Jaime could feel her heart beating hard and fast, as she climbed out and retrieved the children from the backseat. With Ava heavy in her arms and Logan’s small hand in her own, Jaime made her way slowly to the front door. The whole way, Jaime kept hoping the door would open, that Mark would come out with Emily’s school project in hand.
On the front step, Jaime hesitated, wondering what she should do. Ring the bell, or retrieve the hidden key and let herself in? If she rang the bell and waited to see if anyone answered, she might never know what was really going on. Mark might have an excuse for why he was here, why he wasn’t answering his phone. Then again, if Mark and Libby were having an affair, did Jaime really want to walk in on them, both babies in tow?
Jaime pressed the bell and waited. No one came to the door. Jaime pressed the bell again, this time leaning on it for longer. The third time, she hit it repeatedly, not caring how obnoxious this was. And the obnoxious behavior was rewarded: Footsteps echoed inside, and a moment later, the door opened. Libby was standing there, wearing white shorts and a man’s striped button-down shirt.
It was Mark’s shirt. One of the striped, French-cuff shirts Jaime bought him for Christmas the year before, ordered specially from London. This one was yellow and blue. She had a very clear memory of Mark pulling it out of the closet that morning. He’d said that the dry cleaner had used too much starch, and Jaime had promised she’d mention it the next time she went in to drop off the laundry.
Jaime’s skin suddenly felt too tight, and she struggled to focus her eyes. It felt like she was looking through a telescope, where Libby was at the same time right in front of her and yet very far away. She wondered, distantly, if this was what a nervous breakdown felt like. And then, with Ava’s heavy bulk to remind her, she remembered that she was a mother, and therefore couldn’t afford the luxury of a nervous breakdown.
“Hi, Libby,” Logan said, waving.
Libby was standing very still, her hand still frozen on the doorknob. She gave no indication that she’d heard Logan.
“Where’s Mark?” Jaime asked. She was shocked at how calm she sounded. As though it were a common occurrence for her to stumble upon her husband and his ex-wife in the sort of intimate situation that ended up with Libby wearing Mark’s shirt.
“Mark?” Libby asked. She shrugged and tried to feign surprise. “Why would he be here?”
She’s seriously going to try to brazen this out? Jaime thought. While wearing Mark’s shirt, with his car in the driveway? It was almost funny. Or else, it would be if it weren’t so horrific.
Ava was heavy in her arms, and Jaime tried shifting her daughter without waking her up.
“Please tell him I’d like to see him,” Jaime said. Libby opened her mouth as though to protest, and Jaime added, “And you might want to give him his shirt back before he comes out.”
Libby looked down at her shirt, and then back up at Jaime.
“He isn’t happy, you know,” Libby finally said. Her voice was quiet, but without contrition. In fact, she seemed almost defiant, as though daring Jaime to deny it.
“That’s funny. He always told me he wasn’t happy when he was married to you,” Jaime said. Her cool tone was belied by the tears that were welling in her eyes. “Isn’t it interesting how we keep believing him? Actually, it’s not really interesting at all. It’s tragic, considering there are three children involved.”
“Mommy, when are we going home?” Logan asked, pulling at the hem of Jaime’s shirt.
Libby looked down at Logan, as though she was just now seeing him and Ava. Her face went pale and slack, and she suddenly looked like she might be sick.
“I never stopped thinking of him as my husband. Even after we divorced. Even after he married you. And when this happened … it just seemed right. Like we were hitting a reset button,” Libby said.
Libby reached out to touch Logan’s head, but Jaime said, “Don’t.” The word was almost a growl, and Libby’s hand fell away. Logan looked up at his mother, clearly startled by how ferocious she sounded.
“Lib? What’s going on?” Mark’s voice called.
“Daddy?” Logan asked in a clear, carrying voice.
“Mark, can you come out here please?” Libby asked.
Mark appeared at the door. He was—thankfully—dressed, wearing a tennis jacket and shorts. Jaime wondered if he kept clothes at Libby’s house. He probably does, the bastard.
“Oh! Hey, honey, what are you doing here?” Mark asked.
He had clearly decided to take the same tack as Libby and pretend that there was nothing unusual about his being at his ex-wife’s house in the middle of the day, when he was supposed to be at work. Still, all of the color had drained from his face, and his eyes were moving shiftily from wife to ex-wife and back again.
“Daddy!” Logan said, his small face lighting up. He ran to Mark, who scooped him up in his arms.
“Hey, squirt,” Mark said, hugging Logan. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Emily asked me to come by and pick up the notes and visuals for her history presentation,” Jaime said. She was still amazed at how calm she sounded and wondered, distantly, if she was in shock.
“She did?” Libby asked. “She left her presentation at home?”
“Yes,” Jaime said.
“Why didn’t she call me?” Libby asked.
“You were apparently too busy to answer your phone,” Jaime said, raising her eyebrows.
Recognition dawned on Libby’s face, and she blushed and looked away.
“Oh. Right,” Libby said.
Mark looked back and forth between them again. “This is an odd coincidence. I stopped by to go over Emily’s tournament schedule with Libby,” he said, affecting the same breezy tone. “Too bad Emily didn’t call me, I could have saved you the trip over.”
Jaime stared at her husband, and decided that she officially hated him. In fact, all of the very characteristics that had first attracted her to him—his dark eyes, the sexy thin lips, the square jaw—were now the things she hated the most about him. Well, his face, and the fact that he was a lying son of a bitch.
“Mark, she knows,” Libby said wearily.
But even then, Mark wasn’t ready to drop the act. “Knows what?” he asked. “That we’re meeting to discuss Em’s schedule?”
Libby gave him the sort of irritated look that Jaime again thought might have been funny, had this all not been happening to her. She wondered if, like her, Libby was finally seeing Mark for the sort of man he was. Standing there with his young son in his arms, lying glibly.
“She knows about us,” Libby clarified. She gave Logan another uneasy look. “Maybe Logan should go up to Em’s room, so we can talk? And you can put Ava down in …” Jaime was sure that Libby had been about to say, my bedroom. But, as if remembering what had just happened in that bedroom, she quickly substituted, “the guest room.”
“I want to go to Em’s room,” Logan said, looking delighted at the idea. He adored Emily, and although she was very sweet to her younger siblings, this affection did not stretch to allowing them unfettered access to her room and its precious belongings.
“No,” Jaime said, raising a hand. “We’re going to leave.”
“You shouldn’t drive while you’re upset,” Libby said.
“I’m fine,” Jaime said. She looked at Mark, who was pale with shock and looking almost lost, as though he couldn’t figure out what to say or do. “Or I will be. Come on, Logan. Let’s go home.”
december
a tasting menu
SEARED FOIE GRAS WITH A RED WINE AND SOUR CHERRY REDUCTION
SEARED DIVER SCALLOPS WITH BLOOD-ORANGE SAUCE
VEGETABLE TERRINE
SLOW BAKED DOVER SOLE
DUO OF BEEF
CARAMEL AND SEA SALT ICE CREAM
THE DECEMBER MEETING OF the Table for Seven Club was canceled. Audrey called Fran and Jaime and invited them to meet her for dinner at the Lemon Tree on the night the club would ha
ve met. The restaurant was owned by one of her regular clients, Heather, and her husband, Juan, who was the chef.
Audrey arrived at the restaurant first. Heather greeted her warmly, and sat her at a large corner table. Audrey sipped a glass of ice water while she waited for the others to arrive.
Fran got there next, looking wan and wearing a yellow dress that didn’t suit her.
“Sorry,” Fran said, sitting down across the table from Audrey. “One of those nights.”
“It’s okay. Jaime’s late, too,” Audrey said. “Is everything okay?”
Fran looked defensive. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You look tired,” Audrey said.
“That’s probably because I’m exhausted.” Fran pulled out her cellphone and began frantically scrolling through her text messages. Apparently not finding what she wanted, she dropped the cellphone on the table, and raised a hand to the waiter.
“I’d like a glass of the house Merlot, please,” Fran said.
“I thought we might order a bottle,” Audrey said.
“Sure,” Fran said. “Whatever you want.”
Audrey waited for Fran to cancel the glass of Merlot. When Fran didn’t call back the waiter, Audrey prompted. “Do you still want the glass?”
“What?”
“If we’re getting a bottle, do you still want the glass?” Audrey asked patiently.
“Oh, right. I guess it’s too late now,” Fran said, as the waiter appeared with her glass of wine.
Audrey stared at her friend, wondering what was going on. Fran seemed distracted and possibly even depressed. She looked terrible, too. Her skin was sallow and there were dark circles under her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Audrey asked, leaning forward across the table and touching Fran’s hand.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Jaime said, arriving at the table out of breath.
“Hi, Jaime,” Audrey said, smiling up at her.
Fran glanced up and frowned. “Jesus, what happened to you?”
“There is a right and a wrong way to take that,” Jaime said, sitting in the empty seat next to Fran.
“You look like you’ve lost fifteen pounds since the last time I saw you,” Fran said.
Fran was right. Jaime had always been slim, but now she looked positively emaciated. She was, as usual, perfectly groomed—her blond hair sprayed into place, her makeup perfectly applied, her pink Lilly Pulitzer dress setting off her tan skin—but her eyes had a sad, haunted look and her face was hollowed out.
Audrey looked from one friend to the other, and finally said, “Okay, you two, what’s going on?”
Jaime and Fran exchanged uneasy looks.
“Actually, I do have some news,” Jaime said.
“Me, too,” Fran said, with a deep sigh.
“Okay, hold on. I think we’re going to need some wine before we get into it. Or at least, Jaime and I still need wine,” Audrey said, gesturing for their waiter.
“Give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready for a refill,” Fran said.
Audrey ordered a bottle of Chardonnay from Sonoma County, which the waiter promptly brought back to the table. He uncorked the wine, and poured a glass for Audrey, who took a sip, although she was now so worried by her friends’ general weirdness that she barely paid attention to the wine. She nodded to the waiter to go ahead and pour for the table.
“Have you had time to look over the menu?” the waiter asked, once the wine was poured.
“I have, but they haven’t,” Audrey said. “But I was going to suggest we try the tasting menu. Heather recommended it.”
“Fine with me,” Jaime said, pushing her menu to the side, and looking relieved to have the burden of making a decision lifted.
“Me, too,” Fran said.
Once the waiter had left, Audrey raised her wineglass. “Cheers,” she said.
“Cheers,” the other two said, and they clinked their glasses together in a dispirited way.
“What’s going on with you two?” Audrey asked again.
“You go first, Fran,” Jaime said.
“No, you,” Fran said.
“You’ve had a head start on the wine,” Jaime said, nodding to Fran’s mostly empty glass of red.
“And I need at least another glass before I can get into it,” Fran said.
“Me, too,” Jaime said.
“Oh, for God’s sake. One of you had better start talking!” Audrey said.
“Why don’t you start, Audrey,” Jaime suggested. “Tell us your news.”
“I don’t have anything to share. It’s the same old with me. Work, work, and more work.”
“How’s Kenny?” Jaime asked.
“We’re not seeing each other anymore,” Audrey said.
“That’s too bad. I liked him,” Jaime said. “Although I guess he wasn’t the most exciting guy in the world.”
“Exciting is overrated. But Kenny and I didn’t even have basic chemistry.” Audrey shrugged. “I’ve told you before, I’m not cut out for romance.”
“That’s not what Leland said,” Fran said.
“That’s right. I forgot about that, with everything that happened,” Jaime said.
“What are you two talking about?” Audrey asked.
“The night Leland died—right before he died—he said something about how you weren’t the type of woman who should be alone,” Fran said.
Audrey stiffened. “I think I’ve been getting along okay,” she said.
“He didn’t mean it as an insult. Just the opposite. I thought what he was saying was that you were the sort of person who would love well, and it would be a shame not to share that with another person. Isn’t that how you took it?” Jaime looked at Fran for confirmation. Fran nodded.
“How did my love life—or lack of a love life, I should say—become the subject of the dinner party conversation?” Audrey asked. This idea, that the others had been talking about her, made her uneasy.
“It wasn’t,” Jaime said. “Leland said something about it to Coop. We just overheard him.”
“He said it to Coop?” Audrey asked more sharply than she intended.
Jaime nodded. “I got the feeling that Leland wanted to test out his matchmaker skills on you and Coop.” She smiled for the first time that evening and gave Fran a sly glance. “Didn’t you get that impression, Franny?”
Fran shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”
“Really? I thought Leland was being so obvious! I thought he was basically telling Coop to ask Audrey out,” Jaime said.
Audrey could feel her face flush red, and she stared down at her wineglass.
“I guess that just goes to show that no one’s right all the time. Not even Leland,” Fran said.
Jaime cocked her head to one side. “Why’s that?”
“Coop and Audrey went out on a date once. They didn’t hit it off,” Fran said.
“Seriously? I didn’t know that,” Jaime said, looking at Audrey.
“Actually, it was a bit more involved than that,” Audrey said.
“What?” Fran asked, finally looking focused and alert. “What does that mean?”
“I guess you could say that Coop and I had a bit of a fling,” Audrey admitted. She took a sip of her wine. “Although I’m not sure how Leland figured that out. I wonder if Coop told him?”
“You had a fling with Coop?” Fran asked, staring at Audrey.
“I don’t blame you. He’s really sexy. What happened?” Jaime asked, her eyes round with interest. She took a sip of her wine and nibbled at a piece of buttered bread.
“Excuse me, ladies.” Their waiter appeared again, brandishing a tray with three small spoon-shaped bowls. “An amuse bouche from the chef to start your meal. This is a Thai lobster bisque.” He set the bowls down in front of them, said, “Enjoy,” and whisked off again.
“Mmm,” Audrey said, after tasting the soup. “This is excellent.”
“Audrey!” Fran said. Audrey looked up, surprised by the sharpness of Fran�
�s tone. “What happened with you and Coop?”
Audrey sighed. “Honestly, I wish I hadn’t brought it up. I don’t really feel like talking about it.”
“But you did bring it up, so now you have to give us the details,” Fran said.
“No, she doesn’t,” Jaime said, glancing curiously at Fran. “Although, of course, we’d very much like to hear them, if you want to tell us.”
But Audrey was looking at Fran, frowning. “Fran, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, every time Coop’s name comes up—especially in connection with me—you start acting weird,” Audrey said.
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do. First, you told me he was gay. Then you basically told me he was a male slut. Then you insisted that he and I would have nothing in common. And now you look completely pissed off,” Audrey said.
“I’m not pissed off. I just don’t know why you’ve never mentioned this fling before,” Fran said. Her face flooded with color, and she looked away.
“Do you have feelings for Coop?” Audrey asked quietly.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“I’ve wondered whether you might have a crush on him,” Audrey said.
“Yeah, I actually wondered about that, too,” Jaime interjected.
“You did? You both thought that?” Fran asked.
Jaime nodded. “You get really animated when he’s around.”
“Oh, God,” Fran said. Her cheeks flushed. “I do?”
“Yes,” Jaime and Audrey said together.
“Great. That’s just great. I’m officially mortified,” Fran said.
“But is it more than that? More than a crush?” Audrey asked.
Fran didn’t respond. Instead, she sipped her wine, while still staring fixedly at the bread basket.
“Fran?” Audrey said gently. “Is that why you’ve been so against him and me getting together?”
“You’re not together though, are you?” Fran asked. “You said you had a fling. As in past tense.”
Audrey cleared her throat, knowing that what she was about to say might hurt her friend. But she didn’t see any way around it. “Actually, it was in the past. But Coop came to see me recently. I told him that I didn’t think it would work between us. But since that day, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. And I’ve been wondering if I pushed him away because I’ve been afraid.”
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