by Sloane Tanen
“I don’t mean to suggest that you’re not intelligent,” Henry went on, looking at his mother. Bunny’s expression was also amused, as if she were allowing Henry ample time to dig all six feet of his grave and wouldn’t dream of stopping him. “It’s just that everyone assumes that because you’re a writer, you’re some kind of intellectual, which is pretty silly because it’s fiction, after all. Teen fiction.”
An awkward silence ensued. Janine’s face was bemused now; she was staring at Henry with all the affection one generally directed at a mime on a subway. “N-not that there’s anything wrong with teen fiction,” Henry stammered, pushing his hand through his hair. “I just mean to say that it’s not as if she’s a historian or a—”
“Quit while you’re ahead,” Bunny said drily. Henry looked down at his lap and began arranging his napkin.
“Can I say something, please?” Bunny asked.
“No!” Marty said.
“He’s all yours,” said Bunny, disregarding Marty and looking at Gail innocently. “If you can put up with him, God bless you. I just want to borrow him for a couple of weeks. Strictly platonic. I’m in an awkward position. It’s not easy for me to travel because of my celebrity.”
Marty cringed. Bunny as supplicant was about as convincing and authentic as Gail’s lips. Henry squinted as if he were in pain and went back to his napkin.
“I know how that sounds,” Bunny said. “But it’s simply the truth. I could use a vacation. I don’t have many friends. It would be a great gift to me if we could go with your blessing, Gail.”
That was a nice touch! Marty thought. Asking for her blessing. He wouldn’t have thought of that. Marty knew Gail would like it.
A waiter brought over menus and refilled their coffee cups. The interruption gave Marty enough time to organize his thoughts.
Then, to Gail: “You can meet me in Paris afterward. We’ll have our own vacation. Just us. Okay?”
Amanda raised her water glass in a toast. “To a getaway after all this.”
“Right,” Henry said and lifted his glass. “It will do you both good to get away immediately after you leave this place.”
Immediately. Marty laughed to himself. You couldn’t blame the kid for not wanting his mother to linger in Los Angeles like a bad extra. She’d expect things from him, make demands on his time. Marty smiled as everyone reluctantly clinked glasses. He hadn’t felt this good in he didn’t know how long. He’d stood up for himself. He’d let everyone know he was boss.
“Oh, and a toast to Janine,” Amanda added, turning to her silent sister with a nasty grin. “For coming into town to ‘help,’” she said, making air quotes around the word, “and fucking up my daughter’s life by trying to land her a role in the next Ransom Garcia film.”
“What?” they all asked.
Marty put his glass down.
Henry
Henry had to call her name three times before she turned around. He was feeling better but he wasn’t ready to sprint through rehab chasing an angry woman. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get out of Directions as quickly as possible, but her urgency clearly had more to do with him than with her family.
“Janine, wait! Can we talk, please?”
“About what, Henry?” she asked, stopping. “What do you want?”
“Uh, um,” he stammered like a fool. “You haven’t returned my calls or e-mails and you didn’t look at me once through that, that…” He paused as he looked for a word that might describe the past hour. “Brunch.”
“I’m busy,” she said and started walking toward the exit again.
“Did you get the flowers I sent?”
“I got your flowers, Henry. Thanks. We’re all squared up.”
“I don’t understand why you’re being this way. Surely you understand—”
“No. I don’t understand,” she said, spinning on her heel to face him. He shrank back. How he loathed an altercation with a cross woman he’d slept with. “You couldn’t have waited until I got home, Henry?” she asked. “You were so desperate to leave, you couldn’t wait like a civilized human being to say good-bye? After everything I did for you? It was so bad you had to escape like a prisoner?”
“Yes,” he said, incredulous. “It was that bad. It was terrifying, actually. Squaring off with your sister and Hailey and that cat!” He looked around to see if anyone was listening. “I was in my shreddies!” How could she not understand his position? Her family was a circus of dysfunction. It was all quite fascinating, but did she really expect him to jump right in and start spinning plates from a sickbed?
“You didn’t even clean up. You left your clotted gauze strips all over the bathroom. What am I, your fucking maid with benefits? I took care of you. I took you into my family home. I ran myself ragged. And that day, the day you decided to make a break for it, I needed you.”
“I—” he started, but Janine interrupted him.
“Surely you figured it out, Henry. You do have a PhD, right? That Hailey didn’t get the part? That Amanda was on a tear? And what did I come home to? A completely empty house. Everyone just, poof, gone!”
“Yes, well, when you put it like that.” Henry was at a loss. But he had tried to call her and explain. He had left her a message about Amanda. And he’d been calling and texting and e-mailing since. “I’m sorry. It just felt like you might also need some space. You seemed a bit annoyed with me and overwhelmed with the twins and your father.”
“You mean you were overwhelmed,” she said, pushing a rigid finger into his chest. The physicality of the gesture was shocking. “I trusted you. I never put myself out there, Henry. I just…don’t. For exactly this reason,” she said, looking past him, not able to meet his eyes. “So don’t turn this around. Don’t you dare manipulate me into thinking I did something wrong.”
Henry was taken aback. “Okay. Maybe it was a bit much for me, but don’t you think you’re overreacting? It was a lot for both of us and I simply didn’t want to overstay my welcome. It just seemed like an opportune moment to leave before another drama. I thought you might be pleased to have some time to yourself. Is that so terrible? My leaving doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
“But it changes the way I feel about you.”
Janine was pale and Henry could see beads of perspiration forming along her hairline. He wanted her to sit down but he didn’t dare imply she wasn’t looking well. “What are you so gutted about? I don’t understand.”
“Did you even stop to consider that I…that I might have issues around people just vanishing?”
Henry was gobsmacked, starting to understand the implication. “That’s not fair, Janine, I—”
“I told you what happened with my mom,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Thirty years later and there I was again, like a dumb kid, looking around the house for someone just because they said they’d be there.”
“Janine,” he said, mortified. “It’s hardly the same—”
“It felt the same. Maybe that sounds stupid to you, but it’s how it felt.” Tears were streaming down her face now. “It made me feel really bad, Henry. And I don’t want to feel that way. I’ve spent a lifetime protecting myself from ever feeling that way again.”
He was torn between indignation and grief. “Please. Tell me what I can do.”
“Nothing. Do nothing.”
Indignation got the better of him. “I don’t think you’re being at all fair here. I think you’re choosing to be angry with me. I think that you’re a hedgehog,” he said, borrowing a bad metaphor from Risa.
“Excuse me?”
“The hedgehog’s dilemma,” he explained. “Your whole family. You want to be close, to stay warm, but you have to stay apart to keep from hurting one another.”
Hedgehog’s dilemma! What a stupid thing to have said. And couldn’t the exact same comment be applied to him? Of course it could. That’s why he’d bungled this whole thing up!
“Bye, Henry. I’m not interested in
being psychoanalyzed by an art teacher.”
“I’m not an art teacher,” he said, feeling feeble. “And I’m just trying to help.”
“Don’t,” she said. “You’re not good at it.”
She wobbled uncertainly, as if she might lose her balance. Henry reached out to steady her, but she pulled her hand away. Baffled, he watched her crouch down, balancing the weight of her bottom on her heels. “Shit,” she said.
“Janine?” he asked, confused. Henry was in no way prepared for what she did next, which was to quickly stand up, pitch left, and vomit all over a marble Buddha.
He stared, appalled.
“Oh my God,” she said, hands covering her mouth, looking nearly as stunned as Henry felt. Then, mortified: “How completely disgusting. I’m so sorry.” She removed her cardigan, wiped her mouth with it, and tossed the sweater over the mess on the statue. “Sorry.”
Henry hadn’t a clue what to do, but as it turned out, that didn’t matter. By the time he could think straight, she was already out the door, running away from him.
Bunny
Bunny was still reveling in what she felt was a victorious brunch with Martin’s family. As far as she was concerned, it had been a smashing success. Gail had been put in her place, and whatever Henry was doing with Janine didn’t seem to be going very well. That was fine. The girl struck Bunny as being too meek for Henry. He needed someone with more authority. Besides, she had behaved as if she didn’t even know him. It verged on rudeness.
What an odd bunch of women. The many moons of Martin Kessler, she thought with a laugh. Anyway, it had been quite a show and she felt she’d come off rather well. She would treat herself to a smoothie. Yes, that was just the thing. A proper smoothie with bananas and strawberries, nothing green. She felt celebratory as she headed over to the nutrition bar. Where had Martin gone, anyway? They’d all dispersed like a gang of criminals at the sound of sirens.
She would have liked a post-party chat with Henry but he’d gone chasing after Janine like a lovestruck teenager the moment the girl had excused herself—which she’d done rather abruptly. It was clear as day the girl didn’t fancy him. No need for him to make a fool of himself.
And what was wrong with the other sister? Bunny still wondered. She was a stunner and she had a job. Leave it to Henry to pick the runt. He’d been a strange boy and he’d grown into a strange man.
She had Group in half an hour. Not that she needed it. If she was an alcoholic, then Gail was only fifty-five. Please! Gail was sixty-five if she was a day. All the chin-lifts in the world couldn’t tighten that neck. Bunny stroked her own throat with satisfaction. She waited for her smoothie, trying to think of something to share in Group today. She hadn’t been participating much.
She was walking toward the meeting rooms when she saw someone who looked like Henry slumped in a leather chair. She went closer.
“Henry?” she asked, walking around the chair. “What are you doing still here?” She took the seat opposite him and put her smoothie down on the side table.
“It’s over. Janine’s finished with me.”
“Well,” she said, reaching out to pat his knee, “there’s a lid for every jar, as they say. Probably she was just a bad fit.”
“She’s not a bad fit!” he shouted, startling Bunny. “I’m the bad jar. She’s a perfectly good lid.”
As usual, Henry was taking her metaphors too literally, and it was clear they were on precarious footing. She wanted to tell Henry that it was for the best—that he could do better—but that would just lead to a row. She didn’t say anything.
“Do you think I’m selfish?” he asked at last.
“We’re all selfish, Henry.”
“I mean, do you think I’m a narcissist? Am I thoughtless? A snob?”
“We’re both thoughtless snobs. That’s what makes us British.”
“Perfect.”
“You’ve known the girl only a few weeks. You can’t possibly be that attached.”
“But I am attached. I am.”
“You only think so because she’s off you. You’re romanticizing her.”
“I never intend to hurt anyone,” he said, trying to explain, “but when I do, it usually seems like the right time to break things off anyway. This wasn’t like that. I didn’t want to break things off with her. I just wanted to go home.”
Bunny leaned forward. “What happened? What did you do, Henry?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “I’m so confused.”
It was a terrible thing to realize your child was unhappy. Bunny knew there was a time when she could have made him feel better, though it had been many years ago.
“You must have some idea,” she said.
“I left her house a couple days ago. Her sister had arrived in a rage. It was awful.”
“So what is Janine angry about, Henry?” Bunny asked, irritated. “When exactly did you leave?”
“Friday.”
“And when exactly did you tell her you were leaving?”
“I left a message.”
“You told her you were leaving after you were gone?”
“I left a note! I called! Then I left voice mails. I wanted to spare her having to deal with me in the midst of what was clearly a very private and fraught family drama. I figured she’d be happy to have me out of her hair. You even said so!”
“Oh no,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “That is not what I said, young man. I told you to be honest with her about wanting to go back to your flat. I didn’t tell you to pack your bags and skip town. I specifically said not to do that.”
“I called her that night but she didn’t pick up. I sent flowers.”
“Oh, Henry, that’s awful. No wonder she was off you this morning.”
“Why? Why is that awful?”
“Didn’t I raise you better than that?”
“No, you did not, actually.”
“Well, how you behaved is just terribly unkind. And embarrassing. Say what you will about her appearance or attitude, she’s been nothing but gracious to you.”
“What’s wrong with her appearance and attitude?”
Bunny shrugged, reached for the smoothie, and took a noisy slurp.
“Damn it,” Henry said. “Damn it.”
“All you can do now is apologize.”
“I did apologize! She wasn’t having it. She wouldn’t even look at me. I make her sick!” he shouted.
“Stop it, stop it,” Bunny whispered. She poked his shoulder as she looked around the room. “Pull yourself together. It can’t possibly be that bad.”
“But it is,” he said. “I think I might love her.”
Bunny put the smoothie down. “Really? Why?”
“Why? I don’t know why.” He paused. “We have a laugh together. I can be myself. I don’t feel smothered. I never feel she’s putting on a show or trying to be anyone other than who she is. She makes me feel worthwhile just because she likes me. She makes me feel like my life is bigger than just me.”
Dear God. Bunny had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Henry sounded like a teenager from one of her books. “How can you be so invested in someone you’ve known for five minutes?” she asked.
“It’s been four weeks.”
“Well, then, go round and make it nice again, Henry. Women aren’t that complicated, and God knows she’d be lucky to have you.”
“I just told you she doesn’t want to talk to me. She vomited, Mother. The sight of me makes her sick.”
“What do you mean, she vomited?”
“She threw up on the Buddha by the valet and then ran away.”
“Bloody hell, Henry, the girl’s pregnant!”
A stunned pause. “Are…are you sure?”
“Of course I’m not sure, you idiot. I’m not a doctor. But she’s obviously irrational and apparently nauseated.”
“No,” Henry said after a moment. He shook his head, revisiting the details of the evening and evidently arriving at the conclus
ion that having sex could never lead to an unwanted pregnancy. “It’s impossible.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Agree with me.”
Bunny laughed, caught off guard by a wistful affection for her son. “I was a beast when I was pregnant with you.”
“You were?”
“Ghastly. Everyone was sure I was having a girl. And I was so sick, I lost a stone the first month. At one point they had me hospitalized.”
“You never told me that.”
“It’s not a very interesting story.”
“It is to me.”
“Well, there you have it.”
“Hard to imagine you carried me around and got podgy on my account.”
“I was keen on being a mother, believe it or not. I breastfed you too. For months. Nobody was doing it back then. I insisted.”
Henry waved that away as if it were a bit too much information. “Well.” He sighed. “That was nice of you.”
“I thought so,” Bunny said with a generous laugh. “I love you, Henry.”
“Yes. Well, I love you too, Mother.”
Janine
Janine was waiting for Gail and Amanda outside Directions. Her father was finally being discharged. Despite Gail’s insistence that it would be less stressful if she picked Marty up alone, both Janine and Amanda insisted on being there. Gail didn’t argue the point. She’d been surprisingly amenable the past few days, especially considering the humiliating scene she’d suffered at brunch last week. As it turned out, what they were experiencing was a virtual master class in the art of manipulation.
It began with Gail’s outright enthusiasm about Janine’s part in the Ransom Garcia film. No doubt Gail liked the idea of Janine’s finally having a job, of making versus taking money, but still. It wasn’t very much money (less than a topflight porn star commanded, Ransom had said, laughing apologetically, although slightly more than Esther the Wonder Pig made), but it was a start. And, as Gail had pointed out, what else was Janine going to do? She’d somehow managed to quell Marty’s misgivings. “You can’t possibly think her getting the offer has anything to do with you all these years later,” she’d said. And then she’d added, “Won’t you like having Janine in town, Marty? Isn’t that what you wanted?”