by Maren Foster
We followed Kassie and her husband into the castle. Candles flickered high within the vaulted ceilings. I wondered how they had been meticulously placed so far above the floor. The mood was similar to the moment of illumination that occurs just as the sun dips below the horizon. An organ bellowed the first notes of an indiscernible ancient hymn. The procession began. A young girl about four years old was prodded by her mother at the far end and goaded toward the altar by her father. She threw bunches of rose petals as she wandered down the aisle.
A series of couples wearing the same black tie arrangements and long pink dresses made their way down the aisle. The transition to the first few notes of Pachelbel’s Canon were seamless, reverberating throughout the immense space. All eyes locked on Julia as she appeared at the end of the large hall. She looked tiny within the cavernous space. She was alone, except for the women who endeavored to fan the train of her dress to perfection behind her. She began to walk slowly toward us.
As she passed I could see the large smile plastered on her face as she fought back tears underneath a billowing white veil. Does she really love him or is she just putting on a show? We sat through nearly a full mass. The bride and groom said very little but went through all the appropriate motions. Just as I was becoming bored they kissed and made their way back down the aisle to boisterous cheers.
We were directed back out to the lawn where the champagne continued to flow while we waited for the wedding party. I walked around the tent inspecting the names on the tables, ostensibly looking for ours, but really getting a sneak peek at the guest list. Senator and Mrs. Cameron Hughes, the fashion designer Jean Dubois, famed local restaurant critic Margarite Bordeaux. The list went on and included B-List actors and members of the intelligentsia, whose art or commentary often appeared in well-read publications or must see shows around New York. Some of the storied surnames were a stark reminder of the Ellis’ humble beginnings.
Dinner was exquisite. The cake was decadent. Everything was over the top. Champagne glasses were refilled for the toast. Julia talked about the first time they met, the different childhoods that had preceded their relationship, and their hopes for the future. Adam described Julia in detail, from her success as an influencer, to her artistic talent and her penchant for making new friends, to her ability to eat whatever she wanted and still maintain a flawless figure. He lauded her many accomplishments and showered her with praise. I couldn’t tell if the single tear that ran down my cheek was a result of joy or sorrow.
They danced to “Can’t Help Falling in Love”, which seemed a little cliché but the older crowd loved it, and eventually we all joined in as the band began to play well-known favorites. Nate and I danced to a few of the slower songs. He held me tight against his chest and I made sure to get a kiss at the end of each song. Once the sun set, the band packed up and a d.j. took over. We called a car for Vi and sent her back to our house alone.
Toward the end of the evening, we were finally able to congratulate the newlyweds.
I gave Julia a quick hug. “Congrats!”
“Oh my God, thank you. Guess what!” she yelled back.
I shook my head. “What?”
“We bought a house.”
“Oh, congratulations.”
“It’s the one right next to yours,” she said. “We’re going to be your neighbors.” She jumped up and down excitedly.
“Wow!” I said.
“Isn’t it great?” Adam stepped in.
“Yeah, congratulations,” I said. It will be nice to have a friend close by, but next door? A little odd? Does he think I need protecting?
Nate and I left just after one in the morning and passed out as soon as we got home.
I woke up early as the morning sun threw shadows across our bedroom walls. I went to the bathroom and pulled off the last of the stubborn fake eyelashes. Downstairs in the sun room off the back of the house, I picked up yesterday’s newspaper.
Vi was up too, reading a book. She looked up as I settled in across from her with a cup of tea in my hand.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” I mumbled.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked.
“Fine.”
She chuckled.
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
“Are you?”
“Yes! Ugh, stop asking.”
“Sure. How was the rest of the party?”
“Nothing special. We left before the DJ stopped playing.”
She went back to reading for a few minutes and then broke the silence. “I really thought you would end up with him someday.”
“Awkward. He was my best friend,” I said.
“Sometimes friendships grow into more.”
“Yeah, well, it hasn’t.”
“Adrienne and I always hoped we’d be able to raise a grandchild together.”
“Well, sorry to ruin your plans.”
Our phones both sounded simultaneously. Vi didn’t move. I swiped my screen.
“FYI” read a message from Ali with a photo of her left hand wrapped around Soren’s, a thin gold band encircling her left ring finger.
“OMG! You got married?” I replied. “CONGRATS!”
Her reply came a few minutes later, “No, just engaged.”
“Wow, great! When’s the wedding?” I replied.
“Who knows! Still getting used to the idea of being engaged.”
“So happy for you!”
“Ali’s engaged!” I said. Vi picked up her phone. Ali answered and Vi put her on speakerphone.
“Congratulations!” Vi said.
“Thank you,” Ali said. “I think it’s a good thing.”
“Why on Earth wouldn’t it be?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It’s a big commitment. I just never imagined myself married, you know? Someone’s wife,” she said.
I shook my head.
“You’ll figure it out,” Vi said.
“How did he ask you?”
“He wrote a critique of an article in the Atlantic magazine and it was included in ‘The Conversation’ in the print version this month. He knows I read every word of that publication. At the end of his critique he wrote “A.L., will you marry me? S.S.”
“How thoughtful,” Vi said.
How nerdy!
“So, what’s up with you two?” Ali asked. “How was the wedding?”
“Good. It was lovely,” Vi said.
“What are you up to today?”
“Oh, we’re just hanging out at Freddie’s right now,” she said. “I fly out tonight.”
“Okay, sounds good. Have a good flight.”
“Yep, thanks, love you.”
“Love you too.”
Nate appeared around ten with the Sunday paper and Vi went upstairs to take a shower.
“Morning,” I said. “Did you hear Adam and Julia’s news last night?”
“No.”
“They bought that house next door.”
Nate nodded and grumbled something unintelligible.
“I can’t believe they’re going to be our neighbors.”
“Shouldn’t you be happy? Just last week you were complaining that this neighborhood is too quiet,” he said. “You’ve been complaining since we moved here about how hard it is to make friends when you don’t have kids.”
“Yeah, I am happy. I mean, she’s not my favorite, but it will be nice to have them next door.”
“Yep.”
“Their wedding was really nice, wasn’t it?” I said.
“It was,” he said. “You looked really beautiful.”
“Awww, thank you. You looked great too. I love dancing with you like that.”
“Oh yeah?”
He stopped as he passed by me on his way to the back deck with the morning paper and his coffee.
“Yeah, it was sweet,” I said.
“It was,” he said and leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. I looked up and kissed him on the lips.
“You’re not a
bad date,” he said.
“Right back at ya,” I said, smiling. Barf! I can’t do this much longer.
With Nate outside I tried to read my paper in the den, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept looking at the empty house next door, imagining them moving in, stopping by unannounced to borrow eggs. I opened the style section of the paper. The front page was covered in photos of Julia and Adam, looking utterly blissful. The headline read, “A country wedding celebrates the classics.” I couldn’t bring myself to read it.
The Tale
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Old Greenwich
The moving truck was already in the driveway when I woke up on Saturday two weeks later. I made a latte and curled up on a loveseat in the living room to watch the commotion. Julia seemed to be in charge, walking back and forth and pointing at boxes and furniture, and then the house. There were four young guys taking orders. Adam floated in and out of the frame, seemingly to little effect. She directed and he nodded.
Once the truck pulled out of the driveway I got up and went to the kitchen, grabbed a tin of chocolate chip cookies, and walked next door. I knocked on the front door and Julia answered.
“Hey neighbor!” I said.
“Oh, hi Wyn. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Just thought I’d come over to welcome you to the neighborhood.” I smiled and handed her the cookies.
“Thanks!” she said peeking inside. “Oooh, these look good!”
As if you’ll even try one! “How was your honeymoon?” I asked.
“Oh, it was amazing! The scenery and the wildlife were incredible. Seeing lions in the wild is so much different than seeing them at the zoo. You just have to go on safari!”
“You’ll have to show us photos.”
“Oh, they’re all on Instagram already.”
“Great. I’ll check them out,” I lied.
“Yeah. So, how do you like it?”
“Like what?”
“The neighborhood.”
“Oh, it’s nice, quiet. We haven’t met many people yet,” I said.
“Hmmm, we know a few people already. We’ll have to introduce you.”
“Yeah, great. Look, I should go so that you can get back to what you were doing. Tell Adam I say ‘hi’.”
“Will do. Thanks again for the cookies.”
“Yep. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
I had an appointment with my therapist in the afternoon.
“Wyn, how are you?”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Have you been able to start putting some money away for yourself like we talked about?”
“I tried but he noticed and told me to stop,” I lied.
“What did he say?”
“He threatened me,” I lied again.
“What happened?”
“He accused me of not trusting him. He said that if I didn’t trust him enough to have a shared bank account then maybe we shouldn’t be married.”
“Wyn, did you marry him?”
I nodded.
She shook her head subtly and then changed the subject.
“How have things been with him, in general? Has he hurt you recently?”
“Um, okay. He did get a little aggressive one night recently.” Our wedding night.
“What happened?”
“Nate was being silly at first and kind of sweet. He carried me upstairs and put me on the bed.”
She nodded.
“Then he pulled out handcuffs and I told him no.”
“And then what?”
“He said that it was turning him on, that I was saying no. I guess he thought I was just playing a game. He thought I wanted to have sex and was just saying no to turn him on.”
“Do you really believe that?”
I nodded.
“Did you have sex?”
“Yes.”
“Wyn, you said no and he forced you to have sex. That’s rape.”
I shook my head.
“It is,” she said.
“I’m such a failure. I should have just kept my mouth shut. He’s better when I don’t protest.”
“Wyn, it’s not okay for a man to force a woman to have sex with him regardless of the situation or relationship. You said no and he didn’t listen. It doesn’t matter if you’re married. That’s rape.”
I shook my head. “I’m just worried that he will leave me if he isn’t satisfied.”
“Wyn, you said ‘he’s better when I don’t resist’ or something like that. He is responsible for his behavior. Him being better shouldn’t be reliant on you or your behavior.”
“I just can’t lose him,” I muttered.
“Even in a normal relationship there is a fine line between knowing when to compromise to make your partner happy and knowing when you have crossed a line and are doing something you don’t want to do and aren’t comfortable with, to please your partner. I don’t believe that this is a normal relationship, and I believe that you crossed that line a long time ago.”
“I know.” God, do I know.
“Wyn, I want you to write down anything he says to you that is critical. Like if he criticizes you or tells you that you are doing something wrong, or that you are not successful or capable. I want you to bring that list with you next time so that we can look at it together. I also think we should meet more often. I would like to see you again next week.”
I nodded.
“I think the Prozac is really helping,” I said. “But I think I might benefit from a higher dose.”
“Wyn, I’m worried that the medication is allowing you to remain in a very toxic and unhealthy situation by reducing your anxiety levels.”
“I think I need more if I’m ever going to get up the confidence to leave him.” I need more to get through the next few months so that I can finally fix this for good.
“When is your next appointment with your psychiatrist?”
“Next week I think.”
“Ask her about increasing your dose at your appointment. I’ll make a note that we talked about it too.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Wyn, I’m worried about you. I’m worried that your situation is deteriorating and you aren’t taking him seriously enough. I think he could be dangerous.”
I nodded. I can’t stop now.
“Please begin to think about a plan. How you could leave. What you would need to take with you. Where and how you would live. There are safe options.” She handed me a brochure.
“Okay. I will.” She doesn’t understand. I’ll never be safe.
Everything moved slower in the suburbs and took more time. I had to get up earlier than before to commute in to my office in the city. Every morning I took the new car that Nate had bought me to downtown Greenwich, which was a hodgepodge of old and new-meant-to-look-old. I parked near the train station, boarded the 7:01, and slowly sipped my coffee as I watched the leafy green suburbs pass by. Out the windows, the tree-lined streets eventually gave way to low-rise grey office buildings, parking lots, and suburban shopping malls. Another ten minutes and the office buildings transformed to one and two-story industrial buildings with loading docks surrounded by concrete and the tangled metal of intersecting train tracks. Finally, as we crossed the river, high rises came into view, rising above the water to towering heights, blocking the sun and reminding me that a small cubicle on a large open floor awaited me at the end of my trip. The reverse trip at the end of the day was always more pleasant, as the concrete faded back to verdant green. I enjoyed watching the gritty, industrial landscape transition to lush parkways and large secluded houses surrounded by mature trees. The changing scenery was like a kaleidoscope spinning to reveal a new pattern with each click.
By the end of the week I was exhausted and ready for an evening in. I got home from work a little early. Nate wasn’t home. I poured myself a glass of red wine and began to chop an onion and a few cloves of garlic. I browned some meat, added vegetables and left it to simmer.
An hour later, as I checked the stew, I texted Nate. “What time will you be home?”
Nearly half an hour passed before his reply came, “Sorry, it’s gonna be a late one tonight. Eat without me. Home ASAP.”
I put a lid on the large pot and turned the burner down as low as possible.
My phone lit up as I poured a small serving of stew into a ceramic bowl. Maybe Nate changed his mind.
The message was from Adam instead, “How’s it goin?”
I responded immediately, “Good. You?”
His reply came almost instantaneously, “Good. Coming over to borrow some milk.”
“Sure”
A few minutes later he was at the kitchen door.
“Here you go,” I said, handing him a big bowl of stew.
“But I need milk.”
“Cereal again?”
“Mac and cheese from a box.”
“Julia out again?”
“Yeah, some big event downtown.”
“You didn’t go with her?”
“She said it wasn’t really a couple’s thing. Plus I went to one last week and the week before. I can only handle so many of those parties.”