by Jane Green
But still. She would have liked to reach those conclusions on her own, and not be marched there because he had so clearly rejected her.
And he did reject her. He didn’t even pretend he might be interested in seeing her again. He didn’t ask for her number, didn’t give any indication that this meant any more to him than a drunken mistake.
Meredith has never been more humiliated in her life. Clearly she can’t go back to the class again. How could she ever face him? Not to mention the classmates who saw her leave with him. How could she watch him flirt with whatever new girl might strike his fancy, knowing what would happen, dreading that maybe she would be one who he would want to stick around. Unlike Meredith.
Deciding that there is no way in hell she will set foot in the Frognal Arts Center again, for the rest of her life, makes her feel ever so slightly better. She’ll miss the classes, though; they were the one bright spot in her week. But she can find another class. She has no idea where, but she’ll travel farther afield and find somewhere fabulous. Maybe with a female teacher. Or at least one who is married. And faithful, not given to flirtations with the students.
At lunch she goes to the sandwich shop around the corner from her office. She hasn’t been there for a long time, instead bringing her salads and protein in for lunch, or grabbing a salad from Pret on her way in. Today she waits in line at the sandwich shop that used to be her favorite, looking at the boards, trying to decide what she wants.
What she wants is everything. She wants to stuff the loneliness, the humiliation, the disappointment, the shame, the sadness until she can’t feel it anymore. What can she stuff it with?
She steps up to the counter and orders a turkey and Swiss with tomato, cucumber, and extra mayonnaise on a whole wheat roll. Without pausing she also asks for a bacon, lettuce, and tomato on a baguette with melted cheese. She adds some chips and four brownies too.
Meredith eats the turkey and Swiss, chips, and a brownie in the park. On the bench outside the Gap she eats the bacon, lettuce, and tomato baguette, chips, and another brownie. On the way back to the office she buys a Double Decker and a Bounty and eats those in the loo. With another brownie.
The rest of the day is spent in a sugar coma. She is so tired, she can barely keep her eyes open. Her boss comes out at three and gently asks if she’s feeling okay.
“I think I’m coming down with something,” she lies. She may not be exhibiting flu symptoms, but emotionally, physically, and spiritually, she is definitely sick.
She is sent home, where she crawls into bed and thinks about what else she can eat to stop her feeling anything. She watches old black-and-white films and sleeps. At six o’clock she wakes up hungry again. She can’t face going out, so phones the Chinese and orders spare ribs, seaweed, prawn crackers, and noodles. And four Diet Cokes. So they will think they are feeding four people.
Meredith eats in bed, tasting nothing. The food is devoured as if she is starving, swallowed without being chewed, wolfed down as she tries to feel better, and if not better, numb. She drinks two of the Diet Cokes before running to the bathroom and throwing up. Seeing some of the food in the toilet bowl is the only relief she has had today. At least it wasn’t as bad as it could have been; at least some of the calories do not count.
She hasn’t eaten like this for years. Since she lived in Westport, since she was a teenager and came downstairs ready to go out, only to see her mother shake her head sadly, almost imperceptibly, as she tried not to look at her daughter’s thighs. She hasn’t eaten like this since her mother slid the bread basket away from her and over to her sisters, with wide warning eyes to not let Meredith have any more bread.
And what did Meredith always do when she felt alone, or unloved? Go to her room and pull out the Oreos from under the bed, the chip packets from the bottom drawer, the Peppermint Patties from her closet. Sugary, salty, crunchy, sweet, it was the only thing that made her feel better; the only thing that made her feel loved.
When Meredith is finished, she brushes her teeth then gets rid of all the evidence. She buries the foil containers underneath the rest of the rubbish in the bin, sprays her sheets with lavender spray, changes into a clean T-shirt that doesn’t have noodles on it.
She gets back into bed feeling bloated and ashamed. All these months her eating has been so good. All these months she has felt, and looked, so great. And now she has blown it in an epic way. I will start again tomorrow, she thinks, looking down at her bloated stomach, self-disgust roiling through her.
Her phone rings, making her jump. She looks and sees it’s Nell. How strange. She never hears from Nell.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Meredith.”
“How are you, Nell?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”
Meredith is about to say she’s okay, but she’s really not okay. She has spent the entire day awash in shame and making self-destructive choices.
“I’m pretty shit, actually,” Meredith says, which in itself is unusual, for she does not swear. “I had a one-night stand last night with my art teacher, which was stupid not only because I was naïve enough to think he liked me and wanted to get involved with me, but also because I have now fucked myself as far as going back to art class, one of the only things in my life that makes me happy. I have spent the day eating enough food for ten people, and I’ve just thrown up. And I feel humiliated and stupid. I can’t believe I fell for this sleazy guy.” She stops, remembering that it is Nell on the other end of the phone, Nell who has never had any patience with painful relationships, her own or anyone else’s.
There is silence on the other end of the phone.
“Nell? Are you there?”
“I’m here. I’m just listening.”
“Do you have anything to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
Meredith shakes her head in disgust. “It would be really nice to hear that you’re sorry, or that you feel my pain, or just a hint of sympathy. That’s what I want you to say.”
“I am sorry,” says Nell. “Obviously, you’re my sister and I don’t want to hear you’re in pain. And the food thing isn’t the solution, as you know.”
“Of course I fucking know!” Meredith bursts out. “Do you think it feels good to have eaten so much I just threw up?”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.”
“You know, why don’t we just talk tomorrow when you’re feeling better.”
“You called me, Nell. I never hear from you. You must have something you want to talk to me about.”
“It’s okay. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“Just tell me. It’s fine.”
“I was going to ask you if you’d look at some financial papers I’ve just received. It’s the farm. I haven’t got the money for a CPA and I thought maybe you could take a look and explain it to me.”
Meredith pauses. It’s so like her sister, to brush over emotions, to not want to engage in anything uncomfortable, in any show of emotion, then to move on to business, anything else.
Today is the first day she won’t play. She has suddenly had it with how much her whole family has always taken her for granted.
“Nell?” she says. “Fuck off.” And she puts down the phone.
2016
fifteen
Derek reaches over and places a hand on her hand. She knows what this means. This is to stop her talking, stop her doing whatever she is about to do, so he can insert himself and choose for her.
“My fiancée will have the steak, medium rare, with no potatoes and extra spinach, please. I’ll have the shepherd’s pie. And we’ll all have another bottle. Thank you.”
He looks approvingly around the table, as Meredith sits back. She wouldn’t have ordered the steak. She quite fancied the chicken tonight, even though it did have a mushroom cream sauce, but really,
how much harm would a mushroom cream sauce do?
“We do have a wedding dress to get into,” Derek explains to the couple sitting opposite them. “I’m trying to help Meredith be as perfect as she can for the big day.”
The wife, Tilly, looks at Meredith for a reaction. Meredith merely smiles and picks up her glass of wine.
“You’re allowed to drink wine?” says Tilly, archly. Clearly she disapproves of Derek.
“Do you know, I hadn’t checked.” Meredith realizes she is ever so slightly drunk. She is ever so slightly drunk quite a lot of the time these days, especially when she is forced to play wife at a client dinner like tonight. “Am I?” She turns to Derek. “Am I allowed to drink wine?” She stares at him as she takes a long, drawn-out sip, watching Derek arranging his features into a smile.
“Of course you are,” he says, turning to his clients. “One has to have a little fun, after all.”
Tilly doesn’t like Derek. Meredith can tell. The people who do like Derek are very much like him. Conservative. Stuffy. Overeducated and pompous. They are always pompous. His client, Richard, is pompous. Tilly, on the other hand, Richard’s wife, is suddenly seeming quite nice. Most people don’t realize quite how awful Derek is, thinks Meredith occasionally, swayed, as she once was, by his good looks. For he is good-looking, and those looks have opened doors, paved pathways, secured relationships. When Meredith is filled with doubt, she finds herself looking at his aquiline nose, his perfect teeth, reminding herself how lucky she is that someone who looks like Derek should even be interested in her.
“Where are you getting married?” asks Tilly, as the men start chatting about Richard’s next tax return.
“We’re getting married in a country church in Somerset that’s incredibly beautiful. Derek chose it.”
“Lovely,” says Tilly. “And do I hear the faintest of American accents?” Meredith nods. “I thought so. Will your family be coming over?”
“No.” She smiles. “My mother hasn’t been very well so it’s hard for her to travel right now, and I haven’t been close to my crazy sisters for years.”
“Is your mother okay?”
“I don’t speak to her that much. My mother is very dramatic, so it’s always hard to tell what’s real and what’s a cry for attention.”
“So you don’t think she’s sick?”
“I think a normal person would go to the doctor and get a prescription. My mother just has symptoms that send her to bed, so everyone can gather round and make a fuss of her.”
“So she’s like the boy who cried wolf?”
“Exactly.” Meredith rolls her eyes. “My mother is the quintessential boy who cried wolf.”
“What about your sisters? I always wanted sisters. I can’t imagine having sisters and not speaking to them all day every day.”
“You definitely wouldn’t if you had my sisters. You’d be diverting the phone calls at every opportunity. Not that either of them ever calls,” she adds, with a hint of sadness.
“How many do you have?”
“I am the middle of three.”
“Ah.” Tilly sits back. “The people pleaser.”
“Is that an observation or a classic middle-child trait?”
Tilly pauses as Meredith sips more wine. “Both?” She lowers her voice. “So, marriage to Derek is the fulfillment of all your fantasies?”
Meredith lets out a bark of laughter. “I wouldn’t say that.” She looks fondly at Derek. “He’s a good man. He loves me. He will make a wonderful husband.”
“Do you love him?”
Meredith turns to stare at Tilly. “Of course! I wouldn’t be marrying him if I didn’t. Do you love Richard?”
Both of their voices are low, the women leaning close to each other across the table. They both turn their heads to be sure their men are deep in conversation.
“No,” mouths Tilly. “I mostly hate him.”
Meredith sits back, shocked.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just exhausted, and we’ve got six-month-old twins, and I feel like I’m doing everything. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I hate him right now because I’ve been waking up all night long for what feels like months. The twins are horrible sleepers. I’m just tired.” She shakes her head and attempts to laugh it off. “What about you? Will you have children?”
It was only a matter of time before this question was asked. It’s only a matter of time before this question is ever asked. As soon as people know the details of the wedding, and the dress, they ask about children. There is usually a slight reticence in their voices, for Meredith, at thirty-eight, is well past her prime, but when she tries telling them those days are over, everyone assures her they have a friend who had a baby at forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven. She has plenty of time, they say.
It doesn’t occur to anyone that Meredith might be relieved the baby factory is almost closed, that there is a reason she smiles and changes the subject whenever it comes up.
Long, long ago, well before Derek, before anyone, when Meredith was only a child, she remembers telling her best friend that she was never going to have children. She told anyone who would listen she would never have children. While her friends nodded solemnly when they were young, as she got older people started telling her that she’d change her mind, that she just wasn’t ready, that she should wait until she got older, then she’d want children. She learned to keep quiet and not say anything at all.
Now she shakes her head with a light laugh.
“The only baby I have time for is my fur baby. Butch. He’s a mini schnauzer and the true love of my life. Don’t tell Derek.”
“Butch will be a perfect space saver for the real thing,” says Tilly, as Meredith smiles and says nothing. She is still in baby mode, this younger woman. As much as her twins are exhausting her, she would never be able to understand someone saying they were absolutely clear that they didn’t want children.
The last time she remembers telling someone she didn’t want to have children, it was during one of her early dates with Derek.
She admired Derek very much by the time he asked her out on a date. Certainly she found him spectacularly handsome. Everybody did. At least that’s what she now tells herself on a fairly regular basis. She didn’t truly like him when she joined the CPA firm where he worked. But then he made a concerted play for her, and the simple fact that he liked her as much as he appeared to was like catnip for a people pleaser like Meredith, a people pleaser with a low sense of self-worth, who couldn’t believe someone that handsome would notice her.
He would knock on the door to her office on some inane pretext, then come and sit by her desk and chat away about all kinds of things. Meredith sat and listened, flattered that a junior partner would take so much interest in her.
Meredith hadn’t had a proper relationship in years. She once thought that one day she might have made enough money as a CPA to give it up and do something creative. But she never went to another art class after her one-night stand with the art teacher, and that dream slowly faded to a vague thought once every couple of years.
She stopped fighting the dullness of accounting. She followed the rules of what the women in her office wore: twinsets and pearls, sensible heels, pastel dresses in summer with nipped-in waists and white tights. She forgot she had once expressed horror at white tights and began to wear them, with closed-toe pumps (even Meredith wasn’t silly enough to wear white tights with open-toed sandals, although plenty of women at her office did).
Mostly, she is happy with her life. She still wishes she were prettier, thinner, more, somehow, but she is okay. When Derek asked her out to dinner, she said yes, flattered beyond measure that he had asked. And when the doubts set in, she reminds herself to remain flattered. If this was the life she was going to live, even if it wasn’t the life she once wanted, then Derek was surely exactly the sort of hus
band she should have.
She is thirty-eight years old, after all. She was supposed to have been married and having children long ago. And so, when Derek flew her to New York for her birthday and got down on one knee in the Rainbow Room, how could she possibly say no?
Derek’s looks hide the fact that he is, or can be, patronizing and superior. She feels guilty even thinking that. Far easier for her to focus on his good qualities, even if sometimes it is quite hard to think what they are. He is . . . affable . . . and kind, surely? At least, he isn’t unkind. He is turning fifty, and treats her like a princess, at least he did in the beginning, before they got engaged. He seemed unable to believe someone like Meredith would go out with him, let alone marry him. Attention and adoration were not something Meredith was used to.
The experience with Nicholas, being treated as disposable, had put her off men for years. She hadn’t trusted anyone until Derek appeared, like a knight in shining armor, to restore her faith.
If he is a little dull, surely that is a good thing. Where has excitement gotten her? It seems far safer to give her heart over to someone like Derek. Although there are times when she isn’t entirely sure she has given her heart to him, but perhaps it is safer this way. This is pragmatic, sensible. This is the stuff of which the strongest marriages are made, surely. Choosing your mate is so very much wiser than falling in love with someone who will undoubtedly break your heart.
Everyone at work gets on with Derek. Everyone seems to laugh at his jokes and clamor for his attention, although he is partner. There is that. Would they find him quite so amusing if he didn’t sign off on their paychecks every week? Certainly she doesn’t always find him amusing. Or even likable.
Her family doesn’t like him, which partly explains why their relationship has become so strained. Lizzy has never been known to hide her feelings. He met them all when they went to New York and their mother insisted they meet up for a family dinner.
Lizzy got them into Jean-Georges, last minute. No one can get a reservation, but Lizzy has become quite the supper club maven. People travel from all over for her pop-up supper clubs; her name is well-known in the tri-state area. Restaurants that are booked for months magically find a table for Lizzy at a reasonable time.