Four: Stories of Marriage

by Nia Forrester

  “There needs to be balance in any healthy relationship, Brendan. And it’s been tipped in your favor for far too long. Give her something. Something she wants. Something that maybe it isn’t so easy for you to give.”

  “I don’t know what that is. That’s the thing. If she would just ask me … I mean, she wants a second baby, but …”

  “That may be it,” his mother said. “But I don’t think so.”

  “Then …”

  “I don’t know, son. That’s for you to find out.” She patted him on the cheek and returned her attention to her meal.

  19

  Do you think your mom would want to come next weekend?” Tracy asked.

  “Come where?” Brendan narrowed his eyes.

  “To the beach.”

  “You still want to do that?”

  “Of course, I want to do that,” she said. “It’s what we always do.”

  Tracy paused with her chopsticks poised midway to her mouth, a piece of shrimp tempura between them.

  Since Layla was a baby, the last weekend of the summer was always spent at the beach, usually at Chris and Robyn’s place in the Hamptons where there was plenty of room for adults and kids alike. Shawn and Riley came with their two, and sometimes Chris’ older kids stayed as well. Among their group, the question was never whether you would be there, but when you would be there.

  She could only imagine that Brendan had been dreading an uncomfortable conversation where he would have to ‘fess up to Chris and Shawn that because he and Tracy weren’t cohabitating, they would be sitting this weekend out. But she happened to know that Shawn and Chris knew nothing. She’d told her friends that if their husbands found out, it should not be from them. Brendan could share whatever he wanted to, but Tracy would not be the one to let the men know that Brendan’s house wasn’t exactly in order. Not to mention they both already thought she was nuts to begin with.

  “I don’t know. I thought …”

  “What? That we’d just not go?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, Tracy. I guess.”

  “We’re still a family,” she said, trying to meet his gaze.

  “Okay, yeah.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means okay. You want to go to the beach as usual, we’ll go to the beach. And no, I don’t think Ma would want to come. She wants to go home. To her husband.”

  “Did she say that?”

  “No, she doesn’t need to say it. She’s been away from my father for almost ten days. I don’t need her to say it to know that she wants to be back home.”

  Today, they were having lunch at the Japanese restaurant around the corner from his office, because lately they had been making a point to spend time together that wasn’t at either the condo, or in Brooklyn. Tracy’s time in Brooklyn was all about Layla. And the time Brendan and she spent together in the condo almost always wound up with sex.

  “We probably have imposed on her a little too long.” Tracy put down her chopsticks without eating the shrimp and stared at her plate.

  “You think?” Brendan said.

  “I’ll call her,” Tracy said.

  “And say what?”

  “Just to thank her. And to let her know that it’s … that she doesn’t need to stay any longer.”

  “And then what?” Brendan asked slowly.

  Tracy wrestled with the question, pursing and un-pursing her lips, and then pulling her hands from the table, instead resting them on her lap.

  “Forget it,” Brendan said. He slid his platter of sushi toward her. “Forget I asked. Here. You want this? I’m not that hungry.”

  Tracy looked at the platter and shook her head. “I’m fine with this.” She indicated her plate of rice and tempura.

  “You almost done? I need to get back. Got a difficult meeting this afternoon.”

  “Yeah? What meeting?”

  She didn’t really care. She just wanted him to talk to her again. Ever since their fight a while back when she couldn’t explain to him why she wasn’t ready to come home, he had been like this. Not exactly distant, but almost always pensive when he was with her.

  “I’m firing Simone Wolfe.”

  Tracy sat forward. Now she was interested. “Really?”

  “Don’t sound so excited,” Brendan said. There was a shadow of a smile on his face.

  “I’m not.” Tracy lied. She looked down and relaxed into her chair once again.

  “You are. You always thought she was … I don’t know what you thought.”

  “I didn’t trust her. And then she tried to cause trouble by making it sound like she knew something about me and her husband … who, by the way, is cheating on her.”

  Brendan looked up. “What? How d’you …”

  “It’s just a sense I have. About the way he was at the Lounge. With that Karin woman.”

  Brendan laughed, and Tracy saw something in his eyes soften.

  “You and your sixth sense.” He reached out and put a hand over hers, his gaze so steady she couldn’t look away.

  “I thought he might be trying to get with you. That’s what his wife made it sound like.”

  “You know I would never let something like that happen.”

  He nodded, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “I know. So, what was that all about that time? You going to look at art with him.”

  “I don’t know,” Tracy said honestly. “I guess I was bored. Trying to find something to fill my … life that wasn’t about … I liked that I had to get dressed-up for something. And I had all these stupid fantasies that I’d become an art consultant or something. That I would help him pick something at that artist’s studio and he’d recommend me to all his millionaire friends.”

  Brendan smiled, but not as though he was ridiculing her, or thought she was silly. So, Tracy continued.

  “Meanwhile he was just some random horndog who probably cheats on his wife all the time.” She shrugged. “I was thinking I might find some other sense of purpose.”

  “Other than me and Layla,” Brendan said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah. But y’know what?”

  “What?” His tone was gentle.

  “I love being your wife. Being Layla’s mother. I like that that’s what drives me. And I’m not ashamed of not wanting much more than that.”

  THere were people who took helicopters to the Hamptons. But Brendan always drove. It wasn’t that the three-thousand-dollar charter was out of their reach, but he wasn’t ready to drink the ‘I’m Rich, Bitch’ Kool-Aid. Shawn and Chris felt the same way, so they all drove, and as a result, usually all arrived in the same foul humor from having fought through miles of traffic, cranky children in tow, and women next to them who insisted they ‘slow down!’ just when they finally got enough road to achieve a respectable rate of speed.

  He and Tracy and Layla pulled up at Chris’s house just after eleven in the morning, even though they’d left the city a little after seven a.m. because apparently all of Manhattan had the same bright idea to “get on the road early.” Layla slept the entire way, and this time so had Tracy. The evening before had been surreal. For the first time in two months, she stayed in Brooklyn. He was hoping it wasn’t only because she wanted to come with him to drop his mother off at the airport for her flight back to North Carolina.

  Just before his mother had to go through security, and after Brendan and Layla had given her their hugs and kisses, Tracy and she had embraced for a long time. Brendan saw his mother whisper something into his wife’s ear, to which she nodded, and chewed on her lower lip to prevent herself from crying.

  Back in the car with Layla he asked her whether she wanted to go back to the condo, and tried not to react when she said, without looking him in the eye, ‘No. We can go to Brooklyn.’

  He didn’t want to make himself hope that their separation would end so quietly, so inconspicuously. It seemed like there would have to be something more, some kind of speech on Tracy’s part, marking the occasion with
a list of demands for how different she wanted things to be. But there was nothing like that. She simply walked into the house, as though she’d only just left that morning, and carried Layla upstairs to prepare her for bed, reminding her in a soothing voice that though No-no was gone, she would be back to see her at Thanksgiving, and then again for Christmas.

  He waited downstairs for Tracy to be done with Layla, still prepared for The Big Talk, but when almost two hours later she didn’t show, he went up to check on her. She was asleep, curled up in Layla’s bed alongside her. And the next morning, this morning, she was up at dawn, packing for the trip to Chris and Robyn’s house for the weekend, as though nothing was unusual, as though she hadn’t been away from home for weeks.

  “We’re here,” Brendan said when he cut the engine in front of Chris’ beach house.

  Tracy jerked awake and for a few moments a dazed look. Finally, her eyes focused and she glanced in the backseat where Layla was still conked out, and then, finally, at Brendan.

  She smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “We’re here,” she said.

  “Yup.”

  Brendan looked at her, and exhaled, letting his head fall back against the headrest. She hadn’t bothered to do much with her hair, so it was wild, and full and in its natural curly state. A sunbeam hit it just at the perfect angle so that it was ablaze in a mix of copper and gold.

  Tracy leaned in and kissed him on his Adam’s apple, surprising him. And exciting him a little bit too. Kissing him there usually happened when he was on top of and inside her, when his head fell backward because she felt so damned good he wanted to howl at the moon, and straining up to kiss him, his neck would be all she could reach.

  “Sorry I wasn’t good company. I’m sure the drive was brutal.”

  “Not too bad,” he lied.

  Tracy looked around, spotting the other cars.

  “Looks like everyone else is here,” she said. Then she looked at him again and smiled, putting a hand on his cheek. “Let’s have a really good time this weekend, okay?”

  “That’s the plan,” he said.

  “No, I mean it. No work, no cellphones. Just us. And Layla, and our friends. Promise?”

  Brendan nodded. “Isn’t that how we always do? Well … except for that one time when Sheryl showed up and went all World Star Hip Hop and shit.”

  Tracy giggled, and Brendan leaned in. They were both smiling when their lips met, and between kisses they smiled some more. It was perfect for two whole minutes until, from the backseat, their baby girl whined, and announced that she had to go potty.

  There was wine, beer, and laughter and as the sun set, the smell of barbecued meats. The men were milling about the grill and the children tearing around, squealing in the sand. Every five minutes or so, Layla would come running up with Cassidy holding her hand, complaining that they were being bitten by sand-flies. And then Riley would kiss each of them on the spot where the alleged bites were and send them off to play again. By Tracy’s count, it had happened four times now, and each time, Riley reacted with just as much sympathy as the first time, dutifully bestowing kisses and then resuming her conversation as though she hadn’t been interrupted.

  Robyn was breastfeeding Landyn with a shawl draped to conceal her, and Caitlyn occasionally came cantering up to tug on her mother’s leg, jealous of the attention her baby brother was getting. Further from the house, close to the water, Chris’ older daughter Jasmin was instructing her brother Kaden and Cullen on the fine art of drawing concentric circles in the sand. Whenever it seemed like they might be getting too close to the surf, Robyn called out to them to be careful, temporarily startling Landyn out of his sleepy suckling.

  Tracy yawned hugely, and only half-listened as Riley and Robyn debated the new fad of parents hiring tutors to teach their kids how to play poker.

  “It’s ridiculous,” Riley was saying.

  “It’s supposed to teach them critical thinking skills, and strategy,” Robyn said. “Or at least that’s what Marissa Lehman says. She’s having all her kids learn.”

  “Marissa Lehman never saw a fad she didn’t like,” Riley said. “She’s a sweet person, but I bet she’d sew tails on her children if someone told her it was the latest accessory. Like whatever happened to just having them do gymnastics or track?”

  “Or ballet and swimming and soccer,” Robyn said teasingly, nudging Tracy in the arm. “How’s Layla doing, keeping up with all those activities? By the time she’s five, she’ll be ready to carry a full course load a Columbia.”

  “I think I might take her out of a couple of those classes,” Tracy said. “It’s probably all too much anyway.”

  The silence that fell caused her to look up at her friends. She laughed.

  “What? You both always said I was going overboard. Riley, you even sent me that article about the dangers of ‘over-programming’ kids.” Tracy made air-quotes.

  “Yes, but I never thought you actually read it and took it to heart,” Riley said.

  “I didn’t. I’ve come to that conclusion all on my own, thank you very much.”

  “And the conclusion is what, exactly?” Robyn asked, as though she couldn’t be sure she was speaking to the real Tracy Cole.

  “That I just want to spend time with her.” Tracy played with her necklace, pulling the pendant back and forth along the chain. “While she’s little and needs me, and still wants me around. I’m just going to spend all the time with her I can.”

  A few feet away standing with Chris and Shawn at the grill, Brendan was laughing so hard, his head, shoulders and entire upper torso were thrown back. He was so rarely this much at ease lately.

  And come to think of it, the same was true of her.

  “Did someone take her Xanax this morning?” Riley teased, picking up on her mood. “You’re all mellow and dreamy-eyed over there. What’s going on, Tracy? Spill it.”

  “Girl’s gotta have her secrets.” She leaned back, shutting her eyes, and for the moment, shutting out the world.

  20

  All she seemed to want to do was sleep. Overhead, the fan spun lazily, and Brendan watched Tracy as her eyes followed each slow revolution. She lay naked on her back, with only a pillow draped across her middle. After only two days on the beach, she was a deep bronze, her skin-tone striking when contrasted with the stark white of the sheets.

  “You sure you don’t want to come?” he asked again.

  “To look at a boat? No thank you.”

  “A yacht. From the pictures it looks sick. Next year this time we’ll all be sailing around Long Island. Or better yet, the Greek isles.”

  “Robyn says Chris will buy that yacht over her dead body. So, my money’s on this little outing being a total waste of time.”

  Brendan laughed. “Why would she care if Chris wants to buy a yacht? Let the man have some fun.”

  “She says rich people are always dying in boating accidents, so she doesn’t like the odds. And also, Chris doesn’t know how to sail.”

  “He’ll learn.” Brendan sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his white sneakers. “C’mon go with us …”

  Tracy shook her head. “I’m fine being nanny for the day. You go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  During breakfast—which was the usual raucous affair with the women trying to herd the children, and the men trying to escape the din and confusion before anyone noticed they were gone—Robyn had pried out of Chris what their agenda was for the day. Apparently, some fallen-on-hard-times hedge fund guy was selling his 100-foot Azimut for a fraction of its worth. Chris thought it would be “cool to go take a look” and Shawn and Brendan were game as well.

  Robyn and Riley were not invited but decided to go along for the ride anyway. It would mean that they would have to bring all the kids as well, which was not exactly what the men had in mind. So, Tracy volunteered to stay behind.

  “I thought the idea of this trip was that we’d have a good time.”

&nbs
p; “I am having a good time. This is my good time. Lying here, comfortable, cool, cozy …”

  “But you can’t just fall asleep, Trace. There’s too many kids and too much water around. So you gotta get up.” As she rolled over, Brendan smacked her playfully on her butt.

  “You’re right,” she groaned. “I’m getting up.”

  And she did. Tossing aside the pillow, Tracy slid out of bed and walked naked toward the bathroom. From waist to butt cheeks, his wife was like an inverted heart, and her plump ass had the cutest little jiggle that Brendan knew better than to tell her about.

  “Have fun looking at the boat Robyn’s never going to let Chris buy,” she sang. Tracy raised a hand in a casual wave without giving him a backward glance.

  “Oh my god, we’re all going to hell,” Riley mumbled under her breath. “Will you look at this thing?”

  Brendan turned and grinned at her, shaking his head. No one could ever accuse her of having lost her values when she’d gained some wealth.

  The owner, a cocky little douchebag with obvious hair implants was walking them through the boat, which boasted three deck areas, an open-air dining area, a Jacuzzi on the flybridge, and a sizeable garage for a tender and two jet skis. Then there was the swimming platform, dining room for eight, and three large bedroom suites.

  Chris and Shawn were walking ahead with the owner while the rest of them hung back, taking everything in at their leisure, running their hands over smooth, polished surfaces, marveling at the craftsmanship of the luxury sea-vessel.

  “No one is supposed to have something like this, ‘just for fun’,” Riley continued. “No one.”

  “Be quiet,” Robyn said, keeping her voice equally low, lest their host hear them. “You know you’re going to be right up there on that sun deck with the rest of us.”

  “So, you’re going to let him buy it?” Riley sounded scandalized.

  “I don’t ‘let’ him do anything, Riley. It’s his money.”