by Lisa Dale
Oh, and until I know that there won’t be any problems, I’d prefer if you let me tell Garret that you’re coming—if you’re coming. Jonathan agrees this is a good idea as well.
We’re so close to having peace, I think. I’m crossing my fingers.
Yours,
Sue
Thea sat in the near darkness in her office; it was too early for bright light. She tapped the tip of her pen on her desk. In theory, she was supposed to be thinking about her next column—what would she write? But instead, she found herself thinking of her parents. The heavy wooden desk where she sat had been her father’s; she had many, many memories of him sitting here, layers of memories, one on top of the other, blurred slightly at the edges. She remembered him writing checks, marking sales for the day in pencil in a spiral-bound ledger, typing on a loud calculator that printed equations in faint blue ink.
She’d seen her parents last fall, when she and Irina had gone to Turkey for a visit, and she was eager to see them again. Within her extended family, her parents were considered too modern, too American. The fact that they hadn’t forced Thea to return with them to Turkey had nearly made them outcasts. She supposed she could have been bitter that her parents had left, but she knew they’d never felt entirely comfortable here—while she could never feel entirely comfortable someplace else. They’d made their own sacrifice for her, the sacrifice of understanding, of respecting her choice to stay, even though it went against their nature. For that, she’d always thank them.
It was six thirty in the morning in Newport. It was midday in Turkey. She decided her column could wait, and so she picked up the phone and dialed.
“Merhaba?” Her father’s voice was sleepy.
“Babacığım, it’s me.”
“Thea!” She could hear the smile in his voice.
“I’ve missed you,” she said. “Is Mama there?”
“No, fıstığım. She’s out harassing the nice girls who work at the market.”
The last time she’d been to Turkey she’d seen her mother in action, working for the best prices. Thea was lucky to have inherited some tenacity from her; it helped when she was negotiating the price of beans from local roasters.
“So,” her father said. “How are things with the … what is the word from the airplane … ?”
“Airplane … ?”
He murmured under his breath for a moment. “Turbulence.”
“You mean with Jonathan?” In Newport, thousands of miles away from him, she leaned her elbow against the desk that used to be his. “It’s more than turbulence. It’s put your head between your knees and hold on tight.”
“Your mother said …”
“I’m sure she didn’t want to worry you,” Thea said. “We’ve decided to separate.”
Her father was silent a moment. She tried to picture him—did he have a mustache now? Was he wearing the same sweatpants and sweater ensemble that was so often his leisure wear here in the States? Did he sit down, she wondered, when she told him the news?
“You feel happy about this?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“If I divorced your mother every time I thought of it, I would have divorced her a million times by now. But I didn’t.”
She paused for a moment. Her father had always been unfailingly supportive. She didn’t quite know where he stood, though, on the divorce. “Jonathan’s a great man,” she said. “We’re going to be model divorcees. Believe me.”
“And what does his family think of this? What about Sue and Ken?”
“I think it’s going to be okay,” she said. “But it will take some getting used to.”
“And what about Garret?”
“Garret?”
Her father laughed. “I’m sure he’s got strong opinions.”
“He always has strong opinions.”
“Have you seen him lately?”
Thea swallowed. She hadn’t expected his line of questioning to veer quite this way. “Yes. He’s been picking up Irina on the weekends.”
“And …”
“And nothing.” She heard a slight pinch in her voice, and she didn’t like it. But her father’s questions were making her uncomfortable. He should be asking about her and Jonathan—not her and Garret. “Garret doesn’t factor into any of this at all—except that I think he wants to keep me away from his family now that I’m separating from Jonathan.”
“And who can blame him?” her father said. “You broke the man’s heart.”
“I broke his heart? I think you’re remembering things backward.”
“Thea. You’ve always been a strong woman. You and Garret were in love in the way that only kids can fall in love, and you survived it. You went on, got married, had a baby. You can withstand a lot of unhappiness—without even knowing whether it’s unhappiness or not—because you’re optimistic and you’re tough. But Garret … what did he do after you? Nothing: that’s what he did.”
“I hardly think going to law school and becoming a lobbyist is nothing.”
“You misunderstand.” Her father’s voice was strained. “You’re not going to be married to Jonathan anymore.”
“So?”
“You believe Garret isn’t thinking about that?”
Thea was quiet, stopped in her tracks. Was Garret thinking about her again—thinking about her as more than his brother’s ex? She’d only seen him a couple of times. Each time, their meetings were charged and intense—something between them crackling and snapping like fire. Maybe it was his anger. Her regret. Some combination of the two—she couldn’t tell. But she didn’t think it was … interest. She’d been with him in high school for less than a year. One tiny little year—a moment so small it should have been inconsequential and forgotten.
It should have been.
Either way, it was trouble. Garret had sworn himself to keeping her away from his family. Even if some small part of him was still curious about her—even attracted to her in some vestigial sense—it didn’t matter, and she shouldn’t even be thinking about it.
The rest of her life would be a life without Garret—she’d made peace with that the moment she said, “I do.”
“Garret’s not going to be an issue,” she said. “Sue, Ken, and Jonathan aren’t going to shun me—I trust them.”
“I know you do, sweetheart,” her father said, his voice suddenly filled with melancholy. “They’re good people. I’m so glad you have them.”
Thea wished she could give him a hug. But all those miles of ocean … it was hard to bridge the gap. “Maybe you and Mom will come visit again soon. Or maybe Irina and I will go there.”
“I would like that very much,” he said.
The campus of Brown University, where Jonathan had gone to college, was friendly enough—its collegiate brick buildings with white-trimmed windows, its large green courtyard dotted with austere trees, its elegiac columns and dignified white pediments. And yet, for all its charms, Jonathan felt that going just a few dozen miles away to school was like being sent to the moon.
During fall break, he found Thea walking home from school on a chilly autumn afternoon, when the sidewalks were covered with leaves and the sun was deceptively bright. He knew her by her walk, her jeans cut close to her body, her corduroy jacket showing beneath the arms of her backpack. He beeped the horn lightly, not wanting to scare her as he pulled over to the side of the road. He expected she would be pleased to see him—that she might run to his car to give him a hug. Instead, he saw the flash of recognition in her eyes when she turned, and then she climbed into the car as if her body was too heavy to drag around.
“What happened?” he asked.
She adjusted her backpack on her lap. “What do you mean what happened?”
“Were you crying?”
“No,” she said.
“Thea …”
“It’s no big deal,” she said.
He took a deep breath and put the car in drive. He wanted to be there for her, more than he’d ever wante
d to be there for anyone. His heart cried out for her secrets, her burdens. He would carry them, and her, as long as she needed him. But how to tell her that? And even if he offered to listen, what made him think she would let him?
They drove along the familiar streets of Newport, four-square colonial mansions, cottages from long-forgotten farms, carriage houses converted into family homes. It took a moment before Jonathan plucked up the courage to say what was on his mind.
“I know about you and Garret,” he said.
She stared out the window, where the trees were passing in a green and red blur. “Are you mad?”
“No,” he said. But he wanted to tell her, yes, I am. “Did my brother do something stupid?”
She shook her head.
“Did you break up?”
Oddly enough, she laughed—a sound completely out of place given her tears. “I saw him on the soccer field with Krissy Spelling. They were just joking around, but he was pretending to, like, dance with her, you know? Like in the old days. Picking her up and twirling her around while she was laughing …”
“And he doesn’t do that sort of thing with you.”
“No. Not anymore.” She wiped her face—the only sign that she was still crying. “He won’t let me tell anyone about us. Jonathan—” She took one of his hands from the steering wheel, held it in hers. Her skin was damp. “I’m so glad you know. It’s been killing me to keep it a secret. There’s no one I can talk to …”
Jonathan’s chest grew tight. He pulled his hand away to turn the wheel. “Have you … um … did you—you know—”
“Sleep with him? No. Not yet.”
“Good.” Relief washed over him as he pulled up in front of her house and stopped the car. “Don’t.”
She looked at him. Her eyes had turned more green than brown, the effect of tears.
“Hear me out,” he said. He put his arm around the back of her seat. “The two of you have been just friends for so long. And I think there’s a reason for that. I think you make sense as friends. Garret’s always wanted to have everything. And I think once he gets everything from you, he’ll go on to want whatever the next thing is that catches his attention.”
“I know what Garret is,” she said.
“I’m not blaming him. I don’t think he’ll try to hurt you on purpose. It’s just his nature.” Jonathan leaned toward her, overwhelmed by concern for her. “Just promise me that you’ll, I don’t know, go slow. Okay?”
She held still, quiet but listening.
“If you guys can hold out until the end of your senior year, like the week of graduation, then maybe you’ll have a chance.”
“The week of graduation?”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said. But he didn’t think they would make it until graduation—Garret’s longest relationship had lasted a mere five weeks. Probably this whole thing would blow over soon, especially since Garret was already flirting with other girls. If Thea could hold off on sleeping with him, she might save herself worlds of regret and pain. “I just don’t want to see you—you know—just to lose him. You deserve better than that.”
“I guess it couldn’t hurt to make a timeline …”
He nodded and took her hand. “I hope Garret sees how lucky he is to have you.”
She leaned toward him—an awkward hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for your help. And for the ride home. It’s good to see you.”
He smiled, felt a little better. He liked being useful to her in a way his brother could not. “What are friends for?”
On a Saturday in late August, just after the sun had gone down, Thea stood in front of her open closet—a million voices ringing in her head and none of them her own.
From Dani: Of course you have something to wear to the bar. Here, this black camisole. Is this silk? Yes, I know it’s supposed to go under another shirt, but isn’t that the point? To show some skin?
From her mother: Don’t change your clothes. That husband of yours never cared what you looked like, and you shouldn’t either. You should stay home and read a book. Or I’m sure there’s something you can find to clean.
From Irina: It’s not about the clothes, Ma. It’s about the makeup. I know—I read it in a magazine when we were in line to pay for groceries. If you put on enough makeup, you won’t look old!
From Garret: What you’re supposed to wear? You shouldn’t ask me that question. Really—don’t.
Thea had forgotten how loud the night could be—the music, the crowds yelling over the music, the way everything seemed so inflated and larger-than-life. Dani had changed out of her ubiquitous uniform to wear curvy dark jeans and a neon orange satin shirt. There was no question that she was turning heads. She talked as loud as she laughed, and people came from across the bar just to stand near her to see what had everyone so lively and entertained.
Thea wasn’t feeling too bad herself—she’d pulled on a red tank top that made her look curvy but not trashy. She’d also managed to put on makeup beyond her usual mascara and blush, and she’d been happy with the extra effort: Her eyes looked smoky and even a little sultry. Her dark curls fell softly around her shoulders. Her lips were full and red.
At the bar, she drank cheap Coronas and danced—she was thrilled to discover she still knew how. At some point during the night, she got the feeling that Dani was sending men over her way, telling them to flirt with her, to buy her a drink and show her a good time. The bar became hazy, kaleidoscopic, all color and smiles and laughter, and Thea gave in to it. She could still flirt. She could still drink. Maybe this was what she was meant for—more people, more laughing, more parties. She yelled to Dani over the music: “This is better than staying home.”
One of the men she’d been talking to—a tall guy who looked like something of a cowboy—stuck around. She could barely hear a word he was saying, but somehow, she found there was a lot to laugh about. When the band dropped into a slow song, the last of the night, he put his arms around her waist, and she could feel his breath in her ear.
As the bar emptied out, he took her hand and brought her tripping over the planks of the pier and into the dark. They stood by the railing, the water far below, the stars far overhead, and distant lights of yachts and dinghies watching them from the black of the bay.
She wasn’t at all surprised when he kissed her. She felt his hands on her back, crushing her against him. She felt his lips, thin though they were, and the press of his tongue in her mouth. She had the sense that she wasn’t actually kissing him but was instead looking down at herself kissing him, watching with detachment as the scene played out.
She felt the cowboy’s hands sliding down into her jeans pockets, and she pulled away. This man wanted her to go home with him—she could feel it, emotionally and physically too. Some part of her was tempted, just to see if she could, until it occurred to her that she didn’t know his name.
“You’re the most fun I’ve had in a while,” she said.
“Why do I have a feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming?”
She took his hand from her waist, held it in hers. “I just don’t want to move too fast.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“Yes. Lots of fun.”
He took out his wallet, pulled out his business card. “Then call me if you ever want a good time again.”
She laughed, and he kissed her again. She felt the barest spark of heat—a tiny flame, but a promising one. Maybe her future wasn’t entirely sexless after all.
“Thanks,” she said. And she slipped the card in her pocket before he took her hand and led her back in the direction of the closing bar.
The winter of her senior year, Thea developed the senses of a cat. She swore that she recognized the sound of Garret’s particular brand of sneakers on the sidewalk under her window—a sound distinct from the foot traffic of other pedestrians. She thought she could hear the tap of his finger on her window even before his skin touched the glass.
Some nights, he didn’t even say hello. H
e simply came in, kissed her, reached for buttons and hems. He slid under the covers of her bed, whispering, asking, pushing her to the edge of what she could stand. The press of his fingers was strong and greedy. His mouth was hot. When the creaking of the bed threatened to give them away, they moved to the floor. She’d insisted that they keep their underwear on, a frail and absurd barrier—and she couldn’t take it, fabric so thin it drove them both crazy, how easily it could be pushed aside, inches this way or that, and all the agony of the moment, built to excessive and terrible pressure, would be eased. Sometimes her whole body trembled uncontrollably so her skin jumped beneath Garret’s hands, and the word that would have ended the torment perched on the tip of her tongue even while Garret dared her to speak it.
And yet she stopped him. She had to. It hurt to hold herself away. “Garret.”
His breathing was rough, his focus not quite meeting hers for some moments. When he raised his head from her chest, his eyes were glassy, unfocused too.
“I need you to know something.” She pushed his hair back from his forehead. Why couldn’t this man in her bedroom be the same man she saw in the halls of the school each day? “I can’t sleep with you yet. I think we should wait until graduation.”
His sigh was a puff of air on her face, and he dropped his head back down. “Why?”
She looked to the ceiling. There was no way to explain.
“Don’t you like this?” he asked, his hands moving over her.
She felt the tug between them. “Yes.”
“So why wait? Thea, it’s going to be … perfect. I promise.”
She propped herself up, the hard floor hurting her elbows. “Why can’t we tell anyone we’re seeing each other?”
He sat up, ran a hand through his hair. “Is that what this is about?”