by Mulry, Megan
“You two are so strange.” Claire took a sip of her water to do something other than feel them looking at her like a butterfly pinned to a bit of felt.
“Yeah, totally strange,” Ben said as he gave her thigh a little squeeze. “Let’s stop tormenting her, Nic. She’s from a place where speaking plainly means pass the tiara.”
“Oh, god. Then don’t ever bring her home for Christmas! Can you imagine if Sitti starts asking her about her orgasms?”
Claire was unable to swallow properly and choked. “Oh dear. So sorry,” she tried to gasp out.
Ben patted her gently on the back. “Sitti is my mom, by the way. Are you okay?”
“Sure, sure. Fine.” She patted her chin with a paper napkin to absorb the liquid that had escaped from her mouth.
“Oh my god! You’re not kidding? Have you ever even said the word orgasm?”
Claire looked at Nicki then at Ben. “Out loud, you mean?”
Nicki burst out laughing. “This is going to be so awesome. Ben, your mom and all your sisters are going to go nuts.”
Ben smiled and put his arm around Claire’s shoulder. “Claire can handle herself. I’m not worried.”
But Claire was. If Ben’s family was filled with strong, confident, outspoken women who talked about their orgasms over the bûche de Noël, she was going to feel even more ridiculous than she already did.
“Don’t listen to her, Claire. She’s just trying to scare you.”
“No, I’m not!” Nicki defended after taking a big sip of her Coke. “I’m trying to prepare you. My mother and all her sisters are like a bunch of militant feminists. Ben, you need to give Claire a heads-up. Seriously!”
“Nicki, I want her to like me. You think I’m going to tell her about my six sisters?”
“Six?” Claire nearly choked again. “How could I have forgotten that?”
Ben shrugged. “I probably didn’t tell you on purpose. It’s more or less horrifying. They’re like a pack of wolves.” He took a sip of his margarita.
“Well,” Claire said. “Then I owe you a debt of gratitude, Nicki. Thanks for the warning. What are their names?”
“Olympia. Sanger. Joumana. Cady. Hoda. And my mom, Betty.”
Claire started laughing. “You’re joking!”
Both Ben and Nicki shook their heads and widened their eyes in a doleful way. Nicki spoke first. “Can you imagine? My poor mom…having to be named after Betty Fucking Friedan.”
“Nicki! Language!” Ben snapped.
“Sorry. Bad habit.” Nicki smiled, and Claire noticed neither of them were any the worse for it. Claire had given up trying to chastise Lydia years ago—the slightest correction was immediately seen as a horrible slight.
“And where do you fall into the birth order, Ben?” Claire asked.
“The baby. It’s your basic birth-order disaster.”
“Ok. Give me the one-sentence description of each one,” Claire said to Nicki.
“Oh, fun. All right, let me think. One sentence. Here goes…Olympia lives in Paris and is a curator in the Islamic Art Department at the Louvre, married, no kids. Sanger is a painter and lives with her husband and four dogs in Santa Fe. Joumana teaches Arabic at U. Penn. and she’s single, supposedly, but we all know she lives with some Republican econ professor Sitti hates.”
“Go on.”
“Cady and Hoda went into business together and now run a software development company in Northern California. Cady has a girlfriend; Hoda has a boyfriend. Then Boring Betty, my mom. The housewife from New Jersey. One kid. She doesn’t do anything.”
“Ouch.” Claire felt the sting.
“What? It’s just so boring. I have all these relatives who are doing all this cool stuff and what did my mom do?”
“She had you,” Claire answered with something bordering on despair.
“I know, I know. I respect that. But seriously, what did that take? Like a day or two? To push me out?”
“Nicki…” Ben realized what was happening, but it was too late.
Claire put her hand on his. “No, I want to hear this. A day or two to deliver you, you mean?”
Nicki looked like she knew she was probably insulting Claire somehow, but she wanted to be honest. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but my mom just sort of threw in the towel. Her sisters joke that she was the smartest of all of them—perfect performance on the National Latin Exam when she was twelve. Piano prodigy. That sort of thing. She could have done anything!”
Claire stared at this glorious, bursting young woman. “She did do something, Nicki. She raised you.”
“But I’m just a by-product. Don’t you see? Who is she?”
“Wow. Is that really how you see it?”
Nicki shrugged. “Yeah. Again, I don’t mean to be rude or dismissive. I just don’t really get it.”
Claire narrowed her eyes and tried to think how to explain her feelings. “Look, I’m in no position to talk about what it means to be a good mother right at the moment. I’m failing miserably—”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true!” Nicki exclaimed. “You’re probably just being modest—”
“No. I’m being honest.”
Ben took a sip of his margarita and watched Claire as she spoke. Nicki stayed quiet.
“But when Lydia was born…” Claire’s voice trailed off and she twisted the stem of the margarita glass absently. “It was like the greatest love affair imaginable. I felt like I had finally found my purpose on this earth. She was such a precious, beautiful thing. And so tiny and vulnerable and lovable. And she was so easy to satisfy. Everyone in my life up until then had been so mysterious and confusing to me, you know what I mean?”
Nicki and Ben nodded, both listening intently and watching Claire relive the memories.
“Lydia was so happy. I had never seen anything like it. She would just play in her crib and kick her chubby feet and reach for the mobile, or if she wanted company, she might bark a small cry, but the minute I came to the edge of the cot, she would…” Claire was back in that wonderful place in time. “She just beamed that gummy smile, and her eyes lit up. It was amazing.”
The three of them were quiet for a few seconds before Claire continued.
“It’s a really deep, powerful human relationship, Nicki. It’s not nothing. And it’s certainly not something that takes a day or two. I’m still doing it. Or trying.” Claire looked up and realized she had been lost in her own memories. “Oh, sorry to be so maudlin.”
“No!” Nicki was smiling. “I loved that. You were so right there. I could totally picture you with a baby. You know, you’re still really young—you should have another one! I bet you’re an awesome mother.”
Claire stared into her margarita glass, and Ben took a sip and looked toward the band.
“Awkward. Totally sorry.” Nicki’s face was bright red. “Seriously. You guys are just starting to date, and I’m talking about you having babies together.”
“Nicki,” Ben said in a warning tone.
“What? It’s not like you never thought about it, Uncle Ben. Mom says you’ve wanted to have kids ever since you came back from France that summer you were at Cal Tech. Remember?”
Claire was biting her lips into her mouth, and Ben was rubbing the flats of his hands on his jeans. “Nicki, enough with all the talk about babies. All right?”
“All right, all right. What are we going to eat?” Nicki whipped open her menu and hid her face behind it.
Ben turned to look at Claire and mouthed sorry and touched her cheek. She smiled and slowly opened her own menu. She was sorry too. But for what, she wasn’t exactly sure. For secretly wanting Ben’s babies? Or for feeling like she shouldn’t entertain such dangerous thoughts in the first place?
The rest of the meal passed in much lighter conversation. Claire told stories about her own family, about her responsible brother Max and her wild brother Devon. About her sister Abigail, who ran the organization in Africa. Over dessert, Claire looked up at Nicki and smiled. “
I guess I’m sort of the Boring Betty of my family. Maybe your mother and I should meet?”
Nicki laughed. “Totally. You both have that weird peaceful thing going on. Like everything’s going to be okay no matter what. I don’t think I’ll ever feel like that. Will you, Uncle Ben?”
“When I’m around Claire, I feel like I might have a chance.”
“Man, you two have got it bad. It’s like crazy-love-town all up in here. You’d better take me back to campus, so I can remember what bitter disappointment and teenage angst are all about.”
Ben paid the bill and they drove back through the mountainous winding roads. Nicki hooked up her cell phone to Ben’s car stereo and gave Claire a crash course in contemporary music. They got back just before midnight and Ben made sure Nicki got into her dorm safely before curfew.
When he returned to the car, he let his head fall back against the headrest and exhaled for what seemed like a full minute. “She is utterly exhausting.”
“She’s charming. I loved meeting her.”
“You did?” He turned to look at Claire.
“Of course I did. I wish Lydia had an ounce of her…enthusiasm.”
“Enthusiasm, huh?” Ben put the car in gear and drove through the dark natural arch of leafless trees.
“Yes, enthusiasm. She’s so full of life.”
“So full of uninformed opinions, you mean.”
“She’s not uninformed. She’s going on her own experience. I think she’s wonderful.”
“Well, the feeling’s mutual. As she was saying good-bye at the door, she told me she hopes I don’t bungle the whole thing, because she can’t wait to see you again at Thanksgiving or Christmas.”
Claire felt her stomach go all fluttery again. “What’s on for Thanksgiving?”
“Oh, nothing. The usual. Family overload at my parents’ place in Pennsylvania. Would you come?”
“I don’t know…family…” Claire felt a shot of fear and delight snap through her. He was so sure of them as a couple.
He almost snorted. “Why? You scared?”
“Of your mother and at least five out of six militant feminist sisters? What would possibly give you that idea?”
He laughed. “Okay. Thanksgiving is a bit soon. I won’t subject you to my family just yet. I think we’re both wary of that for different reasons. What did you call it earlier? Contaminated, right? I’m not going to let my family contaminate what we have. I like the idea of spending Thanksgiving alone with you in Litchfield. Just the two of us…and no clothes.”
Claire smiled and exhaled.
“But there’s no way you’re getting out of Christmas.”
Chapter 16
Claire was riding home on the Lexington Avenue bus a few weeks later when her phone rang. Normally she didn’t answer her phone in public, a silly etiquette rule that had never left her, but she looked at the number and was simultaneously excited and worried when she saw it was Lydia.
“Hi, Lyd,” she answered quietly.
“Hi, Mum. What are you up to?” It was loud and busy wherever she was calling from. Definitely not an African village, that was for sure, with the unmistakable street sounds of London punctuating her words.
“I’m riding on the Lexington Avenue bus, on my way home from work. Where are you?”
Lydia burst out laughing. A little too giggly. A little too loud. “You’re riding on a bus?…Yes, Daddy, she is actually riding on a city bus…” She laughed, and a male voice said something loud in the background.
“Is your father with you?”
“Yes, he’s been such a doll since I got back from that tedious trip to Africa.”
The way Lydia said Africa reminded Claire of the way Boppy said polyester: perish the thought.
Lydia continued, “He’s made tons of time in his schedule to go out and do fun things with me.”
Claire heard Freddy’s deeper voice in the background, but clenched her teeth together to prevent herself from saying something insulting about how fifty-year-old men shouldn’t be escorting their twenty-year-old daughters into Mayfair nightclubs. Instead, she glanced at her watch and saw it was nearing midnight in London. “So you’re back in London then? Where are you staying?”
“Yes, I’m back, but it’s ludicrously boring. I’m staying at Grandmother’s and I need a change.” Lydia’s voice was hitting that pitch that always made Claire worry, the voice that begged for someone else to just do something. Lydia carried on without any encouragement. “So…I was thinking New York City might be a fun change of pace. Daddy was just saying he thought that sounded like a lovely plan—” Lydia declined a cigarette from someone in the background. “Is there room in Bronte’s place for me?” She inhaled. “Or do you think James would let me use the Mowbray corporate apartment again?”
Claire took a deep breath. The combination of Freddy’s blasé encouragement and Lydia’s carelessness was simply too much. Having spent the entire week working ten-hour days, Claire felt simultaneously angry and deflated. “Can I call you in fifteen minutes when I’m home? I can’t really talk now.”
“What do you care what the people on the bus think of you?” Lydia laughed through the words, and Claire could have sworn she heard Freddy’s deep, malicious laugh chiming in.
Claire stayed silent. The line crackled a few long seconds, then Lydia exhaled on an impatient sigh. “Oh. All right. Fine then,” she huffed. “Call me back whenever you get around to it. I just thought it might spice things up a bit to come for a visit. If you don’t want me there, just say so.”
Claire closed her eyes. “Lydia, I didn’t say that at all. I would love to see you. I just meant…” She looked around the rush hour bus and resented her daughter for making her have this private conversation in public. Then she felt guilty she was never available for her daughter, that she wasn’t fun and dashing like Freddy. Then she tried to dismiss both waves of emotion as far too complicated to resolve on the rush hour bus. “Darling. I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes. I promise.”
Of course, fifteen minutes was a lifetime in the breakneck pace of The World According to Lydia, and when Claire finally got back to the apartment after hustling from the bus stop—in the too-high-heels she never should have worn to the office in the first place—too much time had passed, and Claire’s call went straight to voice mail.
“It’s your mum. We should talk more about you coming to New York for a visit…” She wanted to add that what she’d really love would be if Lydia came to New York to get a job, but she knew her oversensitive daughter would take it the wrong way—that she would see it as Claire being controlling or dictatorial or something—and not call her again for another month. “So. Call me back, and we can talk about it. Call me back, okay?” She ended the call and stared at the phone in her hand. Call me back, she repeated to herself as she sat down on the sofa. She didn’t even know how to tell her own daughter she loved her. It would have sounded awkward and stilted, especially on the recorded message. I love you, Lydia.
Claire repeated the words over and over in her mind and hoped they transmitted through some metaphysical pathway into her daughter’s distant heart. She loved her daughter, loved her laugh and her frivolity and her razor-sharp wit and how she didn’t give a fig what anyone else thought of her. But she worried for her for all the same reasons. She was a loose cannon, and Claire couldn’t help feeling she might detonate. Again.
The first time, the change had come upon her so gradually, Claire had missed it entirely. Mother and daughter had been inseparable during Lydia’s childhood. While Claire had been overseeing the renovation of Wick Castle, Lydia had toddled around with her, pointing at paints and fabrics, making drawings that she would tape to the walls. She always traveled with her on their monthly forays to London.
By the time Lydia was thirteen, Claire realized that history had repeated itself. Just as Claire and her mother had formed an unhealthy intimacy, to the exclusion of everyone else, so had Lydia and Claire. When they all de
cided it was time for Lydia to go to boarding school—or rather Freddy had decided it and Claire had reluctantly agreed and Lydia had screamed and cried wretched tears—something broke between them.
Freddy tried to tell Claire it was the natural order of things—adolescent girls and their mothers fought, full stop—so Claire had forced herself to refocus her energy on her charity work in Wick and the ongoing maintenance and renovations of the castle and land. Claire’s stewardship of the land and the historically important building had seemed honorable. Her father had always instilled a sense of cultural responsibility in each of his children. Claire convinced herself she was living an honorable life. Freddy stayed in London more and more frequently and Lydia only came home on holidays.
Near the end of Lydia’s second year away, on a glorious April afternoon when the land was full of new life—pheasants and grouse and lambs everywhere—Claire walked in from the stables and picked up the ringing phone on the kitchen wall. Lydia’s housemaster was on the line to let Claire know her daughter had overdosed on Adderall.
When the phone rang in her hand, Claire was startled back into the present. “Hello?”
“Hey, sexy, it’s me. You ready?” Ben’s voice sent a warm comfort through her that began to smooth away some of the anxiety and worry that always lingered after she spoke with Lydia. She had already told Ben all about Lydia’s struggles, as she called them.
“Oh, dear. I just got home. And I had a rather disappointing call from Lydia. She’s back in London. Partying with her father.”
“Do you feel like you need to go see her?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. I have a job and a life, and I don’t think it’s being entirely selfish to let her realize that. I don’t know.” Claire sighed into the phone. “I’m just exhausted, I guess. It’s been a long week.” She stretched her shoulders and took a deep breath, and decided she would call Lydia again in the morning.
“Why did you leave the office so late?”
Claire smiled to herself. “There’s this one client in Litchfield, Connecticut, who has become so demanding. I had to stay late and make sure all the final orders went through for the wallpaper in his front hall and the carpets in his guest bedrooms.”