“Jack, go see what the boys are doing,” I tell him.
“Don’t you hurt my boys!” Peri shrieks.
“Peri, stop this,” I say, in such a firm, commanding voice that she actually does.
“We’re going to find the boys, clean them up, Jack is going to take them to bed and read them a story—”
“I am?”
“Yes, Jack. Don’t interrupt. And then we’re going to talk. Properly, without shouting, without accusations. Okay?”
The twins are halfway through smashing a box of eggs on the kitchen floor.
“No,” I say to Peri. “Don’t say a word. Jack Junior, Joe Junior, stop that right now. That’s naughty.” They look at me in disbelief.
But they do stop.
We clean up the mess, the boys are bathed and put to bed (amidst protests, but once Uncle Jack promises a bedtime story to only good boys, they succumb quickly enough), and Peri and I are at the kitchen table. I’m drinking a glass of wine, because I figure I deserve it. Peri is drinking soothing herbal tea.
“Peri,” I begin. “No one hates you. No one hates the twins. But you have to see how badly they behave.”
“But they’re just exploring—”
“Their boundaries. I know. But you haven’t set any for them. Boundaries, I mean. And boundaries are very important to a child.”
“But what do you know about bringing up children?”
“I was a child myself. And Julia was very firm about what I could and could not do, but not to the extent where she discouraged me from exploring my environment. She encouraged me to reach for the sky, if I could get there. So did Dad. And you’re wrong about him, too. He helped to raise me and I don’t think I turned out too badly. A little demented around the edges, maybe,” I say, and Peri gives me a weak grin. I take another gulp of my wine.
“I’m doing it all wrong, aren’t I?” Peri starts to head toward another bout of tears, but I head her off at the pass.
“Not at all. You’re a lovely person, and a good mother.”
“I’m a terrible mother.”
“That’s not true. You’re kind and loving. You just need to be a little more strict with the boys. If they’re good, reward them. If they’re naughty, don’t let them watch television or have play dates. They’re really smart kids. I bet you could turn all their excess energy around into something good, instead of tornado disaster time.”
Then Peri begins to giggle, surprisingly, because I thought she might get pissed at me for giving her advice.
“Oh, Emma, it was so funny when Jack Junior came running into the kitchen with that terrible pink vibrator—”
“Yes, it was,” I say, laughing with her. “You know, I didn’t like them trashing my room the way they did, but at the end of the day, the mess can be cleaned. But what if I’d had something in there they could really hurt themselves with?”
“You’re right,” she tells me, looking tired. “When did you get to be so smart?”
“I’m not smart,” I say. And then, “Peri, is something else worrying you? I mean, I know you’ve had a stressful week and everything, but you’re not yourself at all.”
“You’re right. I am tired, I am washed out, I am on a short fuse. You see, I’m pregnant. It’s playing havoc with my hormones.”
Oh God. I hope she gets the hang of child-rearing with the twins before the new baby makes an appearance.
“Oh. Does Dad know?”
“I haven’t told him yet. How will I cope when I have the new baby? I can hardly manage now,” she says, and I stuff a tissue in her hand.
“Well, you could always get a nanny. And a cook,” I add, because she should eat more vegetables if she’s pregnant.
“Well, I don’t know…”
“Maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you had help with the twins.”
“I wouldn’t want them to feel like I’d abandoned them.”
“But you wouldn’t be abandoning them,” I tell her firmly. “It would just mean that you get some time for yourself. And for Dad,” I add. I think that was very nice and subtle of me. Bringing Dad into the equation.
“I miss him.” Peri sniffles into her tissue.
This is good. This is very good.
“And he misses you, too,” I tell her. And then, “So, you’re going back to Dad, then?”
“Don’t worry.” She gives me a watery smile. “I wasn’t planning on destroying your lives forever. I think I should give Daddy a call.”
“Good plan.” And she’s calling him Daddy again, which is a good sign.
Peri uses the phone in the living room, so that she can talk privately to Dad. I hope it goes well.
“When did you get to be so smart?” Jack asks me from the hall door.
“You heard all that?”
“Yeah.” He grins at me, and pours himself some wine. “I liked all that stuff about boundaries. So tell me Emma, how do you set your boundaries?”
I think new Jack is rearing his head. And while I’m happy to help Peri in any way I can, I do not want to apply my advice to myself.
“These are yours, Madonna,” he says, as he sits down opposite me and hands me my Life Goals.
“George Michael? Jon Bon Jovi?”
“Hey, you read them?” I feel so stupid. I should have thrown these out. I try to remember what I wrote just before my thirtieth birthday, and then I cringe, because the closest I come to achieving any of my goals is having great friends.
“Only by accident when I was clearing up. I loved the slut-in-the-bedroom part.”
“You are such a—such a guy,” I tell him.
“I do a great Jon Bon Jovi. Did you know I play guitar?”
Oh, the doorbell. Thank God!
“I’ll get that,” I tell Jack, happy to escape. “It might be Dad.” Yes, I’m a coward. I admit it. I’m happy to escape Jack, but don’t want to think too closely about why I want to escape Jack.
When I open the front door, it’s not my dad at all.
It’s my mother.
Who is supposed to be three thousand miles away in London.
“Mum,” I say, because I’m—well—because I’m completely shocked to see her. “Julia. What are you doing here?”
“Emmeline, darling.” Julia kisses my cheek. “It’s nice to see you, too. Can’t a mother come and see her daughter without a reason?”
“They don’t usually fly three thousand miles to do it. Where’s George?”
“George and I are not attached at the hip,” she tells me. “Just because we live together does not mean we have to spend every waking moment of every day together.”
I think they’ve had a fight.
“You’ve had a fight, haven’t you?”
“Of course we haven’t had a fight,” Julia tells me the next day as we wave off Peri and the boys for their reunion with Dad.
“Peri is so right for Joe, isn’t she? Neurotic, ditzy—suits him perfectly. Sorry, Jack, I know she’s your sister but it has to be said.”
Julia is very proud of how she gets on well with her ex and his second wife. In fact, she treats Peri more like a daughter.
“Hey, I’m right with you. I love my sister, but God I don’t want to live with her,” Jack says. “Anyway, I’m going to finish painting the trim in the bedroom, now that I can do it without the twins wanting to help me.”
“It didn’t scar you for life, did it?” Julia asks me in an unusual display of uncertainty. “Joe and I getting divorced before you were born?”
“Of course not. I had a great childhood. You two have always gotten along.” Which is true, but I think having the Atlantic Ocean between them helped. “Why are you worrying about that now?” Because, let’s face it, they’ve been divorced for longer than I’ve been alive.
“Oh, I don’t know. All the nasty divorce cases I handle, all those poor children—I see how hard it is on them. They’d rather have their parents together, and miserable, than happy and separated. I think marriage should b
e outlawed. It’s far more sensible to live together.”
“You have had a fight with George, haven’t you?”
“George and I are perfectly fine.”
I know this is a lie, because George has called three times today asking to speak to Julia, and she won’t take his calls. This is not the Julia I know. This is not the Xena Warrior Princess I grew up with.
“We never fight,” she says. “We just agree to differ on certain subjects. Anyway, I haven’t come all this way to talk about George. Let’s have a girly day in Manhattan. We’ll go somewhere nice for lunch and catch up.”
Unfortunately, Julia’s idea of a girly day does not include any girly shopping. We spend our day visiting the Metropolitan and Guggenheim museums. Although I’m fond of art, by six in the afternoon I’ve had enough culture to last me until Julia’s next trip.
Finally, we call into a café near Grand Central Station for subs and coffee.
“Did I tell you?” I say to Julia. “Rachel’s getting married.”
“What? Rachel Rachel? No, I don’t believe it.”
Thought this would interest her. Mum loves Rachel—she’s exactly like Mum wanted me to turn out.
“Yeah. You’ll meet Hugh tomorrow night. He’s great—the way they are together remind me of you and George.”
Okay, so I had ulterior motives for telling Mum about Rachel, but I think I managed to turn the conversation to her and George with great subtlety and diplomacy.
“Honestly, Emmeline, you’re so transparent,” she says, putting down her coffee. “All right, since you’re determined to keep this up I’ll tell you. We have had a disagreement. George asked me to marry him.”
Oh. But that’s lovely.
“But that’s lovely,” I say to her, because it is. It must be great to have someone love you enough to want to propose to you, mustn’t it?
“No it’s not. Don’t you see? I don’t want to get married again. We’ve been living together for seven years and I’m perfectly happy with our arrangement. Why does George need a bloody piece of paper? Why does he need to fix something that isn’t broken?”
Sunday night, Chez Nous
Julia is flying back to England later tonight, so I’m not drinking because I have to drive her to the airport. I’m glad I brought her here—my friends are so nice. We’re having an impromptu engagement party for Rachel and Hugh who, fortunately, is a great hit with everyone. Even Julia is impressed with him. She had a long chat with Rachel, and she’s just been in the kitchen to call George, which is good.
“You know, maybe I should marry George,” she tells me after consuming two glasses of champagne. “I do love him. And if he needs a piece of paper to make him happy, then would it hurt me to do it?”
“Julia, that’s great,” I tell her, hugging her.
“Don’t get excited,” she tells me. “No big wedding. Just me, George, and two witnesses. No fuss, no party.”
I’m glad some things don’t change. Alas, I am the only one not drinking champagne.
“But how did you know that Rachel was the one?” Jack asks Hugh, and I lean closer to listen to his reply.
“I guess it’s all to do with diffusion,” Hugh tells us. “You know, the spontaneous mixing of the particles of two substances caused by their random motion. Our particles just mixed, and that was it.”
I completely understand why they’re together. He speaks the same language. I wonder why Jack asked him that question? Has Jack met someone, or is it just curiosity?
“So when’s the wedding?” Katy asks. “Because I’d love to help organize it.” And then, “Don’t worry, Tom, I won’t turn it into another of my crusades.”
“Darling,” he tells her, affectionately kissing her cheek. “You’re my maid in shining armor, you crusade all you like—just remember to be home for dinner.”
“Thanks, Katy, but my mother’s taken charge of the whole thing,” Rachel says. “Trust me, you do not want to mess with her—she’s been waiting for this her whole life.”
Rachel’s mother is planning a huge wedding, with white dresses and tiered cakes, the lot. The only stipulation Rachel made was that Tish gets to dress the bride, the bridesmaids, and matron of honor (coincidentally enough, that would be me, Tish, and Katy). This is a relief, because Tish will not torture me with something fluffy and vomit colored, with bows and frills everywhere.
It’s funny. Out of Rachel, Tish, and me, I never would have guessed that Rachel would be the one getting married first. But then I thought she’d never get married at all. All it took was the right guy, and the rest has fallen into place. I hope she still rants occasionally, but not too much…
“Did you see The New York Times yesterday?” Rachel asks me.
“No. Should I have?” I was too busy admiring art with Julia and clearing up after Peri and the twins. Hope Peri and Dad will be okay. I think they will be. Dad was over the moon about the new baby. He called me last night—he loves the idea of a nanny and cook, and he tells me that the boys haven’t been quite as bad as usual. Oh, well, Rome was not built in a day.
“There’s a picture of Stella Burgoyne at a charity event with William Cougan,” Rachel says.
“Oh?” That is interesting.
“Yeah, I thought you might find that interesting. I wasn’t going to mention it, but I thought it would be better if you found out from me, rather than at work.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t go doing anything stupid,” she tells me. “I know you, Emma Taylor. You leave that man alone.” And then, “I hope she dumped him, I hope she broke his ionic-bonding heart to fucking pieces.”
Me too, I think, but am distracted by the lovely picture Jack and Tish make. As Tish talks, Jack smiles and is hanging on to her every word. I wonder if he asked Hugh all those questions because he’s in love with Tish? He can’t be in love with Tish. Tish cannot do this to poor Rufus. Rufus will be broken hearted.
Not that I’m jealous, of course. Because it’s horrid to be jealous of one’s best friend.
I am still distracted by the thought of Jack and Tish, and poor broken hearted Rufus, as I drop Julia outside the departures gate.
“Darling,” Julia says, hugging me across the stick shift. “It’s been lovely. You must come to London more often.”
“I’ll try,” I say. “Good luck with George.”
“Oh, I don’t need luck,” she says, smirking. “Just a bottle of wine, a couple of candles, and an early night.”
Okay. This is depressing. Even my mother, who at fifty-three is more beautiful than ever, is having more sex than me.
“Just a word of motherly advice before I go.” She pauses as she’s climbing out of the car. “Do yourself a favor and sleep with Jack.”
19
A New Life
TO DO
Be nice and stop having horrible thoughts about best friends.
Become wanton sex-kitten goddess.
Work on sex-kitten-in-morning look to assist plan to lure Jack into my bed.
Saturday, September 7
Thank God everything is back to blissful normalcy!
When I say normal, I mean me-and-Jack normal. Since I dropped Julia at the airport last Sunday, we’ve had the house back to ourselves. And we’re back in our old routine—Jack is completely old Jack, my pal Jack. Actually, I can’t remember when he stopped being just Jack and turned into pal Jack. When did I start liking him? Anyway, pals is good. Pals is what I want. (Although I can’t stop thinking about what Julia said. You know, about having sex with him.)
Anyway, the only change in our routine is that he’s not working late anymore. His team hit their deadline, so for now he can ease off a little. Several times this week we’ve bumped into each other at the gym, then come back home together for dinner.
It’s nice to cook for two, and it’s also nice not to eat alone. Last night, Friday night, we met at the gym as usual. And went for a Thai meal at our usual restaurant. So that’s good, isn’t it?
>
Peri and Dad are fine. They call regularly to give me updates on the nanny/cook situation.
Dad contacted an agency first thing Monday morning, and they’ve already met with a nanny they like (apparently she can cook, too). I think Dad’s working fast so he can present Peri with a fait accompli before she can change her mind.
Julia and George are getting married in three weeks’ time. Julia’s booked Marylebone Registry Office in Westminster, which is a lovely, impressive, old building. Lots of pop stars get married there, apparently, and it just happens to be Julia and George’s local office. She hated having to list herself as “spinster of the parish,” because it sounds so awful.
In England, that is how an unmarried woman is described when completing marriage paperwork. I think it appears that way on the marriage certificate, too. Hmmm. Well, George gets to be “bachelor of the parish,” and Julia, apparently, kicked up a fuss and insisted that she wanted to be “bachelorette of the parish.” The registrar was not amused, but spinster is such an awful word, isn’t it?
Anyway, Julia insists she’s wearing cargo pants and a T-shirt for the happy occasion, because she doesn’t want to conform to society’s stereotypical expectations of a bride. Especially an older bride. But George has other plans. Unbeknownst to Julia, and with the help of the Internet and a credit card, he’s taking her to Barbados and they’re going to be married on the beach there. How romantic is that?
Meanwhile, Adam and Stella have definitely broken up…
Yes, it’s true. I got it from Angie, who got it (naturally) from Tracey in Human Resources. I’m dying to say something to him, but obviously I can’t, because that would be cruel and insensitive. Although he broke my heart, and although he is an ionic bonder, I have been sensitive and caring with Adam all week. I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for him. I wonder if he’s still doing her advertising campaign? I wonder if Stella kept the twenty-five-thousand-dollar ring?
Anyway, he doesn’t appear heartbroken. I suppose getting Colleague of the Year has softened the blow of personal rejection. He’s been rather flirty, actually. But I’m not falling for that old routine again. Definitely not.
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