“Here’s the numbing cream,” Dr. Brian said. “In case the pain gets worse.”

— —

The pain got worse. Juliet called her office from I-95, said she had a migraine and went home. Thank God she’d taken the first available appointment of the day; the girls weren’t home yet, and she could have some time to ice her face. If they saw her like this, Brianna would give her that disgusted look she’d mastered this past year, and Sloane might cry.

Juliet’s face was still bright red. Some blood had crusted around her nose in tiny droplets. Not a great look. Frozen eyebrows. Her lips were throbbing and not noticeably fuller. Those ridiculous lashes. No one on earth would think they were natural.

There was only one person to call. She got into the house, tossed her bag on the table and took out her phone. “Mom? I’m having kind of a . . . cwisis here. Can you come over?”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are the girls okay?”

“It’s nothing, except I need a wittle help. You’ll see when you get here.”

“Sure thing, hon. Give me fifteen minutes. I have to cancel a conference call.”

Juliet’s guilt was drowned out by gratitude. “Thanks, Mom.”

When her mom got there, her eyebrows shot up (lucky thing). “Oh, sweetheart. What did you do? One of those facial peels?”

“Something with needles.”

“I don’t think those false eyelashes are doing you any favors, hon.”

“They’re extensions. Can you twim them for me?”

Mom put down her coat and purse. “You betcha. Let’s get some ice on that face. It looks hot and painful.”

“It is.” She felt like crying. “I went to a pwastic surgeon. It’s so humiwiating. I just thought I needed a wittle . . . fweshening.”

“Why, honey? You’re beautiful just the way God made you.” Her mom smiled and kissed her forehead. “Let’s get you into bed. Go on now. Change into your jammies and I’ll get some stuff together down here.”

Juliet went upstairs and did as she was told. She had friends whose mothers were, to put it bluntly, ass pains. Kathy’s mother called her every day to complain that Kathy never called her. Jen’s mother had a gambling problem and constantly begged for money so she could buy scratch offs. Iris’s mother was cold and disapproving.

And Barb Frost was perfect. Oh, maybe not perfect, but damn near close. Who else would understand this ridiculous problem and help her fix it without judgment?

Mom came in with an ice pack wrapped in a dishcloth, and a cup of tea. She went into the bathroom and ran the water, then came out with a facecloth.

“Let’s get that blood off your face, okay?”