by Naima Coster
She had a soft paunch of a belly visible through the drape of her dress. Her skin was buffed from all her time at the shore, her hair even paler, teased into a high, stiff knot on the top of her head. The little girl made the rounds from her aunts’ arms to Inéz, Noelle’s old college best friend, who had accompanied her, it seemed, as a plus-one. She and Nelson had stood together in the food line, and she had been civil but cold. It was clear to him that they had lost any bond they once had; Inéz was solid in her fealty to Noelle. Although he’d never felt particularly strongly about her, he had known Inéz long enough that he’d assumed she’d be a fixture in his life: someone he’d see periodically at birthdays and holidays and, someday, funerals. It was disorienting to see she was a stranger to him now.
It was even stranger to be in the company of the Venturas and the Gibbses. They had been his family, however distantly, for so long. Despite all his disdain for Lacey May over the years, their bond had never been tenuous—it had been like Noelle’s bond to her: unfortunate but fixed. Who was he to them now? Noelle flitted among her sisters, Alma and her relatives from New York, her mother and Hank. She was still anchored to them, no matter the years she’d spent away. She would never lose them, whereas he had been cut out swiftly, easily. He had no place.
She had hugged him, briefly, when he arrived. She was taking pictures with her sisters and she stole away to thank him for coming and then rushed back to join her fold. He hadn’t seen the baby close up; she’d left the girl in the arms of Margarita, who seemed to be frowning at him, bare legged, menacing, her face a painted shield of color.
It was his first time at a wedding without her. Before, when they’d gone to weddings, he was the one with whom she left her drink, the one to whom she announced, I’m going to the bathroom. She was the one who reminded him to count his drinks, who dipped a finger in the frosting of his slice of cake without asking, without wondering whether she could. Now he drank one glass of wine after another, waiting for a chance to talk to her alone. She was surrounded constantly by well-wishers, her sisters, the child. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so unmoored.
He was ignoring, or being ignored by, the Paws & Friends staff when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Adira, plump and beautiful in a crimson dress with bows at the shoulders.
“Oh, my God, Gee,” she said, and embraced him.
“Senator Howard,” he said.
She laughed. “It’s just the General Assembly for now. I almost didn’t recognize you—you look so different.”
“It’s the veneers,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Why not? Everyone likes having a dignitary at their wedding.” Adira pulled up a chair. “Besides, I used to take my dog to Diane and Alma’s camp before I moved to Raleigh.”
“You with anyone?”
“If you mean, am I married, no. Not everybody finds their soul mate in high school.”
He smiled at her, but she must have seen straight through to his sadness.
“What happened? You know Noelle announced the birth in the class notes, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw the picture and there was no mention of you.”
“Somehow you just knew that redheaded baby wasn’t mine?”
Nelson’s joke landed flat, and he decided he might as well tell her the truth.
“More than once?” Adira said. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”
“I guess I was trying to blow up my life.”
“Well, you did it.”
Her voice was firm, but she placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. “You know, I really thought the two of you would make it. You were a big success story for Central. If we’d had brochures, you’d have been on the cover.”
“I didn’t see us that way.”
“And then the fairy tale continued. You went to college together, you got married. You had your careers. The only thing missing was the baby.”
“It wasn’t ever a fairy tale. But I did love her.”
Adira nodded sagely. “It was a lot to overcome.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just the two of you combined—your stories. The way you grew up. A marriage is hard enough. Sometimes, it’s easier when at least one of you has had a simple life.”
It stung to hear Adira speak that way about him and Noelle, as if they’d had no choice in the matter, and there was nothing they could have done. And yet, it felt true. He had often thought that the problem was him. He had never managed to bury the boy he had been.
Adira took away his wine, handed him a glass of water. “Go and talk to her. You’re nearly out of time.” She nodded at the bartender who was packing up the bar, the wedding planner handing out little bags of rice to send off the brides.
Nelson approached her table, and Noelle propped up the baby to greet him. She planted her feet on her lap, waved her little arm, and said, “Say hello to Mr. Nelson.” It nearly ruined him.
He sat beside them, and the baby lurched toward him, unsteady on her feet. Noelle handled her deftly, both hands clutching her waist, and he knew he shouldn’t be surprised by how at ease she seemed, how expert. He didn’t want to hold the baby or touch her, but he bowed his face close to hers and tried to look friendly, pleased to meet her. She had chunky limbs and a face that was mostly forehead. She looked nothing like Noelle, or like he had imagined their child. He wondered if Noelle was thinking the same thing, but he answered his own question. Noelle beamed at her daughter, brushed her lips against her scalp. She had no reason to cling to the child that wasn’t.
As far as he knew, Noelle hadn’t disclosed the father to anyone. She hadn’t said whether she’d used a donor or had a one-night stand with a man on the coast. If she was seeing someone, he hadn’t accompanied her to the wedding.
She introduced him to everyone at the table: Inéz, and Ruth, whom he remembered, and her son, Bailey. Nelson recognized the contempt on his face when he saw it, and he figured Ruth had told him why their marriage had ended. Noelle and Ruth had always been close. He ignored the way Bailey was glaring at him, and asked Noelle to dance.
She handed the baby to Ruth and gave him her hand. On the dance floor, she curled into his body, her hands on his shoulders, as if they were old friends, as if it meant nothing to stand this close.
“How’s your mother?”
“Remission,” Noelle said. “She refuses to die.”
They laughed.
“She says she wants to live long enough to see all her grandchildren born. I don’t think Agnes will be enough for her. She’s started dropping hints to Diane and Alma, asking Margarita if she’s seeing anyone in L.A.”
“Lacey May on a mission…God help you all.”
“Even after everything, she still says the best thing she ever did was have kids and get married. I don’t bother asking whether she means the first or second time.”
“I don’t remember her being such a big advocate for marriage when it was our turn.”
“Me neither,” Noelle said, and Nelson felt a relief they could still speak the truth to one another, that what they had lived together hadn’t been erased.
“Your daughter came out light. Red hair?”
“I know. I spend my whole life frustrated by all the white people around me, and then I wind up with this red-haired baby. It’s strange. Sometimes people don’t even think I’m her mother.”
“And you haven’t told anyone about the father? Not even your sisters?”
“You and I aren’t going to talk about it for sure.”
“I always knew that if you left me, it would be for some well-adjusted white boy.”
“And I always knew I was never going to leave you. Here we are.”
The music slowed, and they swayed in place. Nelson looked over Noelle’s shoulder at the table where Agnes was with Bailey now, the baby pulling at his ear.
“She’s beautiful,” he said, and Noelle seemed to forgive him. They revolved around the room. The music wa
s soft and soulful, and they held each other under the dimming lights. She asked him about Vienna, and he didn’t want to pretend with her, to give a spiel about cafés and sprawling parks, immaculate trains and world-class museums.
“I’ve met a lot of former Nazis in bars. A woman spat at me on the street once. But, mostly, it’s fine. I’ve got a flat overlooking the Danube.”
“Are you still with that publicist? Jemima?”
There would be no good in telling Noelle about the women he picked up and left, or who picked up and left him. They meant little to him. He liked making coffee for someone in the morning, the scent of a woman on his sheets. Sex and companionship could be simple, amiable things. Jemima visited sometimes, and they both understood it would be their habit until it wasn’t anymore.
“There’s no one like you,” Nelson said.
“How unfortunate you couldn’t remember that when you decided to fuck her.”
He said nothing. He deserved it. He felt her stiffen as if she might move away, leave him on the dance floor, but she stayed where she was. Underneath her makeup, she looked tired. He wanted to kiss the dark circles under her eyes.
“Is it what you thought it would be? Being a mother?”
“It’s worse. I couldn’t breastfeed. During the delivery, I tore right open. I still can’t ride my bicycle. And community theater directors don’t get maternity leave. I pay a babysitter a few days a week. I am so broke. But she’s objectively perfect. Do you see her?”
Nelson nodded but didn’t look toward the child. He had a vision of Noelle, the day they had started trying. He had been reading on the bed when she surged into the bedroom, already naked, brandishing a tiny blue-and-white strip. She was ovulating, she said. She was ready, she said. Nelson was the one who had been unsure; he didn’t want anything to disrupt the equilibrium they had. But then he saw her climb onto the mattress on her knees, teetering toward him, her arms wide open, and there had been no question he would oblige.
He rested his face against hers. He wanted to kiss her.
“You know what I kept thinking about during the ceremony?” she said.
“Our wedding?”
“The play.”
“Which one?”
“Measure for Measure.”
“Oh God,” he said. “My debut and my denouement.”
They both laughed.
“Something about the pageantry of it all—the marching down the aisle, the people clapping. It reminded me of opening night.”
The first performance of the play had gone as smoothly as anyone could have imagined. The audience was smaller than Mr. Riley had hoped: just the cast members’ parents and siblings, a few of the girls from Concerned Students for Justice. Even with the modest crowd, they were all nervous. Alex, who had been recast as the duke, threw up backstage. Adira, radiant in her nun’s costume, had led them in prayer before the curtain went up. And Nelson, somehow, had felt surprisingly calm. He knew the play wasn’t resting on his shoulders; it wasn’t about him. He needed only to be a part of the organism, and together, they’d create the play, just as they had in the dress rehearsals. The feeling was magic.
Miraculously, everyone remembered their lines. Noelle made sure the curtains closed and opened when they were supposed to; she positioned them backstage, brushed lint off their costumes. And Nelson had projected his voice better than he had known he could, aided by the brightness of the lights, how little of the audience he could see.
And yet, despite their triumphs, the audience never quite laughed when they were supposed to; the emotions the actors meant to convey were never quite the ones that came through. Isabella’s horror at Angelo’s predation came across as mild annoyance; the duke’s pomposity seemed to be rage; only Angelo’s lust was clearly expressed, which made the parents fidget in their seats. The final slew of betrothals at the end left the crowd puzzled, and they clapped half-heartedly as they tried to sort out what had happened, whether all was well. No one was very good, and they knew it, but it didn’t matter. For two brief hours, they melded together, the kids who had been at Central before, and the ones who were new. At the end, they linked arms and bowed, and Mr. Riley handed out roses, two for Noelle. And Noelle and Nelson had climbed down from the stage to greet their families, Linette in the front row, Lacey May and Hank with the girls. Jade and Robbie were nowhere to be seen, and they held hands and presented themselves for the first time as a unit: Nelson and Noelle.
“I was lucky to have you love me then, despite all my problems.”
“Please,” Noelle said. “I was the one getting drunk and knocked up and running away.”
“At least you knew who you were. I couldn’t stand being me.”
“You’re fine, you know. You always have been. But you still can’t see it, can you?”
She unglued her cheek from his, stared at him plainly. Nelson felt his skin thrum; he was desperate for her to say more.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes glistening. “I can’t make you know. It isn’t my job anymore.”
She kissed the palm of his hand and then returned to her daughter. Nelson wanted to follow her, the urge so strong he nearly did. Alone on the dance floor, he finally felt himself drunk, his body listing, a searing pressure in his eyes and skull. Adira steadied him in her arms. She steered him beyond the barn, its hardwood floors. His shoes sank into the mud. They crested the pasture in the darkness, headed for the lot.
“Where can I drop you off?” she asked.
His hotel was near the airport, but he knew where he needed Adira to take him.
“I have to see her,” he said. “Take me to see her.”
The new house where Jade lived wasn’t far from the main street. It was brick, two stories, the screened-in porch obscured by a massive rhododendron. The neighborhood was quiet, surreptitiously wealthy. An elementary school and its playground was on one side of the street, a stone Baptist church on the other, oaks and dogwoods in the front lawns, a large park at the end of the road, all hills and towering magnolias. It was the kind of neighborhood where the university professors bought their homes years ago, and where the new tech workers were just moving in. He had only ever driven through this part of the city before.
Adira parked neatly in front of the house, and he invited her in.
“No, thank you. I don’t want to be a party to that conversation. But before you go, Gee, please . . .” She handed him a tin of mints and waved a tiny can of air freshener. He worked the lid open and swallowed a handful while she sprayed him down.
He thanked Adira, hugged her hard. He watched her drive away, headed for Raleigh. He found himself trembling, terrified to see his own mother. It had been years.
Jade startled when she opened the door. He watched her face shift from disbelief to suspicion, then a smile that seemed wary, questioning. She wore a long black robe, her hair braided and twisted into a crown. León appeared behind her in the threshold in checkered pajama pants and a matching robe. It was almost too intimate to see them side by side, dressed for bed, but he shouldn’t have expected anything different. Nelson looked down at his shoes, his vision blurry, and he wondered whether they could notice him wobbling on his feet.
He followed them into the house. The kitchen was all hardwood and blue tile, brightly colored paintings on the wall. A black cat weaved between their legs, leapt onto the windowsill. He hadn’t known his mother had a cat; he’d never known her to care for animals.
León made tea and kept up the small talk. He asked about the wedding once Nelson explained why he was in town. He asked about Vienna, his latest residency. He complained about his own work at the hospital, said Jade was the one really making a difference at the clinic. She’d been elected to the board of a statewide reproductive rights group. León filled the silence, and Nelson and Jade sipped their tea, avoided looking at one another.
Nelson wondered whether his mother was angry with him. He’d never visited her in this house, although he knew the
address from the occasional mail, her Christmas cards. He called her every once in a while, whenever he had good news, and they’d gloss over the last several months of their lives in a few minutes. We bought a house; I’m traveling to Paris; the book is coming out in hardcover. He had told her about the divorce matter-of-factly, long after Noelle had served him with papers. He hadn’t mentioned it again, and she hadn’t asked.
But Jade’s face betrayed nothing, not elation, or rage. He wanted to hear her say she was upset he’d traveled across the ocean for the Venturas and not for her. He wanted her to say he had been wrong to give his whole life to Noelle and then betray her. But she went on sipping her tea, leaning close to her lover.
León mentioned that they’d gone to see Linette recently at the nursing home. She didn’t recognize Jade anymore, but they still went to bring her flowers and take her for walks.
“You should see her if you’ve got the time. How long are you in town?” León said.
“It doesn’t make sense to go now. You should have come sooner, when she was asking for you. She used to ask about you all the time.”
Jade was staring at him finally. Something in her had turned. Through the fog of his drunkenness, he felt himself quake. Maybe she’d let him have it, and that would be right. Someone ought to punish him.
León seemed to sense the charge between them. He announced he had rounds in the morning and was off to bed. He clapped Nelson on the shoulder, kissed Jade, and climbed the stairs too swiftly for a man in his sixties.
Jade and Nelson were left alone, their bare feet on the cold tile.
“Was my old friend there at the wedding? Lacey May?”
“I didn’t speak to her, but I saw her. She’s doing fine.”