“Really?” Jill and I spoke in unison, astonished. The List. Violet’s constantly curated dating criteria. It included things like the appropriate length for jeans and body hair ratios.
“Yes. I whittled it to the bare bones. Hot, good kisser, at least offers to pick up the check, owns a tux, and waits for me on the other side of turnstiles.”
“Wow. Those are some serious concessions,” I admitted.
“It’s pathetic. I’m tired of flings with dunces and dunces I fling.” Violet looked down, twirling her wine glass at the stem.
“I must not be hearing right. Violet Man-eater Valentine is actually ready to settle down?” Jill asked, skeptical. Violet nodded and shrugged at once, which is hard to do, and it seemed a sad gesture.
“You’ll find him,” I squeezed her hand lightly, and she gave a smile. I finally took a sip of the wine, and I saw the girls do the same as I leaned back into the cool white leather of the sofa. That was a pretty heavy admission from my sister.
Violet enjoyed her share of companionship but maintained marriage was for Communists. When she first arrived, she quickly climbed the rungs of the social ladder. She became the muse of the ‘new Andy Warhol’, Thurgood Badue, and her picture can be found monthly in every publication south of 57th. She met Jill on “the scene” her freshman year, and they quickly became great friends.
I moved here, to attend NYU, the year after Vi. Even though there was a two-year age difference, I’d worked overtime to join in her in junior high school, skipping fifth grade. Sometimes I wonder if my nineteen-year streak of awkwardness was related to my constant effort to keep up with her and our other childhood friend Zack.
I was initially jealous of Violet and Jill’s friendship. Let’s face it, as a former runway model, Jill is intimidating. But she turned out to be a wonderful person whose friendship I found invaluable.
But Vi had definitely found her home in NYC. Her social ascent wasn’t climbing, it was more like levitating. The melting pot that is NYC is, in fact, very liquid. People tend to find their natural level. Math loving band nerds become rock stars and homecoming kings become toll booth workers. You can’t hide here, not from your potential or who you really are. My friends were the lucky ones that were and always will be stars in their own right. This city didn’t make them into the successes they are. They showed up that way. But it didn’t break them either, which is an accomplishment in and of itself.
The problem is sometimes people here want you for the wrong reasons. They were both successful women in their fields at a young age, and some men could be such snakes. I guess Violet had finally had her epiphany.
“Jill, you’re being awfully quiet over there,” I commented.
“No, I’m not.”
“You just drained half the bottle,” Violet added. It did look like she was drinking for confidence rather than comfort.
“All right.” She set her glass down. “I slept with him. With Ian,” she said slowly, gauging our reactions.
“What? When? How?” I asked.
“It’s about time. I’m tired of choking on sexual tension when you guys are in a room together,” Violet quipped.
“Bree, remember when you had to cancel last minute on meeting us for lunch two weeks ago?” Jill said, the words flooding out.
“Uh, huh,” I said innocently as I lifted my glass to my lips. Violet glanced at me with a smirk.
“We started talking, just the two of us, and it was just…different. We talked for hours at the table and never touched our food, didn’t even look at our phones. When we were done, the workday was practically over, so he walked me home and I didn’t want it to end. And I don’t think he did either.”
“Trust me, he didn’t,” I said.
“Well, if Jill gets someone who doesn’t answer his cell phone on dates, I’m putting that one back on the list,” Violet pouted and we chuckled. “But seriously, you guys are a match. I’m glad you’re finally together.” Jill’s face fell.
“You are dating now, right?” I questioned.
“No,” Jill said, sitting straighter. “It’s just a one-time deal.”
“What?!” Violet exclaimed. “Look, I just want someone I can hang out with on weekends who can keep up. You’re built for commitment, Jill.”
“Did you tell him?” I asked cautiously, and she shook her head. “He’s not going to care, Jill,” I said exasperatedly.
“How do you know?” she retorted. “Wait, you didn’t say anything, did you?”
“No! I value my face too much.”
“Look, we just know. He is crazy about you. He’s been crazy about you, nothing’s going to change that,” Violet offered.
“Yeah, but I can’t just date him. I have to be sure it could be something—long term. Otherwise, it’s not worth breaking up our group. Imagine how awkward Sundays would be?” Violet and I looked at each other with momentary wariness. “See?”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said firmly.
“Bree’s right. I’d bet the Brooklyn Bridge on it,” Violet chimed.
“He likes me now, but that’s because he doesn’t know. Look at how he is with Tristan. He was born to be a father. Do you honestly think he’d want to be with someone who can’t have his kids?”
“You can adopt. He would be just as great to any child. He has such a big heart. And he loves you. You guys were made for each other,” I reached my hand out in consolation and she took it. “You gotta do it, Jill, just tell him. It’s torture watching you two love each other from a distance,” I assured her. “And besides, insecurity doesn’t suit you. It’s like hearing a pit bull meow.”
Jill snorted.
“Or a unicorn that barks,” I added, and Jill’s face began to cheer.
“Or a monkey that… doesn’t do monkey stuff,” Violet quipped and we laughed.
“Feel better?” I asked as I patted her hand.
“Yes. I’ll tell him, but I’m blaming you hookers if it doesn’t work out.”
“So, now it’s Bree’s turn,” Violet said abruptly.
“Since when do I have a turn?” I asked incredulously.
“Since when I said it just now,” she chimed smilingly.
“Well, Tristan and I did meet a very nice man last week,” I said shyly.
“Really? Who? Someone from the school, I bet,” Violet said, rubbing her hands together. “Oh! Or the cute messenger guy.”
“Bullshit,” Jill said skeptically.
“No, really. We’re having lunch with him again next week,” I persisted, and they both seemed to perk up.
“Spill, now!” Violet was vibrating with excitement. She always accused me of secret trysts because no one could be that abstinent.
“Well, he’s charming, established, and, best of all, loves children.”
“Wow. He sounds perfect,” Violet said, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, a little too perfect,” Jill said suspiciously.
“Don’t be like that, Jill. So where is your next date?”
“A fast food place in Times Square.”
“Um, I’m happy for you, Bree.” It sounded like a question and Violet looked concerned.
“Thanks, I’m excited.”
“Wait. Bree. Didn’t you take Tristan to see Burger Clown last week?” Violet quizzed.
“Don’t judge me, Violet. Our love is real. He didn’t pay the tab, but he does wear size twenty-one shoes.”
They laughed at me while I sipped red wine. Laughter is better than questions.
“You should just marry August, Bree. He’s got it all. Fairy prince looks, awesome job, bangin’ bod,” Violet said dreamily, as Jill and I exchanged looks.
“I don’t think August and I work romantically,” I answered gingerly.
“Why not? You’ll be on that trip with him next weekend, all alone. I’d happily be trapped in a hotel room him,” Violet added with a sigh, while I laughed and Jill cringed.
“And I bet he’s got a huge—” Jill’s mani
cured hand flew over Violet’s mouth, muffling her next words.
“I don’t want to hear things like that about my big brother, Violet,” Jill grimaced before she removed her hand. Violet snapped at it.
“Heart,” Violet said smiling innocently. “I was going to say heart.”
“You want him because he’s the only man to ever resist your wiles,” I teased.
“Maybe,” she pondered. “But still. You should put the moves on him. See what happens,” she said and shrugged. Again, Jill and I caught each other’s gaze as we both sipped our wine.
“Look, I’m not dense,” Violet added, rolling her eyes. “I know he’s gay. Still worth a shot.” And with that, a fine mist of burgundy cabernet sprayed from both Jill and my mouths.
“I take that as a yes,” Violet said unamused as her gaze shifted back and forth from Jill and I until Jill reluctantly nodded.
“I’m just pissed no one ever came right out and told me. If not for my impeccable gaydar, I would have genuinely thrown myself at him six years ago!” For years, she’d suspected it and even tried to convince me, offering me evidence, but she had never point blank said it out loud. None of us had. Jill knew I knew, but we’d never discussed it. Just the idea of discussing something so private behind the back of an honorable man like August made me feel dirty.
“Violet,” I soothed as we blotted the rug with napkins. “Don’t be angry. It wasn’t my secret to share.”
“You really don’t have a right to be mad, Violet,” Jill justified.
“The heck I don’t,” Violet retorted and I shushed her. “Bree knew.”
“Inside voices, please,” I muttered, as I patted the rug on my hands and knees.
“Violet, he only told Bree because he had—because it was relevant,” she explained. “And secrets are like assholes. Everybody’s got one, and no one has the right to see your no-no unless you want them to. But most times, they’re best kept hidden.”
I chuckled at her analogy, but Violet didn’t laugh. Jill and I went to the supply closet and broke out the heavy artillery on my beige shag rug while Violet stewed away on the sofa. I was just about to end the night when I saw Violet gulp down the rest of the wine from all three glasses.
“So when did he tell you, Bree?” she asked, her glassy eyes peering at me, her tone hostile. Jill looked up at me, horrified, with a bottle of Resolve in one hand and a stained rag in the other. I took a deep breath.
“When I…wasn’t well,” I replied, busying myself with the cleaning. I felt like I owed her some explanation since I knew she wouldn’t have hid anything from me, but she must have known that was when he’d confided in me.
“You mean, when you were pregnant,” she clarified, in a callous tone. I felt my stomach clench.
“I think we need to call it a night,” Jill said, sobering, and stood, tugging on Violet’s arm.
‘No,” Violet snapped as she jerked her elbow away. “It needs to be said. I’m not going to dance around this anymore. It’s time to show your no-no, Bree.”
“I’m not doing this, Violet,” I warned, letting the full weight of my throatier voice counter her chiming one.
“Oh, we’re doing this, Bree. We’re doing this right now,” she hissed, and I recognized the determined look in her eye. I stood up calmly and gently laid my cleaning supplies on the coffee table before walking to the front door and holding it open.
“Hallway,” I said flatly; she knew what I meant. Violet looked satisfied, but Jill was weary as they marched past me.
“You don’t have to do this, Bree,” Jill said vehemently with sympathy in her eyes as I closed the door behind me. “You don’t owe anyone anything.”
“Stuff it, Jill. You just like things the way they are because you’re living vicariously through Bree. You’re afraid if Tristan actually has a father, you’d be cut out of your piece of the happy family pie,” Violet accused. Jill looked enraged.
“Back up the accusation truck, eggplant. It’s a long fall down from the twenty-second floor,” she warned, staring down her nose at Violet who was completely unfazed as Jill stepped forward.
I hurriedly pressed myself between them. “I think everyone should go home before anyone says anything they’ll regret,” I said, trying to diffuse the situation, and Violet backed off, but only in the physical sense.
“I’m not going to regret anything because I’ve wanted to say it for a very long time,” Violet assured. “Bree, you need to be as honest with us as you can. Tristan’s almost five and every day is like Christmas morning! I come over wondering how tall he’ll be today, or what color his hair will be, what new random interest he’s taken up, or why he prefers Gruyère over American.”
“I can’t answer those things, Violet,” I said firmly, shaking my head, holding my ground, and then she let out a growl and pinched down hard on my arm.
“Ow!”
“Cry,” she ordered with her eyes wide and wild.
“What the—”
“Cry,” she commanded and pinched down harder.
“You’re craz—”
“I said CRY, dammit,” Violet persisted, twisting my pinched skin.
“Let go,” I raised my voice. Jill began prying her off.
“You’re going too far, Violet,” Jill warned, frantically pulling Violet by the waist.
“No, I’m not. You can’t even cry, Bree. Not even for Mitch. It’s not normal. You have a right to be sad or angry or hurt, but you deny yourself everything. And you won’t even consider dating. You’ve turned yourself off.”
“That’s not true. I cried when Tristan got injured, but truthfully I have no need to cry. I’m happy every day. I have no reason to be sad, angry, or hurt. When I do, I’m sure I’ll have the appropriate reaction,” I said reasonably, as I massaged the swollen skin.
“I’m sure I’ll have the appropriate reaction,” Violet mocked in a nasal tone. “Don’t kid yourself. Something has to change, and it’s going to whether you like it or not. I can feel it. You can’t go on shielding him from not having a father. He’s walking into a minefield tomorrow totally unprepared. Children are cruel, Bree. I wish we were enough, but we’re not. He needs a Dad, or at least the truth. Is he dead? Is he alive? What’s his name? What’s his astrological sign? Give us something.” she ranted, and I saw Jill staring curious now, too.
I exhaled deeply. “I don’t know,” I answered.
“Not good enough, Bree. You were the most responsible girl in the world—the virgin Gabrielle—and we found you messed up, babbling, and months pregnant. You can’t tell me you know nothing,” she accused. “Or were you lying when you said you weren’t raped?”
“No!” I said quickly, shocked by her bluntness. “No, I wasn’t raped.”
She pressed her lips together and glanced at Jill, and it looked as though they were skeptical, but before I could say more; she cut me off.
“What if Tristan has some random genetic disorder not yet diagnosed? What if there is important medical information that his life could depend on? Then would you suddenly know something?” she antagonized, and Jill’s eyes flared wide.
She was pushing the one button she knew would trigger me. She was cruelly and misguidedly accusing me of intentionally putting my son in jeopardy. My world was prepared for many things and had protected us from the worst of it, but I was totally unprepared now. I had never anticipated an attack from the inside. So I did the only thing I could do to maintain stability.
Her expression began to soften when she realized she’d gone too far, but it was too late. My mind was made up.
“Jill,” I snapped, and she turned to me. “It’s yours.” I watched as awareness crossed both their faces. Two polar opposite reactions.
“You can’t do that, Bree.” Violet objected.
“Watch me,” I said as I opened the door to my home.
“Thank you, Bree. You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll be the best godmother ever,” Jill asserted.
“I know y
ou will,” I said sincerely before I closed the door on them both.
I heard hushed erratic chattering coming from the hallway, which meant they were actually yelling. The insulation around me was astounding. I quickly cleaned up the remnants from the day and got ready for bed. I cracked open Tristan’s door for a final check to find him sound asleep and slightly drooling, which was incredibly adorable, and the world was right again.
Almost an hour after the showdown, I heard a soft knock at my door so I shuffled myself out of bed. When I saw my guest through the peephole, I considered not answering.
“I left my keys,” Violet muttered, and I let her in wondering how long she’d waited to knock.
“You’re making a big mistake,” she said quietly before she walked out the door.
“I don’t think so,” I answered politely, unsure of which mistake she meant.
“Don’t come to me when you wake up in the middle of the night and Jill is over you with a meat cleaver,” she spat venomously. I almost laughed.
“She deserved it as much as you did,” I replied, and she winced at my use of the past tense.
“This is Central Park horseshit, Bree,” she spat in a hushed voice, her eyes beginning to water. “We practically raised each other. We’re sisters for Christ’s sake! You can’t keep holding that over my head. I didn’t know. I would never have pushed for a termination if I’d have known it wasn’t for the best.”
“I’m not holding it over your head, Violet. Don’t accuse me of that because I’m not the one who opened this can of worms tonight,” I said softly, contained. “But the fact is that he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Jill. And August. Acknowledging that isn’t a dig at you because I’m the guiltiest of all. We were kids. We were both confused. She saved me from the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Hindsight, Bree,” Violet reminded me, pleading.
Regretfully, I nodded. “I agree. Hindsight.”
She stood there for a while staring at me, searching for a crack, and I caught myself before I started fidgeting. She’d told me it was my ‘tell’. The elevator dinged and we both turned, surprised to see Jill stepping out.
In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 3