“And not appreciating it? Definitely.”
Fox slung an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
Just then, Jenny pinged me a message.
Sorry so late to reply. Was at a briefing and we weren’t allowed our phones. Let’s talk tomorrow.
I trusted Jenny with my life. I loved her. She was family to me. But she was hiding something from me, and I couldn’t think what that could possibly be. We told each other everything. I’d been the first person she phoned after she’d kissed a woman for the first time. I’d held her when her self-image plummeted after a bad haircut—and I’d threatened actual bodily harm to the hairdresser. I knew both her mother’s maiden name and the name of her first pet. I knew that she never cried at sad films, but always cried at happy love stories. I knew what size tampons she bought. I knew that she only ever wore tops with long sleeves, as she had a weird thing about her arms. I knew that about once a month she had a freakout at 3 a.m. about her having some awful terminal illness that she didn’t yet know about, and then couldn’t get back to sleep.
What could be happening in her life that she couldn’t tell me about?
I had to talk to her. I had to understand what was going on. There would be a reasonable explanation. There had to be.
I didn’t want to let Fox know I was having any doubts about her loyalty to us.
Last year, I’d nearly lost faith in my husband. I wasn’t going to let that happen with my best friend.
Part Three
Boundaries
We’re all about setting healthy boundaries as a family. Mutual respect is essential when undertaking mindful parenting. Our children have a right to their opinions. If they’re wanting to make a poor choice, we help them to help themselves with calm reasoning, collaboration, and caffeine-free chai tea.
—Bells Brightley, parenting blogger (@MindfulMamaBells) and bestselling author ofHow to Be the Best Mom You Can Be: Helping You to Help Them
You don’t negotiate with terrorists. You don’t negotiate with toddlers. You just bribe them—with sugar, saturated fat, and screen time.
—Hazel Matthews, mother
Chapter Forty-Seven
Jenny
Haze and Fox.
Fox and Haze.
How long had it been since I’d got through a day without uttering their names? Without thinking of them? They had become as ingrained in my life as my son, as my parents, as breathing.
It would be difficult to try and explain us to anyone else. We weren’t just friends, we weren’t just colleagues; we were family.
Haze, Fox, and Jenny.
Jenny, Haze, and Fox.
It might not be as catchy, it might sound a little crowded, but that was what we were. A team.
Before Haze came into my life, I was a single mother living at my parents’ house, on the brink of being made redundant. My job as a detective, the one I’d worked so hard for, the one place where I’d started to shine, was about to be taken from me for good.
Felix was my one bright spot. He was my reason for getting up every day. Loving him made everything feel better, yet also worse. He deserved the world, and what could I give him? The poor sod, to be lumbered with me for a mother.
And then I met Haze, and everything changed.
Spotting her across the room at some god-awful kiddie music class, I was immediately drawn to her. In a world of women who all second-guessed themselves, who’d been subliminallybrainwashed into thinking they weren’t ever enough, she held her head as high as one of her eyebrows as she assessed everyone around her.
Maybe I wanted to be friends with her just so I could see her up close. Haze had the type of beauty where she just fell out of bed, and her bone structure and perfect skin gave her the glow of a woman who’d spent hours perfecting a no-makeup look with ten different products. She might have faced much hardship in her early life, but she’d never once had to face down the indignity of looking in the mirror and not liking what she saw. Haze ate without thinking and never had to cope with the pinch of jeans that were too tight. She didn’t know what it was like to see creases, lines, and bulges, and still try putting your best foot forward to get out there and seize the day.
Maybe I wanted to be friends with her because I loved to self-hate, and being so close to perfection fueled that daily. Don’t get me wrong, I could feel good about myself. I wasn’t totally beyond hope. It just took the magic combination of seven hours’ sleep, a crate of makeup, a trip to the hairdresser, support pants, a new outfit, and soft lighting.
