“He wasn’t interested. He stopped being interested a long time ago.”
Bunny tightens the towel under her arms. “Well, all I can say is that he went to an awful lot of trouble for a husband who wasn’t interested in knowing what his wife thought or wanted or believed. And now I just have one question for you.” She gestures to the Ann Taylor suit that I’ve spread out on the bed. “You aren’t planning on wearing that to dinner, are you?”
“You got something from your father,” says William, walking into the bathroom. “I had to sign for it.”
I’ve been upstairs for an hour, stewing, and avoiding William, trying to will myself into a positive frame of mind for dinner. But the sight of him infuriates me all over again.
“You look great,” he says, handing me an envelope.
“I don’t look great,” I snap.
“I’ve always loved that suit.”
“Well, you’re the only one, then.”
“Jesus, Alice. What’s going on? Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you? Should I be mad at you?”
My phone chimes. It’s a text from Nedra. Hope you’re getting that toast ready! Practice, practice, practice. So excited about tonight. Xoxoxo.
“Damn toast,” I say. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“Oh—that’s why you’re so snappish. Nerves,” says William. “You’ll do fine.”
“No, I won’t do fine. I can’t do it. I just can’t do it. I can’t be expected to do everything. You do the toast!” I cry.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am. You’re going to have to do it. I’m not doing it.”
William looks at me aghast. “But Nedra will be so disappointed. You’re the maid of honor.”
“It doesn’t matter who gives the toast. You. Me. It just has to be somebody from this family. Get Peter to do it. He’s good at those sorts of things.”
“Alice, I don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t. And you never have.”
William shrinks away from me, as if I’ve hit him.
“I’ll come up with something,” he says softly. “Let me know when you’re done in here so I can take a shower.”
After William’s gone, I don’t know what to do with myself, so I open the envelope. There are two items inside: a card from my father and an old hankie folded carefully into a square. The hankie belonged to my mother. There are three little violets embroidered on the white cotton along with my mother’s initials. I press the hankie to my nose. It still smells of her Jean Naté body splash. I pick up the card.
Sometimes things we lose come back to us. Not usually, from this old man’s experience, but sometimes, they do. I found this in the pawnshop in Brockton. The owner said it’s been sitting in the case for over two decades, but that won’t be a surprise to you. I know you’ve made some mistakes and done some things you wish you could take back. I know you’re feeling lost and you’re not sure what to do. I hope this will help you make up your mind. I love you, honey.
I carefully unfold the handkerchief and there, nestled in the white cotton, is my engagement ring: the one I threw out the car window when William and I had the argument about inviting Helen to our wedding. Somebody must have found it and brought it to the pawnshop. The jewels have darkened with age and it needs a good cleaning, but there’s no mistaking the tiny diamond flanked by two even tinier emeralds—the ring that my grandfather gave to my grandmother so many years ago, the ring that I so cavalierly tossed away.
I try and make out the engraving on the inside of the ring but the type is too small. I can’t think about what it all means now. If I do, I’ll lose it. We have an hour before we have to leave for dinner. I slip the ring into my pocket and go downstairs.
The dinner is being held at a new trendy restaurant called Boca.
“Is that Donna Summer playing?” asks William, when we walk in the door.
“Jude told me Nedra was hiring a deejay,” says Zoe. “I hope they don’t play seventies music all night long.”
“I love this song,” says Jack to Bunny. “I sense your dance card will be full tonight, ‘Bad Girl.’ ”
“Did you take your baby aspirin?” Bunny asks.
“I took three,” Jack says. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?” asks Bunny.
“This,” he says, kissing her on the lips.
“You two are cute,” says Zoe.
“You wouldn’t think it was cute if that was your mother and me,” says William.
“That’s because between the ages of thirty and sixty, PDA is gross,” says Zoe. “And after sixty it’s cute again. You’re older than sixty, right?” Zoe whispers to Jack.
“Just a squidge,” says Jack, pinching his thumb and forefinger together.
“There’s Nedra,” says William. “At the bar.” He gives a low whistle.
Nedra is wearing a forest-green silk wrap dress with lots of cleavage showing. She rarely shows décolletage; she thinks it’s déclassé. But tonight she made an exception. She looks stunning.
“We should probably tell her,” says William. “Do you want to or should I?”
“Tell her what?” asks Peter.
I sigh. “That your father is doing the toast, not me.”
“But you’re the maid of honor. You have to do the toast,” says Zoe.
“Your mother isn’t feeling well,” says William. “I’m standing in for her.”
“Right,” says Zoe, whose face tells me everything she’s thinking: her mother is running away—once again. I should care, I’m setting a very bad example for my daughter, but I don’t. Not tonight.
“Darling! Have a Soiree,” cries Nedra, when she sees me approaching. She holds out a martini glass filled with a clear liquid. Little purple flowers skitter across the surface.
“Lavender, gin, honey, and lemon,” she says. “Give it a try.”
I summon the bartender. “Chardonnay, please,” I say.
“You’re so predictable,” says Nedra. “That’s one of the things I love about you.”
“Yes, well, I predict you’re about to not love my predictability.”
Nedra puts the martini glass down. “Do not put a damper on my evening, Alice Buckle. Do not even think about it.”
I sigh. “I feel terrible.”
“Here we go. What do you mean you feel terrible?”
“Sick.”
“Sick how?”
“Headache. Stomachache. Light-headed.”
The bartender gives me my wine. I take a big sip.
“That’s just nerves,” says Nedra.
“I think I’m having a panic attack.”
“You are not having a panic attack. Stop being so dramatic and just say what you need to say.”
“I can’t give the toast tonight. But don’t worry, William’s going to take my place.”
Nedra shakes her head. “That is a hideous suit.”
“I didn’t want to upstage you. But I shouldn’t have worried. All this—” I say, waving at her breasts. “Wow.”
“I asked one thing of you, Alice. One thing most women would be thrilled about. For you to be my maid of honor.”
“There’s a reason. I’m a mess. I can’t think straight. Something’s happened,” I cry.
“Really, Alice?” She looks at me incredulously.
“I got some bad news tonight. Some really, terrible, horrible bad news.”
Nedra’s face softens. “Christ, why didn’t you open with that? What’s happened? Is it your father?”
“Researcher 101 is William!”
Nedra takes a dainty sip of her Soiree. She takes another little sip.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you, Alice.”
“And?”
“Are you about to get your period?”
“I have evidence! Look. This is one of Researcher 101’s profile photos.” I take out my phone, go to Facebook, click on his photo album, and th
en click on the photo of his hand. “First of all, it’s geotagged.”
“Hmm,” says Nedra, looking over my shoulder. I drag the icon of the little yellow man onto the red pushpin and when the photo of our house pops up on the screen, she claps her hand over her mouth. “Wait, it gets better.” I zoom in on the photo. “It’s his hand. He could have used any hand. Any hand from the Internet. A clip art hand, even. He used his own.”
“That bloody, fucking idiot,” says Nedra, grinning.
“I know!”
“I can’t believe it.”
“I know!”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “Who knew he had it in him? That is the single most romantic thing I’ve ever heard of.”
“Oh, God, not you, too.”
“What do you mean not me, too?”
“Bunny had the same reaction.”
“Well, that should tell you something, then.”
I finger my engagement ring in my pocket. “Oh, Nedra, I don’t know what to feel. I’m so confused. Look,” I show her the ring. “This came today in the mail.”
“What is it?”
“My engagement ring.”
“The one you threw out the car window fifty million years ago?”
“My father found it in a pawnshop. Somebody must have turned it in.” I hold the ring up to my eye and squint. “There’s an engraving, but I can’t read it.”
“Your refusal to deal with your adult-onset presbyopia is becoming a real problem, Alice,” says Nedra. “Let me see.”
I hand the ring to her.
“Her heart did whisper he had done it for her,” she reads. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
“It does not say that.”
“Yes, it does.”
“You’re making that up.”
“I promise you, I’m not. That sounds familiar. Give me your phone.” She types the quote into Google search. “It’s Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice,” she squeals.
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” I say.
“Completely ridiculous. Over-the-top ridiculous. You have got to forgive him. It’s a sign.”
“I don’t believe in signs.”
“Oh, that’s right, only romantics believe in signs.”
“Wimps,” I say. “Saps.”
“And you go right on believing you’re not one of them, darling.”
“What are you two whispering about?” asks Kate, popping up behind Nedra. Kate is wearing a yellow dress that I’m sure Nedra picked out for her. Together they’re a sunflower: Kate is the blossom, Nedra the stem.
“My God, you look beautiful,” says Nedra, reaching up and stroking her cheek. “Doesn’t she, Alice? She looks like an Irish Salma Hayek.”
“Okay. I think that’s a compliment. Listen, I think we’re getting close to sitting down,” says Kate. “Maybe fifteen minutes? Alice, when do you want to do the toast? Right before we eat? Or after.”
“She’s not giving a toast,” says Nedra.
“She’s not?” says Kate.
“William’s going to do a toast in her place.”
Kate raises her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, but I’m just not up to it tonight. But William will be brilliant. He so good at these sorts of things. Much better than me, actually. I’m terrible in front of a crowd. I get all sweaty and my legs—”
“Enough, Alice,” says Nedra. “Let’s circulate, darling,” she says to Kate.
I take my chardonnay and go sit at an empty table in the back of the room. I see Zoe and Jude in a corner, holding hands, staring intently into each other’s eyes. Peter is out on the dance floor, doing the robot all by himself and by the looks of it having a grand time. Jack, Bunny, and Caroline are sitting at a table. And William is at the bar, his back to me. I grab my phone. John Yossarian is still online. William must have forgotten to log out.
I’ve changed my mind. I want to meet you, Researcher 101.
Uh—I can’t really chat right now. I’m sorry. I’m in the middle of something.
When can we meet?
I thought you went through the wardrobe, back into your real life.
Real life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
I don’t understand. What happened?
When can we meet?
I can’t meet with you, Wife 22.
Why?
Because I’m with my wife.
She can’t hold a candle to me.
You don’t know her.
She’s a wuss.
That’s not true.
You’re a wuss.
Possibly.
Tell me the truth. You at least owe me that. Are you happy in your marriage?
That’s not a small question.
I had to answer it. Your turn.
I watch as William puts the phone down, then picks it up again, then puts it down again and takes a big sip of his drink. Finally he picks the phone up once more and begins to type.
Fair enough. Okay. Well, if you had asked me a few months ago I would have said no. She was unhappy and so was I. I was troubled over how far we had grown apart and how distant we had become. I had no idea who she was anymore, what she wanted or what she dreamed about. And it had been so long since I had asked her. I wasn’t sure I was capable of having that conversation, at least not face-to-face. So I did something I’m not proud of. I went behind her back. I thought I could get away with not telling her, but now I think I’m going to have to confess.
Do you remember you said that you thought marriage was a sort of Catch-22? The very things that made you fall in love with your spouse became the very things that made you fall out of love with him? I’m afraid I’m finding myself at a similar Catch-22 moment. I did something out of love, in order to save my marriage. But the thing I did might be the very thing that ends it. I know my wife. She’s going to be very upset when she finds out what I’ve done.
So why confess at all?
Because it’s time for me to show up.
“Excuse me, everybody, excuse me,” says Nedra. She’s standing at the front of the room, holding a wireless microphone. “If everybody will please go to their tables now.”
I watch William slide off the bar stool, his phone in his hand. He sees me and waves me over, pointing to the table where Bunny, Caroline, and Jack are already sitting. Unbelievable. He doesn’t look rattled in the least bit.
When I get to the table, he pulls my chair out for me. “How did it go with Nedra?”
“Fine.”
“She’s okay with me giving the toast?”
I shrug.
“Are you okay with me giving the toast?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
In the bathroom, I dab my face with cold water and lean over the sink. I look horrible. Under the fluorescent light my suit looks pink, almost cartoonish. I take a few deep breaths. I’m in no rush to get back to the table. I open my Facebook chat.
I’m heartbroken.
Why are you heartbroken, Wife 22?
You did this to me.
That’s not exactly true. We both played a part in this.
I was vulnerable. I was lonely. I was needy. You preyed on me!
I was vulnerable, lonely, and needy too, did you ever think of that?
Look, this is not productive anymore. I think we should stop chatting.
Why do you get to make that decision? You’re just going to leave me hang—
The little green button next to his name turns into a half moon. He’s gone. I’m furious. How dare he log off on me! I walk out of the bathroom and nearly collide with a waiter. “Can I get you anything?” he asks.
I look out into the room and see Nedra approaching our table. She hands the mike to a clearly flustered William, kisses him on the cheek, then returns to her table, where she slides her chair as close as she can to Kate’s.
William stands up and clears his throat. “So, I’ve been asked to give a toast.”
“I don’t want anything, but yo
u see that man with the mike? That’s my husband. He’d like a piña colada,” I whisper to the waiter.
“Of course. I’ll bring it to him after he’s done speaking.”
“No, he’s desperate for one now. He’s parched. So parched. See how he keeps swallowing and gulping? He needs it to get through the toast. Can you put a rush on it?”
“Absolutely,” says the waiter, scurrying to the bar.
“I’ve known Nedra and Kate for—let’s see—thirteen years,” says William. “The first time I met Nedra—”
I hear the whir of the blender. I watch the bartender pour the drink into a glass. I watch him garnish the drink with a piece of pineapple and a cherry.
“And I knew,” says William. “We all knew.”
The waiter crosses the room with William’s drink.
“You know how you just know? When two people are right for each other?”
The waiter begins wending his way through the tables.
“And Kate—Kate, my God, Kate. What can I say about Kate,” blabs William.
The waiter is waylaid by a couple asking for drinks. He takes their order and moves on.
“I mean, come on. Look at the two them. The bride and—well, the bride.”
The waiter arrives at William’s table and slides the drink in front of him. William looks down at the drink, confused. “What is this? I didn’t order this,” he whispers, but everybody can hear him because he’s holding the mike.
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