“My God, Zoe! Look at your house. Look at the lawn! Look at everything! You’ve got the perfect life.” Zoe’s old friend Cynthia screamed these things from the passenger seat as Zoe pulled the car into the driveway Was Cynthia being kind? Ironic? Belligerent? The startling shriek that followed—she sounded like a kid on a roller coaster—was so disturbingly loud that Zoe couldn’t really tell what Cynthia was trying to say.
Or maybe it was the wine Zoe had drunk at lunch that had her confused. She rarely drank during the day Zoe opened her car door and tossed the breath-mint gum she’d been nursing under her tongue onto the neighbor’s side of the pebble driveway As the heat in her face faded, Zoe sniffed for a secret meaning to her friend Cynthia’s lavish reaction. Perfect life? Should Zoe feel put down? She stood next to her dark green Audi and held her skirt against her thigh so that it wouldn’t jump up in the wind.
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