Frank! It’s so good to see you, she said.
Is it? I asked. I was wondering if maybe it was inconvenient for you.
She waved her hand. Oh, not in the slightest. The timing couldn’t be better. Sweden is just glorious this time of year. Late summer. Everything sunny and in bloom. You’ll adore it. You’ll see. We’re just thrilled you’re here.
We each took a bag and wheeled the luggage out toward the parking lot.
You’re not exactly traveling light, she said.
I made a face: Well, you know me. Besides, I’m planning on a fairly long trip.
I watched her flinch.
Don’t worry; I won’t overstay my welcome. I just plan on making the most of my sabbatical.
You stay as long as you like, she said. We’re delighted to have you.
I watched her movements, light, confident; floating through the scene. The day was beautiful, blue summer skies, the sun low but warm. I didn’t feel jet-lagged. Only that familiar delight at being with Merry again.
At the car she turned to examine me. You look great, she said.
A lie.
Well you do, I said. But you always do.
We pulled out of the airport parking and she took the next exit. Everywhere was green, pastoral almost.
Are there really duck ponds on the highway? I said.
This place is something, she said.
So you’re happy here, I said. You’re good.
Oh, Frank. Life here is amazing.
She was radiant. I swallowed. I opened the window to let in some air.
Merry of the countryside, I said. Who would have ever thought?
Merry turned left and drove slowly along a dirt road, dense forest on either side.
This is the nature reserve, she said. Or, as we like to call it, home.
She pulled up onto a gravel drive and parked in front of a cabin of red wood and glass. I tried to take it all in, the setting, the lushness, the overwhelm of rustic charm.
Sam must have heard the car pull up outside. He came out of the house, the baby a little Buddha smiling in his arms.
The baby! I shrieked. Oh, let me see the baby.
Sam kissed my cheek hello. He tried to hand the baby over, but the child burrowed into Sam’s armpit.
He’s won over a little slowly, he said.
I settled on a foot and gave the baby’s toes a tickle and Sam a playful punch on the arm.
You dark horse, you, I said. Look at all this. Look at what you have here.
Sam shrugged. Our humble abode, he said, and smiled as Merry sidled up to him.
Between us, we unloaded the bags and took them inside. The house was sparkling, spotlessly clean, immaculately arranged, as though cut from some Scandinavian lifestyle magazine. Flowers in a vase, the smell of something freshly baked in the oven. Was this really her?
It’s a good thing you waited a year to visit, Sam said. We did a ton of work on the place.
Oh, Sam was incredible, Merry said. She touched his arm. Mine. He did everything. He transformed the house.
And you, too, it seems, I wanted to add. I bit my tongue.
They led me to the spare room, a sun-filled space beside the baby’s room.
Merry went all out for your arrival, Sam said. Royal treatment. New sheets, new throws.
Oh, but you shouldn’t have, I said. I didn’t want to cause you any trouble.
The baby in Sam’s arms clapped his hands.
It’s wonderful, I said. A beautiful home.
I looked at the jolly trio. For a beautiful family, I added.
Merry in the kitchen was counting out knives and forks, carrying dishes outside to the table. I stole another look around the house. Everything is new—new furniture, new crockery, not a thing from their New York apartment aside from Sam’s African masks. As though every part of their old lives has been discarded in a heap.
Well, typical Merry, I suppose.
What can I do to help? I said.
Not a thing, Merry sang out in that voice of hers. Just make yourself right at home,
I went outside to the garden and sat on the lawn, next to where they’d laid the baby on a blanket. I shielded my eyes from the sun and studied his face. Merry, but not Sam. Fat cheeks, alert, darting eyes the color of soft caramel. Perfect little creature. I gave him my finger and he tried to shove it in his mouth. I could feel sharp teeth gnawing against my skin.
Merry emerged with salads and a roast chicken, a loaf of bread. Sam carried out an ice bucket. The weather was glorious. We sat, passing the dishes around the table, swatting away the bees. The food was good. Everything delicious, well seasoned, beautifully presented. She has really outdone herself this time.
Sam poured from a bottle of chilled prosecco and raised his glass for a toast.
Welcome, he said.
To life in Sweden!
To new beginnings!
We all smiled and tilted back our heads and let the bubbles fill our throats. With the sun and the long flight, I was soon light-headed.
Has it really been a year?
More than that, I said.
And so much has happened.
Yes. I crossed my legs and leaned over into the dull ache.
Flight okay? Sam asked.
Long, I said.
But first class, no doubt. Merry smirked. Frank hasn’t flown coach in years.
I held up my hands. The only way, right?
This is what we do, she and I. Pretend that I have somehow arrived. That everything I have managed to do and achieve is enough to impress her. That she has given me her blessing instead of withholding it all these many years.
The baby was gnawing on a chunk of cucumber.
Adorable, I said. He is the real prize, and we both know it.
Merry smiled. We couldn’t be happier.
I can tell, I said, I can totally tell.
I watched her. I tried to read her smile, to see behind it.
She got up from the table and cleared away a stack of plates, returning outside with the dessert. It was an apple cake, delicate slices fanned out onto a pie crust, sticky with cinnamon and dusted with powdered sugar that had turned syrupy in the heat.
The bees landed on the cake; one found itself caught.
You made this, too? I said.
Let me tell you, Sam said, as Merry sliced through the pastry and the bee fought to escape. This woman is a domestic goddess. Housewife of the century.
Who would have known, I said.
Sam speared a piece of cake into his mouth. It’s like she’s found her true calling. Like she’s the woman she was always meant to be.
He winked at his wife. Well, I knew she had it in her from the start.
I looked over at Merry. There was nothing I could read in her gaze.
Sam cut himself a second slice of cake while Merry walked me around the garden, showing off the thick patches of vegetables and herbs, carrots and coriander, bushels of thyme and basil. She lifted the leaves of the berry bushes so that I could see the plump fruits hanging in their flaming shades of red and blue. It seemed a marvel, to grow things and then eat them, to labor at something for so long only to devour it in a few bites.
Let her taste those strawberries, Sam called. Let her try them right off the bush.
Merry pinched off a handful of berries and held them out. I ate the fruit and licked the red juice that trickled down my fingers.
Wild, I said. I can’t get over it. Your life. It’s so.
She waited but I didn’t finish.
Sam took the baby inside to put him down for a nap. The two of us sat back down at the table. Merry poured coffee. Again, her movements were careful, deliberate and slow. Like she’d studied it all, watched and learned.
Merry a wife and mother, I mused. I wouldn’t have dreamed it.
She stiffened. You act so surprised that I’m happy here, she said. It’s all about timing, isn’t it? Certain point in your life, you’re just ready.
I finished the last sip of coffee and licked the grounds around my mouth, rough and slightly bitter. My head was weighted with tiredness and wine, with the pills from earlier.
I’m happy for you, I said. That this life agrees with you.
Well, I’m happy to have you share it, she replied, her voice thick with smugness.
What’s this? I said, glancing over at a framed photograph on the living room shelf. It was my mother.
Oh, Merry said, I’ve had that one for years.
I smiled. We really are sisters, aren’t we, Mer?
It always fills me with a particular joy. All of what we share. All of what connects us, the roots of our friendship that run so deep.
Yes, Merry murmured. I suppose we are.
Sam
All weekend we showed Frank around, paraded her about the place, showed off the best of life in the Nordics. Took a nice long walk into Sigtuna through the forest, a trip to the lake for a quick dip in the cool water. Drove to Stockholm to stroll around the old town, escaped the tourist traps and found a place for a traditional fika at a café in Söder, where we sat with coffee and cardamom buns.
Look at you two, Frank said. Such locals. You’ve really settled in.
Merry held my hand in hers.
Frank wanted to see the Vasa Museum, the doomed seventeenth-century warship that sank before it ever left the harbor. We spent an hour walking around the wooden model, Conor in his stroller niggling to get out.
Later, we visited the Moderna Museet, an all-women exhibition with the usual feminist crap; bleeding vaginas and menstrual blood sewn into a canvas. There was one piece called The Falling Women, a larger-than-life video projection that showed a woman on a podium, standing proudly in first place. From offscreen, another woman shoved her off, and she fell down into a darkened abyss. Another woman took her place; another half-woman pushed her down. So it continued, a constant loop, a never-ending supply of angry women.
Like it? Frank asked me.
I rolled my eyes.
At a small café overlooking Lake Mälaren, we ate an early dinner.
So what’s the plan, Frank asked. Will you get a job here, now that you’re settled?
Merry gave her a dark look. I told you before, she said. Being a mother is my job now.
You don’t need to work, that’s great, Frank said.
I’ve got a few big projects coming up, I said. We’re doing just fine.
The waiter came over to take the order. Frank and Merry asked for the same thing, down to the no onions, medium steak, dressing on the side.
I laughed. Christ, I said. You two are so similar. It’s like watching twins. How you talk, the words you use. Even your gestures. I never noticed it so much before.
Merry smiled. I suppose that’s what happens when you go way back.
It’s like you’re mimicking each other, I said. Monkey see, monkey do.
Frank looked at Merry. It’s a form of empathy, she said. In evolutionary terms. Mimicry is how primates form emotional connections. Babies, too. It’s how they learn emotions. You must be seeing it with Conor. How he mirrors what he sees in you.
Merry tore off a piece of bread and set it on her side plate.
And it’s not always benign, Frank said. Look at cuckoos. The females mimic the sound of hawks to scare smaller birds away from their nests. Then they lay their own egg inside, an exact copy of the other eggs, so it will blend in. The other bird comes back to the nest, cares for the impostor egg, does all the real work.
What about when the eggs hatch? I asked.
Well, Frank said, the cuckoo hatches and destroys the other chicks. It makes sure to monopolize all the resources. It’s simple Darwinism, a way to thrive.
Jesus, Merry said.
Brood parasitism, Frank said. That’s what it’s called.
Pretty heartless, Merry said.
Or maybe ingenious. Frank winked.
We both laughed.
Great having intelligent conversation again, I said. Feel a bit starved of it, being off campus and all.
Frank smiled. Glad that master’s is coming in handy for something, then.
Merry was silent. She’s sensitive around the topic, of course, since she never finished anything she started at college. But like I say to her—you don’t need a degree to roast a chicken.
Feels good having Frank around. I like it. A breath of fresh air. Bit of titillation. She’s great with Conor, too, a real natural. Right on the first day, she scooped him up and hoisted him on her hip like she’s reared a dozen babies. She feeds him his lunch and crouches on the floor to play with him. His face lights up when she walks into the room; she knows how to make him laugh.
Didn’t take you long to win him over, I told her.
She laughed. Maybe this should be my new demographic for the opposite sex.
Come on, Frank, I said. Who are you trying to kid?
She knows exactly what she’s got. The way men are when they’re in her orbit.
She burrowed her nose into Con’s neck. If only they were all as charming as you Hurley men, she said.
The waiter brought over the food. Merry’s steak was undercooked, but she wouldn’t send it back.
I like bloody sometimes, she said.
What are your plans for this sabbatical? she asked Frank.
Frank shrugged. I want to travel. To see friends. Figure out what comes next.
How will the consulting world live without you? Merry asked, somewhat sarcastically, I thought.
Frank smiled. Well, maybe it’s good to have a break from solving other people’s problems.
I looked at the two women across the table, fair and dark, soft and sharp. Met them both the same night, more than seven years ago. I was twenty-eight. It was a Friday night in the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis. There’d been a faculty dinner, a celebration of the awarding of the Huxley Memorial Medal, the anthropological equivalent of the Nobel Prize. The department was in a frenzy of excitement.
I saw them standing by the bar. Drinking martinis. One beautiful, hair blond and long and loose around her high cheekbones, eyes fierce blue and lips rounded into a soft red pout. High breasts, full and fleshy, a tight body poured into a black dress; the type you already know will be flawless when naked. The other, Merry, plainer, slightly asymmetrical in the face, not ugly but not entirely pretty, either. Body just a little too angular, awkward in its composition like the face.
Something about her, though, a vagueness or openness, a space to be filled. There was a purity to her, like she’d not yet been written in full. It makes you look twice, and then you find yourself unable to look away.
She’s the one, I remember thinking. She’s just the one.
I watched Frank now. All I had missed.
If you love Merry so much, why do you cheat on her? Malin often asks. She isn’t angry. Just curious. She wants to understand, to make sense of it.
I don’t know the answer. It’s hard to explain.
Maybe the other women let me love Merry better. Because they are disposable and she is permanent. Because she is and always will be mine.
Frank
Well, Merry’s life is perfect. I’m not sure why I expected anything less, though somehow I was sure I’d arrive and find it all in pieces. Or at least a very poor facade. I’d heard about Sam’s dismissal from Columbia—not that Merry’s letting on that she knows—and imagined somehow that between this and their strange exile to the middle of nowhere, she’d be miserable. Quite the opposite. She seems to be in her element. Wife and mother. Ha! My little shape-shifter friend. How she does it with such ease, I’ll never know. It’s something I might even admire in her, the ability to so convincingly—so seamlessly—transform herself. It’s never come easily to me.
The handmade loaves of bread, the lovingly tended garden, the little pots of food crafted fresh for the baby. The sachets of lavender in the laundry cupboard, the lavish home-cooked dinners every night.
God, I said, can this really
be you, Merry Crawford? City girl transformed.
Merry, Merry Strawberry. One day a hardened feminist, the next, the quintessential earth mother. Had she ever boiled an egg before? Had she ever so much as held a child?
Such a change, I said. I can hardly believe it’s you.
It’s just like they say, Frank. Motherhood makes you feel like you’re fulfilling some greater purpose as a woman. I hope you find out for yourself someday, she said.
She removed a batch of banana muffins from the oven. Sugar-free, gluten-free.
This is all I’ve ever wanted, Frank.
Sam came up behind her and kissed her cheek. The baby clapped his pale, doughy hands.
The child. The baby. He is wonderful. Sam, too. Handsome and strapping. All hers. A happy family. Island of three. Man, wife, child. Self-sufficient and contained, as though in a snow globe. Shake, and the glitter will dance. Shimmer, shine; is there anything more beautiful than what’s inside the glass?
What about you, Frank, Merry asked. Tell me what happened with Thomas.
Of course she knows already. It’s always the same story.
Is that Carol’s engagement ring? she said, looking at my hand.
Yes, I said. You remember.
She gave a little snicker. But wasn’t that supposed to be saved for your engagement, wasn’t that the plan? Wasn’t that what Carol always said?
She does not lose it. The ability to shrink me down to size.
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