Anonymous: I just moved here from the city with hopes of starting over after an affair that my husband knows nothing about. The man I was having the affair with followed me here and keeps showing up at my door. Today I pretended I wasn’t home. He was banging so hard it scared me. I’ve told him I want to end things, but he won’t have it. I know it’s wrong to cheat. That’s why I want to break it off and start fresh. Please only comment with constructive advice.
“Wow,” Olivia said.
“What are you reading?” He flipped over toward her.
“That local bulletin board where I got the jogging stroller.”
“Let me guess. Is it about the KonMari method? Did someone throw out their husband because he wasn’t sparking joy?”
Olivia rolled her eyes as he continued what felt like his first foray into dad jokes.
“Did a shipment of cauliflower gnocchi arrive at Trader Joe’s? Should I warm up the car?”
He propped himself up on the pillow thinking he was quite funny. Olivia defended her enthusiastic “Wow.”
“Actually, it’s pretty scandalous stuff.”
“I’m sure,” he grunted.
“It is! This woman just moved here to get away from a bad affair, and the guy followed her. Page Six has nothing on this town!”
Spencer sat up and flicked on the light.
“Let me see that.” He grabbed her phone and read. He seemed to read it three times. Olivia noticed.
“One hundred sixty-one comments. I told you, it’s pretty scandalous,” she said victoriously.
“Well, now that you woke me, I have to go to the bathroom.” He held his stomach, indicating it may be a while.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m taking your bulletin board for reading material.”
“Ha! I told you, I see a Real Housewives of Hudson Valley spin-off!” she yelled out, to no reply. She waited to see if Spencer was OK, but eventually she fell asleep. In the morning, he was already gone.
CHAPTER 8
Eliza
Eliza set her alarm for 6:00 a.m. She had much to prepare for the day’s guests. She loved a full house, especially when it included the twins’ friends. She had missed the comings and goings of their posse since they’d been in college—the cheerful shouting, the stomping around overhead, and the whirlwind left in their wake. In contrast to her own childhood home, Eliza always tried to make hers the house that the kids flocked to. She mostly accomplished this with food.
Eliza’s Jewish grandmother was a first-generation American, and though not a particularly religious woman, she was deeply connected to her Judaism through food. The kitchen was her temple. And while Eliza’s own mother rebelled against it, Eliza was quite happy to become a member of that congregation.
Eliza’s grandma, or Bubbie as she affectionately called her, would spend hours in the kitchen replicating the recipes for stuffed cabbage or kreplach or kugel that had been passed down by her grandmother and her grandmother’s grandmother before her. While Eliza’s mother had no interest in cooking, Eliza, as her Bubbie would say, took to the kitchen like nobody’s business. Together the two of them formed a bond linking generations of Jews, not through the Talmud but through brisket. It bothered Eliza’s mother to no end, the way it does when you introduce two of your friends and suddenly they’re meeting for coffee without you.
Eliza headed to the kitchen to preheat the oven, then made a beeline for her desk. By the time they were all done catching up the night before, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. It was wonderful to have her children home. Being a whole family again made her feel more like a whole person again. The goings-on of the bulletin board seemed trivial in comparison. But this morning, not so much. As she turned on her computer, she crossed her fingers, superstitiously hoping her scandalous post had been a success.
One hundred eighty-five comments—wow! she thought. That is an epic thread—take that, Valley Girls! We’re not going anywhere! She was even happier to see that the post about tampons was gaining traction as well. It felt as if more people were suddenly spending time on the bulletin board. She did a little cross-referencing of the comment sections on both sites, hers and Valley Girls, to see if any names popped out on both—and they did. The whole thing thrilled her, to the point of embarrassment.
She discarded a request from a mother selling essential oils and another starting the hundredth conversation on the HPV vaccine and posted an announcement sent to her by the local library:
Circle Time for new moms begins this Friday at 11:00.
She had so much to do, but she gave herself a few minutes to read more comments and enjoy the sensation her made-up post had sparked. She imagined other women doing the same—carving out time from their busy lives to scroll. It was gripping stuff. She thought about the old days when the only place to ask anonymous advice was a column in the newspaper. By the time the answer was printed she could only imagine the person asking it had moved on to their next problem. This forum was much more satisfying.
Look internally to why you cheated before moving on. If you don’t fix that, it will happen again.
Are we supposed to feel sorry for you? You made your bed, literally!
I don’t think monogamy is natural.
Well kindly stay away from my man!
Mine too! LOL!
It’s just a matter of time until your husband finds out. I think you should tell him before this crazy guy you got involved with does.
This! Plus marriage counseling.
I agree, too. Assuming you moved here to save your marriage. Tell him now!
Do you have children?
I feel for you. This is very stressful.
You feel for her? Anonymous did this to herself. I feel for the other woman.
You’re assuming there is another woman. That’s what’s wrong with anonymous posts. She can’t respond, and we only know half a story.
Yes, her half. Anonymous is clearly selfish. Cheaters always are.
Give her a break. Every life has secrets. Every marriage certainly does. It’s just a matter of whether you can live with them or not.
That last comment really struck a chord. As much as she had loved being with her family last night, she had felt like a fraud. Kevin copped to having anxiety about pledging, Kayla about feeling lonely sometimes. Even Luke spoke about missing them more than he’d imagined. Why was she so dead-set on keeping her secret from her family? Maybe it was time to tell Luke, to tell the kids. But even thinking about that conversation was too much for her. As she always did, she buried her feelings and kept scrolling.
The thing that struck her most about the words the women wrote was just that—they were just words. Their tone was up to the reader to determine, and judgment was based on the content alone. No “Never trust a woman in pearls” or “That skinny bitch has no idea what she’s talking about.” Faceless words.