actually liked), flashed an approving smirk when my yellow-green eyes met her aqua blues as if to cheerlead, "Yesss, get it." I forced an uncomfortable smile before continuing on my way to Ria and Liv's classrooms. I double-checked each of them, scanning their blue and green uniforms to make sure everything was in place and kissed them on the head before handing each one off to their respective teacher. Then I made my way out of the school, pausing only momentarily in front of a window for a heartbeat to take in my outfit: black sweatpants and white sweater, mocha hair down to my shoulders in a wild, wavy mess that refused to stay out of my tired face, and yesterday's mascara still flaking onto the skin around my eyes like a raccoon. Damnit. I looked like I'd just survived forty-eight hours of sorority hazing. I shrugged at my reflection and continued on.

I considered my to-do list as my feet moved forward–grocery shopping, wine store, then pick up dry cleaning, buy new cleats for Liv, go to the paint store for some new canvas and maybe the bookstore to wander aimlessly for a while. I was lost in thought when I hit the parking lot and looked up to find Bethany positioned in front of her white SUV, arms folded over her chest, parked directly next to my car.

"Good morning, Danny!" Bethany sang.

She smiled like a serpent and waved with her gloved fingers. Her face looked flawless even first thing in the morning, with winged eyeliner and neutral pink lipstick applied by a masterful hand. Bethany's blonde hair tumbled over her breasts, ending in large curls.

"Hi, Bethany," I mumbled flatly. I walked directly towards my car without pausing to chat, knowing full well that she wanted to prod and chide. I didn't have the patience for her or the games—not today.

"How are you?" she cooed, slithering away from her car to follow me; her fur-lined snow boots—probably from a litter of kittens—crunched in the slush behind me.

"Fine, thanks," I mumbled.

I didn't even attempt to hide the bite in the words, my utter annoyance with her for the past two decades coming to a head. Fumbling in my bag for my keys, I picked up the pace toward the door of my car.

"So everything at home is okay, then? Are you and Steven okay? Because I heard that—"

I whirled to face her, and she stopped dead in her tracks, rocking back on her heels, eyes wide with surprise.

"Bethany, I know what you heard," I spat. "Yes, I was out with Sam and Sebastian on Friday night. Yes, I ran into my neighbor who I don't even fucking know. And yes, he's painfully fucking hot, and no, I am not having an affair, and my marriage is just fucking fine, Bethany. It's fucking great."

I lied. Blatantly lied. My marriage was not fucking great. We were getting fucking divorced. In fact, I had an appointment later in the day to sit down with my lawyer and Steven's to sort shit out. I felt myself flinch from the lie, as if my body itself rejected it, but until we sat down with the kids, until we'd told our parents and friends, I sure as hell wasn't going to tell Bethany anything.

Bethany's eyes settled into a deep scowl, her chest rose and fell, and she gripped her keys a little tighter, but her mouth stayed shut in a tight, thin line. Good . I spun away from her to face my car door and hit the key fob to open it.

"I don't know why you're being so defensive. I'm just checking on you. And Steven. Wanted to make sure things weren't on the rocks and he wasn't in…mortal danger."

I balled up my fists and growled low, waiting for my car door to open. I'd known Bethany forever, since before we were even in training bras, and she'd been exactly the same since Junior High. Serpentine. It was like she fed off of the discomfort of others and, therefore, needed to fan it with her vicious tongue, which she hid behind her lovely, fake smile and perfectly manicured Stepford wife facade. Pretty face and a demon soul, just like her parents. Her eyes bore into the back of my head and I tried for the life of me to calm myself down, to stop myself from responding to her insult. In the end, I lost the battle and heard the words come out of my mouth before I realized I'd spoken them.

"Oh, fuck off. Don't you get fucking sick of this fake passive-aggressive shit?" I said, barely a whisper, while I bounced from foot to foot waiting as the car doors inched open. They were so slow as they hinged up that it was comical, and I could feel her glare branding my backside.

"What did you say?" she said coolly. "I couldn't hear you."

But there was an edge to her words, a challenge that told me she had heard me and wanted more. I exhaled loudly. The godsdamn wraith . My car doors finally opened enough for me to squeeze in. They hung in the air like a bat, ready to launch skyward. I groaned. I really have to get a new car soon.

"Have a good day, Bethany," I said through my teeth.

Glancing over my shoulder with one eye while I slid into my car, I could see the storm beneath her skin, and her eyes narrowed barely to slits. I threw my purse blindly over the backseat. Then I waited for the stupid doors to lower so I could drive away while she stood her ground, unflinching, shooting daggers at me with her blue-gray goblin eyes. Once the doors clicked shut, after what felt like an eternity of being cornered by a cobra, my engine silently came to life, and she slid back to her SUV, texting manically as if sending an SOS to anyone who might listen.

The story being spun was old news. "Danny is an unraveling psycho," she'd write to whatever group chats would listen, positioning herself as the angelic martyr who only wanted to be helpful. In the past decade, I'd experienced enough gaslighting to cause the atmosphere to combust. I could imagine this same back and forth between us decades from now when we took turns paying people from the grave to alter the epitaph on our tombstones. "This cunt lies here." Maybe one day, I'd finally snap and cut the brakes on her Jazzy and send her into traffic.

I chuckled to myself and pressed my middle finger to the window as my car glided past hers and she glared.