A Curious Moon

By Ellen McQueen

There was sand everywhere, that was the first thing that Lisa noticed about this place, this desolate desert wasteland called Dakhla, encased by dunes on three sides and the sea on the other. The wind blew sand all over her phone screen. It stuck to her fingers and dug under her manicure and clung to the fleur d’oranger Fragonard cream covering the back of her hands. She took a deep breath, the way she’d been taught to do in her weekly Pranamaya & Flow class. The way a therapist had once instructed her to breathe when the rage crept from her abdomen up her esophagus and sometimes, less and less now, certainly she’d gained better control of it, manifested in biting words out of her untamed mouth. 

In for four. Out for four. 

She coughed violently because the air was filled with sand then glared at the nanny. Over by the pool Jennifer was bent over her phone, typing furiously, her C cup hanging out of the “bathing suit” she’d worn onto the plane that morning, her oversized sunglasses slowly sliding down her perfect nose. Onto the plane. How does an employer explain to her employee that a bikini bottom covering half an ass cheek wasn’t appropriate work attire? 

At least the Bengals were behaving. Cookie and Carrot were resting under Lisa’s pool chair, protecting themselves from the Sahara rays, probably still stoned from the cat Xanax she’d forced down their throats in the taxi to CDG. 

John screamed. Without looking up from the phone she knew it was John. They’d never been identical to Lisa, from the moment she’d first held them in her arms John and Jasper had been two intricately contrasting creatures. John, a brave bull in a china shop, like his father, and Jasper, sensitive and curious, somehow also like his father.  

It was a bit more complicated for Jennifer.

“Jasper! What’s wrong?” 

Don’t go. 

Another scream. 

This is what you pay her for. 

“Okay, okay, John, I’m sorry, John, what happened?” 

Don’t look up. Lisa used every ounce of willpower to stay focused on the email she’d already read four times. 

In for four. Out for four. 

“It’s just a splinter John, it’s okay, I’m going to get it out, just sit down.” 

She was going to get it out? The twenty year old with inch-long nails? Lisa took another deep breath and this time when she coughed it made her think about the person she was before the husband and the twins and the Bengals, before the rage, when she’d rip a bong and cough and skip work to make out with her boyfriend.  

There was a tug at the leash she’d fastened under her body. Cookie, or Carrot, she honestly couldn’t care to differentiate between the two, stared up at her from the sand.

“What?” She snapped. Then she felt guilty for being aggressive so she bent down to pat his head and a small cloud of dust plumed from it. 

John was crying and Jennifer was trying to convince him to keep still and Jasper was running towards Lisa.  

“Maman!” His little pounding feet upset the cats who both jumped onto the sun bed then jumped off once Jasper’s body collided with hers. 

“What is it, cheri?”

“John’s bleeding!” Lisa had been prepared for this since she’d booked the flights two weeks before. Waking up two four year olds, two cats, a French entrepreneur, and an au pair at five a.m. that morning had been the Olympics of family management. Getting them dressed, drugged, and into the Uber that’d been waiting already for twenty minutes – But why do you always order it in advance? Ken had asked her while he lit his morning cigarette, and she’d almost killed him, right there she’d almost snatched the scalding coffee he was brewing on the stove and threw it into his stupidly perfect French face – had been nothing short of miraculous.  Reaching their seats four minutes before the gate closed had been the gold medal of family transfer day. 

And she hadn’t even yelled at any of them. She’d ignored the fire in her chest and had masked the rage with breath and had felt fucking proud of herself for accomplishing that.

And in the business class section of the Boeing 737-800 from CDG to VIL, as she repeated over and over in her head don’t look back, this is what you pay her for, she knew that the five am wake up and the airport chaos and the blue light in their faces for the duration of a four and a half hour flight would inevitably come back to bite her in the ass. 

“We’ll take ze nanny,” Ken had said two weeks before, when Lisa had told him that watching his children torture each other while he kitesurfed all day in the Sahara wasn’t her idea of a vacation. “Zat’s what we pay her for. You can go to ze spa.” 

There would be no way to explain that taking the nanny was just bringing along another thing that Lisa would be responsible for. Another body she had to keep fed, sober, protected, entertained, sunblocked, and alive. She could attempt to reiterate the burden of this extra responsibility to Ken in English, in French, when he was drunk, in an email, at their weekly Friday date night, through his assistant, through one of his children, during sex or under torture. 

Inevitably he would just laugh say something like “Baby zis is very little responsibility do you even know how many people are suing me right now my love,” and a rage that was becoming a permanent rash on her heart would brew under her ribcage and she’d have to keep her mouth shut if she wanted to keep the peace because how was she supposed to argue with something like that. What was she supposed to say? Managing the nanny is harder than being sued? He was right, and he was wrong, and neither of them had the energy or patience or emotional maturity to reach a conclusion about it. All those resources went to the twins and the nanny and the lawsuits. 

“I know sweetie but look Jennifer is going to fix it okay, why don’t you go help Jennifer fix John’s foot?” 

“I want you to fix it!” 

They were overtired from their confusing lives of being toddlers and Ken was overtired from being sued and Cookie and Carrot were overtired from the drugs, entirely passed out under the sun bed, and Lisa worried for a second that doubling the dose had been a mistake. But she was tired too, and it was causing her to lose control of her emotions, she had once heard about that on a podcast, and she could feel tears brimming because all she wanted was to fix everything for them for the rest of their lives and take out every splinter that ever caught in their feet or in their heads or in their hearts but if she did that she’d be a shitty mom because they had to learn that the world was cruel and they were capable of dealing with it themselves. 

Or if they couldn’t and their mother wouldn’t then the twenty-something nanny from Sweden getting paid thirty euros an hour to be at a five-star hotel in Morocco will.

“I know cheri but mommy has to work. Can you show mommy how brave you are?  Look, John needs someone to hold his hand.”

Emotional manipulation. God she was good at it. She could give a masterclass on bribing children. Teach the advanced course on coercing cats. Write the bible of blackmailing French entrepreneur husbands without a speck of suspicion. 

Jasper dashed back towards his brother who’d stopped crying and was staring at Jennifer’s breasts while she continued to work the splinter out of his foot.

This is what you pay her for. 

Lisa’s phone vibrated in her hand and at first she didn’t see that it was her brother because of the sand and the sun glare and then she saw it was Wes and her heart palpitated and she started choking on the dusty air again. 

“Hi Wes.” 

“Where are you?”  

“Dakhla.” 

“Where’s that? 

“Morocco.” 

“Oh.” 

“What’s up Wes?” 

“Well I tried to call Ken-” 

“I told you not to call Ken, Wes, he’s really stressed right now.” 

“Oh yeah I’m sure it’s really stressful being on vacation in Morocco.” 

“He’s working here. We’re just having a break from Paris.” 

“Fine whatever look I listened to what he said about the business plan-,”

“Wes, I’m sorry, truly I am, but I… I can’t hear what you’re saying, hello? Wes?” She hung up and ignored the two calls that came in immediately after. What was she supposed to do – tell her baby brother that her husband thought he was a conniving con artist with half a brain cell? 

Ken’s words. 

Jennifer had gotten the splinter out or at least managed to calm John and Jasper who were splashing in the pool and ruining the lives of the three women sunbathing next to Lisa.

“Un autre, madame?” She looked at her empty wine glass and then at the waiter and then at Jennifer and John and Jasper and then at the cats that looked like dead jaguars and then back at him and said, “Oui.” 

Then she looked back down at the email on her phone and read it for a fifth time. 

Lisa, 
I understand that this is an unpleasant topic but it needs to be addressed. 
I am the benefactor of your father’s will, but in the case we both die or there is an inability on my part to reasonably execute the necessary steps, we’ve chosen you to step in.
Due to obvious circumstances we do not trust your siblings to effectively carry out the estate, so you will be in charge.  
I will discuss more details with you over the telephone, but wanted to let you know as soon as possible. Just in case. 
From, 
Your mother. 

It seemed a bit much for a sixty-five year old to claim that she was nearing the end of her life.  

The email had been sent around seven in the morning New York time. Maybe she’d tried to call but it hadn’t gone through because Lisa had been on the plane. More likely the prospect of having an emotional conversation with her middle child was too much of a burden to handle before the afternoon’s glass of Aubert.

Lisa intended to ignore the call coming in, she assumed it was Wes again, but it was actually Delilah, so she answered it, because it was the only way to stop herself from intercepting the Coca Colas Jennifer had ordered for the twins. 

“How’s the desert?” 

“Sandy.” 

“At least you have sun. It’s ten degrees in Paris.” 

“Yeah.” 

“How’s the slutty au pair?” 

“If I wanted to pay someone to poison my children with screen time and sugar I would’ve sent them to my mother-in-law’s. What’s up, Delilah?” 

“Nothing really. Have you talked to Cindy?” 

“No, why?” 

“Well, I just thought I should warn you before you get a call from her, she’s fighting with Hayley again.” 

“What do I have to do with this?” 

“Well apparently it’s because you invited Hayley over last week to your dinner party with the LVMH people, and you didn’t invite Cindy, and Cindy is upset because Hayley knows how hard Cindy has been trying to change her career, and Cindy feels like Hayley always tries to get in between you and her.” 

It’s true that one morning last week while Cookie or Carrot kneaded at the silk dress Lisa had left on the bed and John threw his scrambled eggs into the hallway and Jasper sat with Jennifer on the couch watching The Real Housewives of Miami on an iPad, Lisa’s husband had yelled from the shower to inform her that he’d invited the Arnaults over for dinner that night.

“Tonight?” She’d said. Four counts in. Four counts out. “That’s pretty short notice, honey.” Damn, she’d been impressed with herself for holding back. 

What she’d actually wanted to say was: “Ken there’s no fucking way you can give me twelve hours’ notice to throw a fucking dinner party for the Arnaults so you can take that idea and shove it up your ass.” 

“I know, ma chérie, I’m sorry, you do so much for this family, and I should’ve told you sooner. But you throw such wonderful dinner parties, and you’re so good at everything you do.  By the way, you look gorgeous this morning.” 

He could’ve said that. There’s an alternate universe out there where he did.

“Lisa it’s just dinner get some food from ze caterer and spend ze rest of your day shopping or whatever it is zat you do all day I have to go to work I’ll be back at seven.” That’s what he actually said, and then he slammed the front door and went to his office where people sued him and he told his coworkers that his wife was making them dinner.

Jennifer had asked for that day off, without an explanation, for the third time that month, and Lisa had a lunch to discuss an upcoming charity event and a doctor appointment to check a lump in her breast that she’d already rescheduled twice. So she’d called Hayley to ask if she could watch the twins in the afternoon because Hayley and her husband were trying to have a baby and Lisa just wanted to make sure Hayley fucking knew exactly what the fuck that would do to her fucking relationship and sanity and breasts. 

So Hayley came to the apartment at twelve and had watched the boys while Lisa went to the lunch and to the doctor and bought appetizers and dinner and dessert and wine and candles and flowers and ignored the phone call that’d come in from her sister in rehab and the one that’d come in from the contractor who was supposed to repair the shower tomorrow and the seven from the Amazon delivery guy who’d been scheduled to come the day before. She dropped it all off in the apartment then went back out after Ken texted her: 

Ken 
Today 16:58 
hi chérie thank you I’m sorry I’m just under 
a lot of stress. 
the wife is a vegan. 

So by the time they’d arrived for dinner Lisa hadn’t been able to relieve Hayley because someone had to make sure John and Jasper didn’t draw on the white walls with the new markers their grandmother had dropped off the evening before while she took a shower because she hadn’t taken one in forty-eight hours. 

So yeah. Hayley had stayed for dinner. And Cindy, who hates children and had been in Spain, hadn’t been invited. 

“I know Lisa, I get it,” Delilah said, “you know I get it. I just wanted to warn you because I think she wanted to talk to you about it. I’ll let you get back to your vacation! Have fun!” 

Cindy had left a two and a half minute voice note while Lisa had been on that call. 

Wes 
Today 18:02 
Lisa call me back!! 

An email came in about the speech for the charity event. 

Cookie, or Carrot, was peeing in the sand.

Lisa looked up to see if Ahmed noticed this but saw that the only thing anyone was noticing was naked Jasper holding his penis from which poured a steady arc of piss into the end of the pool, while John took photos of a posing Jennifer with her iPhone at the other end.

If you intervene you’re just teaching them that they need you. 

She’d read that in a book. 

Lisa took the handles of the leashes and the last sip of Tandem and pulled the stoned cats to her suite. When she closed the door the turbulence of the wind stopped, and there was a palpable lack of sand in the room’s air and there was a plate of bright oranges on the table that seemed to be the antithesis of the lifeless tundra outside. She reached for an orange but had recently saw a TikTok about the sugar in fruit so put it back. It was six thirty. She’d have to relieve Jennifer before dinner.  

Ken had suggested it that morning: “Let’s have dinner as a family.” 

Lisa had smiled sweetly and said: “That sounds lovely.” 

What she’d wanted to say was: “So you can stare at your fucking phone while John and Jasper watch their iPads and I’m on the receiving end of judgemental glares from people who’d have their eardrums broken if I took the iPads away?” 

Lisa looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She took a deep breath of the fresh suite air and stared at her crooked nose and tried not to hate herself. She heard Ken come into the room. The hard part was still being in love with him. Still being attracted to him. Still desperate for him to reach for her like he used to and unbutton her shirt like he needed it and whisper ma chérie in her ear.  

And now she had to contend with him being the father of her children who were his spitting image and whenever they looked at her she saw his eyes and his courage and his spontaneity and she thought thank God, you’re going to make it in this world, you’re going to be like your father, you’re not going to take shit from people and you’re going to assert yourself and you’re going to make the space in your life to accomplish the dreams that are yours and not the ones that belong to the people around you. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll get one or two things from me, like my cheekbones, and the way I take care of the people I love.

Though a therapist had once told her that that was just codependency. 

“Hi chérie.” Ken kissed her on the forehead. He looked her in the eyes and said, “I booked you a facial. You go in ten minutes, my love.” 

Lisa could’ve burst into tears of gratitude right then, but instead decided to forgive him for making them get on a plane at seven that morning and making them take the nanny and making them come to this desert hellhole so that he could kitesurf half of the day and call his coworkers about being sued during the other half. 

“Thank you, mon amour, that’s sweet.” He kissed her again then got into the shower.

The wind whipped at her bathrobe as she walked to the spa. Jennifer was walking down the path, holding the hand of a twin in each of her hands, and Lisa had a sudden surge of gratitude for her too. 

“I’ll drop them to your suite, Mrs. Moreau!” 

Lisa had done the unthinkable and had left her phone behind. God, she was maturing.  No ties to the outside world, just the massage table and the spa music and the Moroccan woman who’d spend the next hour touching her face. Look how much she’d grown! Everyone would survive without her for an entire hour. 

“Relax fifteen minutes, madame,” the facialist whispered in Lisa’s ear. She could feel the mask drying on her skin and detoxifying her pores. She could feel the self-care assuaging the rage that was dying down, that didn’t have to be her identity. 

But then her eyes snapped open.  

And the rage took over. 

And Lisa leapt from the massage table and clutched the towel at her chest and dashed out of the spa door as the facialist cried, “Madame!?” 

Lisa sprinted across the sand under the Sahara sunset past the waiter who stared wide-eyed at her masked face and then gasped as he caught a glimpse of her bare ass.

In the corner of her eye as she ran (she was fast, she went to Cardio and Booty Burn three times a week) she saw the blur of a Bengal – Cookie or Carrot she didn’t give a flying fuck – and thought someone left the door open and then thought fuck it and kept running and the mask cracked as the smile stretched across her face and she banged on Jennifer’s door with her fist.

Then without waiting she turned the knob and opened the door and saw Jennifer and Ken naked in the bed. 

And the most wonderful sense of relief washed over Lisa as the rage erupted from her mouth, years of it, pent up, pushed down, every cruel thought and curse word that crossed her mind in that moment detonated towards the two of them with every ounce of disdain and power she possessed. 

They stared at her, wide-eyed, frozen. 

And she felt satisfied.

And the smile intensified as she turned on her heels and strolled back towards the spa, a cool, refreshing elixir traveling down the back of her throat into her stomach that was finally empty and appeased. She probably still had eight or nine minutes to relax. 

Ellen McQueen is an American writer and yoga instructor. She moved to Paris in 2015 after graduating from NYU with a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. Her writing has been published in the New Croton Review, Otherwise Engaged, The Menteur, and recognized at the Fugitive Sister Film Festival. She is currently working on a literary fiction novel. Her sun sign is Aries, moon is Pisces, and rising is Cancer.