Rick put his journal down. “Hi, hon. How was work?”
“Ugh.” I put my purse on the hall table. “I’ll be really glad when this party is over.”
“Can I come?” Cam asked. “It’s going to be on VTV, right? Let me come!”
“No way. I don’t want you tainted by that kid.”
“What about me?” Amy asked with a smile. “I’m older than Cam. Can I go?”
I smirked at her. “Very funny.”
“Told you,” Cam said.
“Worth a try!” Amy laughed. “I hear you’re going out Monday night,” she said, looking at me with mild interest. “With some old friends. And Dad’s going too.”
Friends. Hm. “Yes.”
Cam sat up and muted the TV. “Is that the Theresa you and Jordan talk about? From high school?”
“Yup.”
“So who’s she married to?” she went on. “Anyone you know?”
I leveled a gaze on her. How did kids have this ability to pounce on the one thing you don’t want to talk about? What’s a vagina? Why are you kicking me under the table? What’s that on Mrs. Holt’s face? “Yes. Someone we were both friends with.”
“Cool!” Amy said, unaware.
“You know Theresa’s husband too?” Rick asked me.
Did I know Theresa’s husband? The question felt too sad to answer.
Suddenly it felt like an inquisition. I went into the kitchen and rummaged around until I found a box of Cap’n Crunch. “Yes.” I dug my hand in and took a mouthful of Crunch Berries.
“That will be so neat to meet your old friends,” he said, apparently unaware of the shift in my reaction.
It was uncharitable of me to find his use of the word neat unmanly, but I looked at him for a moment before I said, my mouth full, “Yeah. Neat.”
“Were you all close at the same time?” he persisted.
A Crunch Berry lodged in my throat. I held my index finger up and went to the fridge to get some milk. I came away with a beer instead. Given the circumstances, it seemed like the better choice. “Theresa and I were friends from tenth grade to, I don’t know, right around the time Cam was born.”
“I broke up your friendship?” she asked, then nodded, as if she’d been known to do this.
“No, no, I was just busy. We lost touch.” I took a sip of beer. It wasn’t actually as bad as you’d think with the Cap’n Crunch.
“What about the husband?” Rick asked, and he was clearly just curious, there was nothing loaded about his question at all.
As far as he knew.
I set the beer down and the foam rose and bubbled out the top. I sighed and got a napkin to clean it up, saying, “What’s close when you’re that age?”
“What’s his name?” Cam asked, narrowing her eyes at me.
I took a swig of the beer and looked at her evenly. “Nate.”
She widened her eyes in recognition.
I nodded.
Amy continued to watch Gossip Girl.
Rick noticed nothing. “There was a guy in my dorm at USC named Nate. I wonder if it’s the same one. What’s his last name? Wouldn’t that be funny?”
“It would be … hilarious.” I gave a dry laugh. “But I doubt it’s the same guy.” Even God doesn’t mess with people that much. Plus, Nate had lived in California briefly but it was after he was out of school. “So am I supposed to call her back?”
“You probably should, but I went ahead and got the directions and everything. They live down in Palisades.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Great.”
None of this was supposed to happen! It was all complete madness. What was I supposed to do now? Tell him I didn’t want to go because Nate was my ex and, oh, by the way, I fucked his brains out the other day?
This was a mess.
Rick said, “It’ll be fun. You never talk about your past. I’m looking forward to getting some insights.”
There would be plenty of those for the taking.
“I’m not that interesting.” I downed the rest of the beer.
“That’s not true.” Rick returned to his magazine. He’d noticed nothing about my reaction or my mood. Meanwhile, Cam was signaling frantically toward my bedroom because she wanted me to give her the whole scoop in private. Or whatever part of the scoop I could make appropriate for a fifteen-year-old.
“Um, Mom?”
“Hm?”
“Can you show me that dress you were telling me about?” She gestured toward the bedroom yet again.
“Sure.” I picked up the box of cereal and looked at Rick. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I’ll be in there in a few.”
I nodded, hoping he’d give me more than a few minutes to collect myself after I answered whatever it was that Cam was so desperate to ask me.
“Mommy!” Her stage whisper was loud enough to be heard down the hall.
I closed the door. “What?”
“Nate? The Nate?”
“Yes. Same”—I plopped down on the bed and jammed my hand into the cereal box—“Nate.” I put a handful of the sugary stuff into my mouth and remembered hearing it was more addictive than heroin.
I wished it could alter my mood like heroin.
“The one who was going to love you forever,” she clarified, a heavy question in her voice.
“That’s the guy.”
“He married your friend?”
I felt ill. “Apparently so.”
She was agape. “Why aren’t you more upset about this?”
I have to say, I appreciated the fact that she was taken aback by it. “It was a long time ago. Everything’s different now. I’m”—it was a small effort to choke the words out, but the sentiment was right—“happy for them.”
“Well, I’m not,” she said, indignation coloring her voice. “I think they’re both jerks.”
Amen to that. “Honey, you don’t even know them.”
“It goes against the most basic girlfriend rule and you know it.” When did she get so smart? That was totally true. “You’re not allowed to go out with your friends’ boyfriends.”
I nodded.
Apparently that nod didn’t convince her. “So you see why this is messed up, right?”
I laughed. “I see why it looks that way, yes. But a lot of time has passed.”
Cam snorted and rolled her eyes. “I don’t care.”
I had more cereal, shamefully gratified by her response and agreeing with it. “Okay, I admit it’s a little uncomfortable for me,” I said, mouth full, “but I’m not in high school anymore. He’s not mine. He never really was.”
“But he was!” She gestured helplessly toward the closet where the Box o’ Nate had been.
“No, baby. You never own someone else. You can’t dictate the rules they should live by. They’re grown people and apparently they fell in love.” I’d seen how Nate looked when Theresa had shown up. He wasn’t in love with her. But maybe he had been once. They must have been. Once. “It’s kind of cool, if you think about it. They met pretty young and are together still.”
She considered that for a moment, then voiced what the inner child was screaming in me. “But they met because of you!”
“It’s fine,” I said, more to myself than to her. “That’s just how it is sometimes.”
“I think it stinks.”
I nodded. Yup. It stank. “Sometimes that’s how life is. It stinks.”
There was a knock at the door and Rick came in. “Is this a private party?” It felt like an intrusion, but that wasn’t fair.
I looked at Cam.
“It’s fine,” she said, though I could tell she felt it was an intrusion. “I have to call Sara anyway.”
I’d never heard of Sara. She might have been made up.
“Good night, babydoll,” I said to her, and she came over for a good-night kiss. I handed her the box of cereal. “Stick that in the kitchen, will you?”
“Are you sure you don’t need it?” she asked, like she was offe
ring me a glass of wine.
“No, thanks.”
“Are you okay?” she asked me pointedly.
“Of course!” I glanced at Rick, who didn’t appear to see anything amiss with her question. “Good night.”
“Good night, Cam,” Rick said. “Tell Amy I said it’s time for bed, would you?”
“Sure. G’night.” She left, looking a little deflated.
“Everything okay?” he asked me when she’d gone.
“Yes.” I made a show of yawning and stretching. “It’s just … boy trouble.” True true true.
It was time to accept his proposal. I’d resolved to do it and he was waiting.
“Rick,” I began.
“Mmm-hmm?”
“About that thing you asked me…” I took a breath.
“What was that?” He was focusing on his watch crystal, trying to clean it with the bottom of his shirt.
This was not the way to do this. Maybe it was even a sign. “Oh … nothing. We can talk tomorrow. I’m pretty exhausted.”
He frowned at the watch, then shook his head and looked at me. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I was just saying I’m tired. So.” There was nothing else to say. “Good night.”
Chapter 19
So, yes, obviously I could have gotten out of dinner with Rick, Nate, and Theresa.
But not without questions I didn’t want to answer, suspicions I didn’t want to raise, and weirdness I didn’t want to feel.
Part of me was curious about what their life was like. Well, curious sounds so light. I was dreading finding out the answer too. Maybe you could call it a morbid curiosity.
Yet I had to know.
Even still, my heart pounded out my dread every single minute of the drive. Every minute a new rush when I realized I was about to see Nate. That I was about to see Nate with Theresa … his wife. My old friend.
So even though it startled me at first, it was a relief when my phone rang and I saw it was Jordan. “What’s going on?” I asked, glad for something else to think about for a moment.
“Are you alone?” she asked.
“Rick and I are on our way to have dinner at Theresa and Nate’s house.”
“What—wait, did you try to call earlier?”
“Um-hm. I left a message.” I lowered my voice. “A rather plaintive one.”
“My voice mails were all crackly this morning,” she said. “I’m sorry. Wow. This sucks.”
“I wish you could join us too.”
“I bet you do. But this is going to give you some really important closure. Hopefully.”
The GPS shouted, in a British accent, that we needed to turn left ahead.
“What?” Jordan asked.
“Nothing, it was the GPS,” I said.
“Left where?” Rick asked, instantly impatient. “There are three lefts in a row.”
“Keating Drive,” I read off the LED.
“Cheating what?” Jordan asked, ultra aware of that concept lately. “Who’s cheating?”
“No one. I said Keating. I was talking to Rick.”
The GPS spoke again, demanding another left. Honestly, I don’t understand why people need the sound on with those things, they have the little purple path showing exactly what road to take, in addition to showing the road names.
Rick always insisted that having the sound on was the safer option. Even though all it seemed to do was piss him off every time it said something, which struck me as the less safe option. “Now there isn’t a damn left to turn onto, that’s an alley.”
“It’s up there,” I said, pointing to what was obviously a street in front of the houses that the alley ran behind. I returned to Jordan with a sigh. “This is going to be a weird night.”
“Probably. But I want you to call me as soon as you get home tonight, no matter what time it is!”
“I will.” Rick started arguing with the GPS again about whether or not we had, in fact, reached our destination, so I said to her, “I’d better run now, but we’ll talk later.”
“Good luck, sweetie!” she said.
“Thanks.” It really made me feel so much better to hear her voice. “You too!” I hung up the phone and slipped it back into my purse. “What,” I said to Rick, “is your problem?”
“That stupid thing is the problem.” He gestured at the GPS, which was now showing a finish line, indicating we were at, or very near, the right address.
I looked at the directions, and at the GPS. “We’re on the right street. There—forty-four-eleven, it’s right there.” I pointed at the house. It was a little Cape Cod that, in this neighborhood, probably ran close to a million bucks. My chest tightened at the place they called a home.
“Oh. There.” He said it like he’d discovered it on his own, despite the opposition and interference of the electronic map.
We got out of the car and walked toward the front door, misgivings building in my chest with every single step. This was nothing short of masochism. Why was I doing it? I should have declined and let everyone think what they wanted, rather than putting myself through seeing the only guy I’d ever really loved, married and living with someone else. Never mind that the someone else used to be my friend.
“Nice house,” Rick mused.
I made a noise of agreement.
Theresa threw open the door like she’d been looking forward to this moment all her life. “Hi!” She put her arms out and pulled me into a hug, then turned to Rick and said, “You must be Rick!” and hugged him.
Nate stood awkwardly behind her and stepped back to let us in.
He and Rick introduced themselves to each other and shook hands, then Nate turned to me and—because anything else would have been suspicious in and of itself—we hugged. Awkwardly.
The buzz of electricity when we touched was undeniable, and we drew back quickly. He looked away and I looked down at their impeccably clean floor. I swear I could feel heat pulsating from Nate to me.
We all ended up in the hall for a minute, where I noticed the house looked just like a Pottery Barn catalog, right down to the tasteful-but-generic paintings on the walls, accent pillows that were just so, and bold paint colors that made statements I couldn’t quite read. But that was Theresa; impeccable, bold, and striking.
Yet there was something strangely impersonal about it all too. No family photos. Nothing to suggest it was a home. It might as well have been a builder’s model.
“This is a beautiful house you have,” Rick said, and I could tell he was admiring Theresa.
Who wouldn’t?
My eyes flicked to Nate, but he looked at me and I looked away, feeling the heat in my face again.
This was going to be a long night.
We sat down in the perfectly appointed living room, where Theresa had set up a small bar that seemed to have the makings for just about any drink or bar snack you could think of. Seriously, if I’d asked for a sour apple brandy Alexander mojito with a Buttershots floater and a side of Kentucky beer cheese, she probably could have whipped them right up.
It was hard not to feel like I paled in comparison, honestly. I didn’t have the home-decorating gene. If I didn’t have girlfriends who did, my places would all look like college dorms, for the rest of my life. I also didn’t have the entertaining gene. Organizing events by delegating responsibilities and tasks was one thing—doing the whole shebang myself in my home was quite another. Every time I entertained—and I mean every time—I ended up forgetting some critical part of the meal or appetizers: asparagus remained forgotten in the fridge, Pepperidge Farm crackers languished in back of the pantry while I frantically set out saltines and broken Ritz remains with Cracker Barrel cheese.
Normally none of this made me feel bad about myself—I have other assets that deflect these lacks—but sitting in this beautiful home, looking at this beautiful woman, who had married my most beautiful memory, I felt like a pair of ratty old sneakers at the foot of a D&G evening gown.
After a whi
le, the conversation turned to a collection of Civil War artifacts Theresa had inherited when her father died ten years ago.
“For example,” Theresa said. “There’s an Emerson & Silver cavalry sword with a straight blade which is very rare and—”
Rick was beside himself. “I have got to see that!”
“It’s right downstairs!” She glanced at Nate and me. “Would you mind excusing us for a moment…?”
“Go right ahead!” I waved airily at her. “He loves this stuff!”
“It’s this way,” she said to Rick, and led him out of the living room. “My dad was a huge Civil War nut, he had ancestors on both sides of the war…”
I listened to her as she took him down the stairs to the basement. Rick would undoubtedly adore her by the end of the evening and I would feel even more frumpy by comparison.
What did Nate see when both of us were in the room together? I wondered.
“So,” I said on a sigh.
“So.” Nate leaned back in his chair and looked at me.
“This is … interesting.”
He gave a laugh and nodded. “That’s one word for it. But I’m not hating it. It’s good to see you.”
I felt a flush rise in my cheeks. “Yeah, well, it’s good you’re not seeing quite”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“as much of me as you did last time.”
He nodded. “You’re probably right. That’s probably best. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
“We shouldn’t even talk about it again. It never happened.”
“It happened.”
“It shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t regret it.”
I didn’t either. But I knew I should. “So how long have you lived here?”
“A few months. I think it was February when we moved in.”
Only a few months and it looked like they’d been there forever! “It’s really nice.” Something deep inside of me started to waver. I wasn’t sure I could do this. Maybe I should go find Theresa and Rick and just keep my eyes on Rick like a shipwreck survivor heading for the shore.
Because looking at Nate was too hard. That jaw, that chin, that mouth … how many times in my life—how many times in the past week—had I pictured kissing all of that and more?
I swallowed. “It really feels … homey.” Funny, though, I wouldn’t have thought of him as the type to go for the fussy furniture, the doilies placed just so under a vase, the abstract and clearly expensive artwork that evoked nothing but wonder.
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