Appetite

by Sheila Grinell

  “Come off it. You feel guilty for ditching me, and you think pretty words will make it all right. You’re such a tight ass, lady.” He reached into a pocket for cigarettes, which he had refrained from smoking at her request.

  She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it with a gnash. “You’re right. My ass is tight. Too tight to hang with you. You are the master of loose.” She felt light, buoyed up because these words were true.

  He flicked on a lighter and took a deep drag. “Isn’t that why you need me?”

  “It’s one of the things I like about you.” Still true. She’d always thought opposites attracted because they complemented one another. She and Paul: steady versus brilliant, practical versus idealistic, responsible versus passionate. Together they’d formed a complete unit, able to accomplish anything. But the attraction was gone. She wanted a new deal, which felt both disturbing and exciting. And Brian wouldn’t be part of it.

  “So why are you turning your back on me?”

  She searched for the right words. “I think we’ve both been opportunistic these past months. It couldn’t last.” Still true! She felt no recriminations and no regrets, thank goodness. The sex had helped weld her fractures together, and now she felt solid, ready to act. “Thanks for a good time.”

  “You’re walking out of here just like that?”

  “Yes.”

  He took another drag. “Got another guy in the wings?”

  She shook her head no. “It’s not about sex. You’re a great lover, but I’m not interested anymore.” True, for all she knew from her limited sample.

  He exhaled through the nose, eyes narrowed. “Giving up sex will make you old.”

  “I am old.” She watched something flicker across his face.

  “What if I show up at your daughter’s wedding?”

  She stared at him, surprised by such peevishness. “Am I really that important to you?” A bit of bravado. If he did show, she could trust Jenn, and even Arun, to make the best of an awkward situation.

  He took another drag. “You’ve never been important to me. You’ve been convenient.”

  “Well, sorry for the inconvenience.” Angry now, at Brian for lashing out, at herself for answering, she turned away to retrieve her bag from the floor.

  “Hey, hey. Got a rise out of you.” He stood and walked slowly toward the door. “I guess you’re leaving.”

  She rose, fished car keys out of her bag, and stepped to the door.

  He grinned a lopsided grin. “How about a farewell quickie? See what you’ll miss?”

  She touched his lean, hard arm for a moment and left without looking back.

  On the way to Pelham, she let the tears fall. Tears not for Brian but for the self she was when they met, the tentative woman made dry by too much waiting. So dry that Brian had appeared strong and virile, not merely accessible, unlike the husband who stayed away. But it had never been about Brian. It had been about the blood in her veins. And now it was hot, desirous, not for sex but for intimacy, the kind of heated, committed union her daughter talked about. When she watched Jenn address Arun tenderly, she felt a surge of love and optimism. Jenn might succeed where she had failed. Jenn deserved to succeed. She herself might get another chance. And if not, so be it.

  Hardly any cars in the supermarket lot. It was too early for the homemakers now driving kids to school. Did she miss having a houseful of children and dogs? No. Was she too old to start again? Maybe. She pushed a cart slowly down the produce aisle, picking up onions and garlic to flavor the vegetarian dishes she now favored, and the potted meat aisle for cans of tuna to add to the omnivores’ portions. She walked through the cloying stink of the detergents to the paper section to replenish her store of napkins and toilet tissue. In another week, the guests would be gone and everything would have changed, permanently. She and Paul would be alone; no, she would be alone, Paul at work. And then what? Sarah would say, “Spend time with your spirit.” Maggie took comfort in Sarah’s endless enthusiasm, if not her philosophy. It was time to confide in her; she would give back.

  She unloaded the car in the driveway and brought bags in through the mudroom. The blinking light on the landline answering machine greeted her. A final salvo from Brian? She dialed in and heard her mother’s voice asking for an urgent callback about the wedding. She unloaded the groceries and braced for a conversation with Claudia.

  Ah, Claudia. At first Jenn’s grandmother had objected to a backyard ceremony with a lay officiant as too informal. She meant too secular and inconsequential. When no one responded to her comments, she complained that the noon hour was inconvenient for those coming from a different time zone, like herself. Then she worried that the guest list—twenty family members and close friends—was too short. Maggie could imagine the chaos in her mother’s mind, propriety and prejudice battling for control, as she prepared for the trip. Maggie wanted her parents, Jenn’s only grandparents, to stand up for Jenn, but she hated walking on eggshells around them, especially when her own feelings were so volatile. She dialed, hoping no one would pick up. Claudia answered. Maggie took a breath.

  “I got your message, Mom. We’re all having dinner together Saturday after the rehearsal. I’ll drive you. I made a reservation for you and Dad at the best hotel in New Rochelle, on us. It’s ten minutes away, and they have an accessible suite for Dad.” Her father, always a quiet man, had receded further as he had aged. Claudia took good care of him and complained bitterly.

  “Do I need to dress for dinner?”

  “Be comfortable. And bring a sweater. It gets cool at night.”

  “Don’t tell me the dinner is outdoors too. Isn’t that risky? It rains in New York in May.”

  “The dinner is at a restaurant, and we have a backup plan for the wedding.” She couldn’t resist a jab: “With a small wedding it’s easy to be flexible.” She counseled herself to hush. Claudia would hang up soon to keep the cost of the long-distance call to a minimum, even though it was Maggie’s nickel.

  “Will you pick us up at the airport on Friday?”

  “Someone will, Jenn or Arun.”

  “I’d rather you did. I don’t fancy meeting him that way.”

  “Okay, I’ll pick you up. Gotta go. Bye, Mom. See you soon.” She replaced the phone in its cradle, mentally reorchestrating her Friday to include a trip to LaGuardia. It had been years since her parents had visited Pelham. Traveling provoked anxiety in Claudia, although Maggie bent herself out of shape to minimize the inconveniences. Claudia’s fairly mild commentary just then gave Maggie hope for a satisfactory outcome next week. She took a deep breath and went looking to see if her houseguests wanted lunch.

  Sarah descended the stairs into the hallway, dressed for a jog. “Want to run with me? I’ll wait for you to change.”

  “Sorry, I don’t run anymore.”

  “Well, come walk with me. Your future son-in-law is fiddling with his computer. It’s just us.”

  “Let me take you to the park. It’s a good place to run.” Maggie put veggies in the fridge, tucked wallet and keys into her pockets, and swung the front door closed behind them. She didn’t lock it; Arun would have to deal with an intruder in the unlikely event one appeared in midday in their neighborhood. An hour alone with Sarah would be the tonic she needed.

  They drove down the gentle slope toward Willson’s Woods and the playground Jenn had frequented as a child. Houses grew progressively smaller along the descent, but their facades were tidy, sporting shrubs with pink or blue or white blossoms. In a few weeks, a load of allergens would permeate the suburban air, and she would suffer. From time to time she had wondered if living in New York City itself would have spared her hay fever. They’d stayed in Pelham for the reliable public schools, for Jenn’s sake, and for her, to be close to friends and commitments. And through inertia, truth be told.

  Maggie parked the car on a side street. She stepped next to Sarah on the ribbon of sidewalk that paralleled the curb, noticing, as she had not earlier, that the sky
was a clear blue and the oak trees chartreuse with new growth. Sarah walked fast; it felt good to stretch out beside her. Maggie stopped to balance against a waist-high stone wall to remove a pebble that had lodged under the strap of her sandal. Sarah stopped and lifted herself atop the wall. She patted the spot next to her. Maggie boosted herself onto the wall. She felt for a moment like a schoolgirl at play with her best friend, not the mother of a girl long graduated.

  Sarah said, “I’m sorry to report that I’ve failed. My little talk with our girl? I tried to be specific and persuasive. She agreed with most of what I said, but she didn’t connect the dots.”

  “Join the club.”

  “I stopped just short of picking a fight. I finally said every fiber in my body told me he was wrong for her.”

  “And?”

  “She patronized me. She said she could understand how odd he would seem in Los Angeles, but he fit perfectly in her world. I said you can lend money to the poor in LA. She said, ‘No offense, Aunt Sarah, but I want nothing to do with the people who caused the Great Recession.’ I was tempted to remind her that she liked her job at my former bank.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I can take a counterpunch.”

  After a beat, Sarah continued. “I’m trying to accept the inevitable. But he pisses me off. Even today, and I’m a peaceful person.”

  “What happened today?” Maggie still hoped to somehow evade the inevitable. Paul seemed to think they would.

  “We were talking about the godhead, and he said there’s no such thing as the soul. Not exactly in those words, but that’s what he implied. Thousands of years of wisdom down the drain, like that.” She snapped her fingers. “He said when we die, the life we were fades away into the universe. Then he excused himself to go Skype. I wish he would talk straight with me. There’s no valid reason for him to keep running away.”

  Maggie could sympathize with Arun’s wanting to avoid a metaphysical showdown. Even in this new, beatific state, Sarah could be formidable. She nodded in response.

  The two women continued to sit in the warm sun. Sarah pulled knees up to her chest and wrapped arms around them. Maggie dangled legs against the wall, idly bouncing her sandals against the rock. Birds called from the tall, old trees. A gift in an otherwise harried season. Maggie sighed.

  Sarah said, “I’m sorry I let you down.”

  “You haven’t. You’re here.” She paused, weighing the moment. “Nothing will be the same after Jenn leaves. I need a new life.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “It was so nice to have another adult around. We had our issues, but we also had fun. I enjoyed the class I took. We talked about it a lot. I could see myself doing more.”

  Sarah turned to look at her. “What are you not telling me?”

  Maggie’s chest tightened. Pinned, like a butterfly under a microscope, Sarah’s eye at the top of the tube. “I had a lover for a little while. Younger, a carpenter. Just for the sex.”

  “It’s never just for the sex. Tell me more.”

  “We met last fall. We ran into each other, literally. A fender bender. No one was hurt. I asked him to help me with video for the India course. The sex was convenient.” The story felt hollow to her, as it must to Sarah.

  “Why him, Mag? Why now?”

  Maggie searched her conscience. “I think I wanted to test myself, to see if I could handle a different kind of guy. Someone uncomplicated.”

  “Ah, so you admit that complications are an excuse.”

  Maggie felt a flash of impatience. Sarah came off as such a know-it-all, even when her intentions were impeccable. “I called it off. The sex was good. But it stopped being important. I had too much else on my mind.”

  Sarah spoke quietly. “Does this mean you’ve given up on Paul?”

  The very question she had been avoiding since Jenn introduced Arun into their lives. “I don’t know. I’m holding my breath until May 20.”

  “What do you expect to happen then?”

  An even tougher question.

  Sarah prompted her. “Jenn’s going to marry Arun and turn her back on Pelham. Not much left for you here.”

  “I know. But I don’t know where else to go.” What a stupid thing to say, and to Sarah, who lived in such moral clarity. The conversation hurt more than anticipated. She needed to stop. “Maybe I’ll be inspired. Isn’t that what you mean by ‘spirit’?”

  “Nice finesse, my dear. I can wait until you want to talk.” Sarah pushed off the wall and trotted downhill, calling over her shoulder. “Last one to the swings is a rotten egg.”

  Maggie followed, walking slowly, trying to think. Brian had let her go without a fight; he must have known what she was going to say when he opened his door. That was good, wasn’t it? Yet she felt so low. Paul’s dyspeptic face last night came to mind. Yes, she had been disloyal, not to his present person but to the Paul she carried in her girlish heart: a strong man, an independent thinker, a crusader for the highest of causes, the loving father of her child. That Paul no longer existed and could not be conjured by any effort on her part. What would it take to see past him?

  She entered the underpass that led to the park and began to trot toward the playground, her sandals slipping on the young grass. She’d spend fifteen minutes getting dizzy with Sarah on the swings before returning home to prepare their lunch. She welcomed the chore; her best ideas emerged when she did mindless things like mince parsley or vacuum. She could use a flotilla of good ideas.

  That night, in the shower, Brian’s parting words echoed in her head. They slid away without causing pain. If only she could say the same about Paul’s.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  They sat beside each other on the 7:29 to Grand Central. Paul had bought coffee and tea from the vendor at the Pelham station just before they’d boarded. As the train picked up speed, he sipped the hot, black brew; Jenn gazed out the window, waiting for her tea to cool. Last night, she’d asked to ride along with him, since she planned to shop for wedding rings in the city. He wondered if her making this purchase at the last minute signaled cold feet. At any rate, this was his chance: twenty-five minutes in which to stop her from marrying the jackass.

  “How come you’re buying rings by yourself?”

  “Arun’s on the phone with India. It will take hours to straighten out our travel. When I see something I like, I’ll text him. We very rarely disagree.” She took a tentative sip.

  “Yeah, but he shouldn’t leave you holding the bag. Not a good sign.”

  “Dad, this is no biggie. We already took care of the marriage license.”

  “Why don’t you shop with him in White Plains?”

  “Because the city has more variety at half the price.” She took a sip through the hole in the plastic cup lid.

  In less than a week this creature—she who had beguiled him since babyhood—planned to slink away to sleep beside a snake. Something inside his chest screamed no. He wanted Jenn to take her time, to learn about what makes men great, to find a man whom he could respect and who would keep her safe. Safe from heartache, safe from boredom. Safe from herself. All these years, he’d encouraged her adventurous spirit. Maybe too much, given her choice of fiancé. Now he would rescue her from her impulse, and eventually she’d thank him. He had planned his attack. He drained his coffee and took her free hand in his. “Tell me, are you absolutely sure you’re doing the right thing?”

  She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Sometimes people get so wrapped up in a plan that the plan takes over, and they lose track of how they really feel. Or they want out, but they’re afraid to disappoint the world, or they’re embarrassed about changing their mind. Does this apply to you?”

  Her face relaxed. “That’s sweet of you. No, I don’t want to back out of marrying Arun. Everything that’s happened has strengthened my resolve.”

  “You shouldn’t need resolve at this stage. You should feel 100 percent
positive.”

  She withdrew her hand. “I am as positive as I need to be. Haven’t you always said, as a scientist, that no one can ever be 100 percent sure of anything?”

  He nodded, acknowledging her parry. “Figure of speech. I want to be sure that you know you can call it off. And you should think about it now, not a month from now when you’re sweltering in India.”

  Jenn flicked her hand. “Dad, I’ve been thinking about it nonstop for almost a year. Traveling in India is hard, especially if you’re trying to find reliable collaborators. Every time we hit a bump, Arun and I had the same reactions. After a while, I said to myself, wow, I could spend my life with this guy. It took him another six months to come to the same conclusion.” She beamed at something invisible to him.

  “What about the physical? Sex is the basis of marriage.” He hadn’t wanted to go there, but she needed shaking up.

  Her eyes opened wide. “Is this about the birds and the bees? Already talked to Mom.” She smiled an inward smile. He saw her flush as desire flowed through her. Goddamn hormones.

  “You don’t have to go to India to get laid.” Too belligerent, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of Arun’s pudgy hands on her flesh.

  Jenn faced him squarely. “I’m going to India to help my future husband do important work that he is uniquely qualified to do. The way Mom supported you.”

  “Your mother is a lonely woman.”

  “That’s your fault as much as hers.” She raised the tea to her lips and stared him down.

  Jesus, he thought, she’s tough. He couldn’t keep his voice down. “I don’t want you following him. I want you doing your own thing.”

  She spoke slowly. “I am doing my thing. With a partner I adore. Wish me well.” Her face had that arch, cold look that he remembered from the awful days when she went to California to recover. As if he were too impossibly dull to understand.

  “If you want to take care of the needy, you can work for a nonprofit here.”

  “We’re not taking care of anyone; we’re building an organization so people can take care of themselves. India is ripe for it, more than the U.S.”