by Jane Green
“Good!” says Jesse, who is too distracted with the delight of having his father home to focus. They all laugh and enter the house.
“Hey, Pops,” says Dominic. “This is Emma.”
At the table, Dominic’s father is reading the paper and nursing a cup of coffee. Instead of looking up, he merely grunts, and reaches over for a cannoli from the plate that sits in the middle of the table.
No one speaks.
“Sit down,” says Dominic’s mother, pulling out a chair for Emma. “You want some coffee?”
“Emma only drinks coffee in the mornings,” says Dominic. Emma reddens, not wanting to put anyone out, not wanting to appear different in any way. “She drinks tea in the afternoons.”
“I’m fine,” Emma says quickly.
“Tea?” says his mother. “Very fancy. We only got coffee in our house. Are you sure you don’t want some? Just a small cup? Go on.” She sets a cup of coffee in front of her.
Emma doesn’t mention that there is tea in the house; she knows because she bought it herself.
“You know who came to see us?” Dominic’s mother says. “Stacy! I didn’t know she was back in town. She came over and took Jesse out the first day we were here. She looks great. And she’s doing really well, making a ton of money in real estate. It was good to see her.”
Dominic shakes his head. “You didn’t check with me before letting her take Jesse out?”
His mother shrugs. “What’s to check? She’s the boy’s mother. And she was leaving, so she wanted to get some time with him. I think she’s really turned a corner. She says she’s coming back to town.”
“Oh man,” Dominic mutters under his breath as Emma reaches over and takes his hand, giving him a supportive squeeze. Don’t say anything else, she thinks.
“It will be like the old times,” his mother says. “Good to have her around again. Sweetie, take a cannoli,” she says to Emma, who is staring at her, aghast at her insensitivity. “No cannoli? I also got Italian cookies. Here.” She gets up from the table and pulls out a large round tin from the pantry, opening it to reveal chunky cookies stuffed with jelly and dusted with confectioner’s sugar. “Try one.”
Emma shakes her head. She feels sure that the comments about Stacy were deliberate, intended to let Emma know she will never be relevant in their eyes, that Stacy is the true heir to the throne.
“I’m fine,” says Emma.
“Just one,” says Dominic’s mother. “A small one.”
“Leave her alone,” roars Dominic’s father, the first words she has heard him speak. “For Christ’s sake, she says she doesn’t want anything to eat.”
Emma watches Dominic’s mother’s face fall. “Maybe just a small one,” Emma says, reaching for the tin.
“Thank you for staying with Jesse,” Dominic says, changing the subject. “I know he’s had a fantastic time, right, Jesse?”
Jesse makes a face, then quickly plasters on a smile and nods when he sees his grandmother look at him.
“I fattened him up,” she says proudly, reaching over and pinching his cheek. “He was all skin and bone when I got here. You like Nonna’s cooking, don’t you, sweetie?”
Jesse nods, squirming away from her hand.
“Will you shut up about food?” says Dominic’s father, shaking his head. “All you talk about, all the goddamn time, is food. What you’re gonna be cooking, what we’re gonna be eating, what we haven’t eaten. Jesus Christ. It’s enough to drive a man crazy.”
“Why don’t you shut up?” says Nonna, her own voice rising. “Why you always got to ruin everything? I feed my family because I love them; that’s what you do for the people you love. What do you do? Sit at the table in your undershirt, sweating, talking shit, putting down everyone around you.”
Dominic’s father sits back, pushing the newspapers away. “Putting down everyone around me? Dominic, do you see me putting down everyone around me?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “No, I ain’t putting down everyone around me. Just you, because you drive me fucking crazy.”
“Language!” says Nonna.
“Ah, shut up,” he says, going back to his paper. “Everything you say gets on my last nerve.”
“You should try living with you,” spits Nonna. “It’s enough to drive a woman to suicide.”
“Is that a promise?” says Dominic’s father.
Emma swigs her coffee down in one and pushes her chair back. “I’m so sorry,” she says, “but I have to get going. It was so nice to meet you.”
“I’ll help you with the suitcase,” says Dominic, also standing up. They are outside quickly, and Emma turns to Dominic. “Good God,” she says when they are safely out of earshot, when they can no longer hear Dominic’s parents bickering. “That was fun.”
“Yeah. Welcome to my childhood. At least it didn’t get physical.”
“That was awful. Why are they even married? They hate each other!”
“Old-school Catholics. Divorce isn’t allowed. But yeah, I think they’ve hated each other for years. I also think they couldn’t survive without each other. It’s a terrible, angry, screwed-up marriage, but they completely depend on each other. If my mother died, my father would go to pieces, I swear.”
“Please tell me we’ll never treat each other like that.” Emma is now serious, putting down her suitcase outside the front door as she turns to him.
“We will never treat each other like that,” he says. “Since Jesse was born, I have lived my whole life determined to be nothing like them.” He leans in to kiss her.
“And what was all that about Stacy? Was that some passive-aggressive dig to make sure I know they prefer her?”
Dominic laughs. “They hated Stacy! That’s the least of your worries. It’s just my parents being my parents. Ignore them.”
With that, Jesse bursts through them, pushing them apart, running into the house with Hobbes.
• • •
It is a relief for Emma to be on her own for a bit. Dominic has asked her to come back for dinner once his parents are safely out of the way. His fridge and freezer are now, apparently, filled with food. Emma knows that after dinner she will stay over, as she has done so many times before, but she needs this quiet time to think.
She doesn’t like the comments Dominic’s mother made about Stacy. She doesn’t like that Stacy is back, either, although she’s trying to like it, to welcome it, knowing it’s good for Jesse.
She doesn’t like that suddenly nothing is as straightforward as it was before.
Her mother’s words reverberate around her brain, as do her father’s, even though she tries to push them aside. Their words are now tangled up with the ones spoken by Dominic’s parents: who they are, what they said, how they treated each other. It was unsettling to see them, especially given her parents’ concerns.
She had thought her parents wrong about her and Dominic. She hadn’t thought their different worlds mattered. Emma corrects herself: She doesn’t think it matters. And yet . . . meeting Dominic’s parents . . . She cannot help but wonder if her mother and father are right.
Emma has no frame of reference for any of this. Dominic’s mother and father are unlike anyone she has ever known. She has no idea how to talk to them, or what she would ever find in common with them other than Dominic himself. She tries to imagine what would happen if she and Dominic got married—if, say, her parents threw them an engagement party along the lines of the party they have just thrown for George and Henry.
She imagines Dominic’s parents with her parents, with their friends, in their house. She imagines her mother’s face listening to Dominic’s father shouting that his wife drove him “fucking crazy.”
It would not be pretty. She shakes her head to clear it. She has to stop thinking along these lines. She has no idea who Dominic’s parents really are. Or how to behave around them. She
thought she and Dominic could create a world of their own, a world in which it didn’t matter where they both came from, or how different their backgrounds were. But what if she is wrong?
What if they did get married? she wonders. She is beginning to imagine it, the tiniest of thoughts, floating at the very edge of her brain. There is no rush, but is there not only one real outcome for a relationship such as theirs, a relationship that is so easy, so filled with kindness and love?
They could get married here, she thinks. Perhaps on a country farm, lanterns hanging from branches, someone playing guitar, friends sitting on hay bales scattered through an orchard. That farm in Redding where they went the night Dominic kissed her; that would be perfect.
Or something small. Unassuming. Maybe they wouldn’t invite their parents at all. Maybe they would just take the train into New York on the spur of the moment and get married at city hall, with no one present except Jesse.
There would be little point in trying to combine their two families, but perhaps, if they did throw a proper wedding, and the parents were there, they could figure out a way to manage it all.
It’s only one day, she thinks. Anyone can put up with anything for one day.
But there is another nagging thought that she can’t quite get rid of. What if she is wrong? What if George is wrong? What if their worlds are too different for them to find a way through?
She cuddles Hobbes, hoping for some comfort. A couple of days ago it felt like she didn’t have a care in the world; now her head is spinning, her thoughts tumbling around. Is she making a terrible mistake? Should she end it now, before they are too entrenched?
But . . . but . . . they are so happy here. With their little side-by-side houses in Westport, by the beach, with Jesse. They are so happy in their own little world. And that world includes other people who like them both. Sophie and Rob like Dominic. They don’t think he’s beneath them because he doesn’t work in finance, isn’t hugely wealthy, isn’t ambitious in the same way they are. All his friends seem to like her, to accept her. It doesn’t bother them that she’s English; they don’t think she’s a snob.
She considers that for a long time, telling herself how silly she is for thinking this is going to be anything other than great. She hopes that any nagging doubts will soon disappear.
• • •
Not long after, Dominic knocks on the door. The coast is clear, he tells Emma. His parents have gone home, and dinner is ready.
She has no appetite, but she follows him next door and sits at the kitchen table, pushing her food around her plate, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Are you okay?” Dominic asks after Jesse has finished and gone upstairs to put his PJs on. Emma is quiet as he pours her a glass of red wine, as she wonders how to voice the jumble of concerns in her head.
“I’m fine,” Emma says, in the way all women say they are fine when it is quite clear to everyone they are not.
“Something’s the matter.” There is a look of concern on his face. “What is it?”
Emma pauses. Should she share her concerns with him, or is that unfair? How can she tell him that meeting his parents has brought her own parents’ words, their worries, flooding back? She can’t help but wonder if they are right. Is it too much to expect them to find the middle ground for the rest of their lives?
Jesse appears suddenly in the doorway, now in his pajamas. “Emma?”
“Yes, sweetie?” She is grateful for the interruption.
“Will you put me to bed?”
Tears well up in her eyes. She turns to hide her reaction, but Dominic can see how affected she is by the power of those six words: Will you put me to bed?
“Of course.” She blinks hard and gets up from the table, heading to the kitchen sink so she can pretend to get busy washing up. “Just give me a couple of minutes, okay?”
Jesse heads back upstairs as Dominic slides an arm around Emma’s waist.
“Wow,” he says. “I told you he’d come around eventually.”
“You did.” Emma nods. For now, her other concerns have retreated into the background.
This is more important.
• • •
“What do you want me to read tonight?” Emma walks over to the bookshelf as Jesse climbs into bed.
“The book you bought me,” he says. “The one about the anteater who eats the aunt.”
Emma is surprised. When she bought him Roald Dahl’s Revolting Rhymes earlier that summer, he had expressed no interest in it whatsoever. She told him this was her favorite writer when she was a child, and offered to read him a couple of the stories, but Jesse had said no, throwing the book on a chair and going straight back to his Minecraft game on Dominic’s computer.
As far as she was aware, he hadn’t even looked at the book, but now it seems she was wrong. She opens it to “The Ant Eater,” and starts reading, complete with exaggerated accents, both English and American, much to Jesse’s delight.
As she reaches the middle of the story, she feels a small hand slip into hers, and she stops, just for a second, to enjoy the spontaneous affection.
Dominic walks past the bedroom door and hesitates, leaning against the door frame for a few seconds to watch them, his eyes alight with love. Emma pauses, thinking that Jesse will ask his dad to take over, but he doesn’t. He lets her continue.
As she finishes the story, Jesse wriggles down, into the curve of her body, the perfect fit. He rolls onto his side, as she spoons him, tucking his small frame into her own. He takes her arm and pulls it over him, never letting go of her hand.
They lie there for a few minutes, before Emma gently pulls her hand away.
“Good night, Jesse,” she whispers. She stays where she is for a few seconds more, listening to him breathe.
“I love you,” she whispers, because that is what his father says to him every night, the last thing Jesse hears before he goes to sleep.
But he doesn’t say anything back. Jesse is already fast asleep.
Not an hour later, Emma crawls into Dominic’s bed, snuggling into his outstretched arm as Jesse had snuggled into hers.
This is what it’s all about, she thinks.
Love. Commitment. Family. The superficial stuff is irrelevant. Stacy is irrelevant. His family background is irrelevant. Cuddling with Jesse tonight was transcendent. I am going to make this work, she thinks. No matter what.
THIRTY-ONE
Emma walks around Terrain, wanting to buy something, unsure exactly what that something might be, or indeed, if there is anything here that she really needs. The retail space is gorgeous; she could move a bed into a corner of the store and live here happily for the rest of her life. She wanders around slowly, trying to decide whether to purchase a marble cloche, a gorgeous cheeseboard, the distressed wood tray.
There are plants everywhere. Emma has never been good with indoor plants, invariably killing them within a month. She sees dozens of terrariums on display, but she’s pretty sure she would kill whatever plants are kept inside those, too.
She is meeting Sophie and Teddy for tea in the café, but Sophie just texted her to say that she’s still waiting for her mother, who is stuck behind a school bus, hence Emma’s impromptu shopping interlude.
She pauses by a row of cool rubber rain boots, tries on a French quilted jacket that she probably wouldn’t ever wear. She fingers scarves, moves slowly along the glass jewelry cabinet, walks to the front of the store and picks up every candle, smelling it, until she hears her name.
“Emma!” Sophie is bustling through the store’s displays, her hair loosely pulled back in a messy bun, immaculate in tight jeans, a white T-shirt, ballet flats. She is wearing no makeup but looks stunning. Behind her is her mother, Teddy, elegant in similar clothes, a cashmere cardigan, the same huge smile as Sophie.
“You both look so gorgeous,” says Emma, hugging th
em.
“I’m so sorry we’re late,” says Sophie, as the three of them walk to the café counter to order tea.
“My fault, I’m afraid,” says Teddy. “We timed it horribly. I always forget about the school buses. I don’t know why they don’t pull over. They used to, when I first moved here. When Sophie was in school, the drivers always let you pass.”
“The driver on my route always lets me pass,” says Sophie.
“It must be because you’re young and beautiful. I sat behind him almost the entire way to your house to pick you up, with a huge line of cars behind me. I only minded because I knew I was going to be late, but there was nothing I could do. I turned on NPR and listened to a fascinating interview with Terry Gross. The woman behind me was not happy, though. She honked a number of times.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “That’s probably why he didn’t let any of you pass. Frankly, if I were a bus driver and had a woman behind me, honking, in a Range Rover, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t let her pass, either.”
Startled, Teddy looks at her daughter. “How did you know it was a Range Rover?”
Sophie just shakes her head and laughs, turning to Emma. “Have you noticed the daily uniform in town?”
“Lululemon, straightened hair, and a Range Rover? That uniform?”
“That would be the one.”
“No,” says Emma, shaking her head. “I can’t say I’ve noticed.” And all three laugh.
They take their teas to a table and sit down, shrugging off jackets and slipping them onto the backs of their chairs.
“It’s so chilly now,” says Teddy, rubbing her arms and warming her hands around her mug of tea. “I’m always surprised when the temperatures start falling again every September.”