Aaron couldn’t have been more enthusiastic, constantly reminding me how much I deserved my weekend to relax. I knew he was overcompensating for his auction-night behavior which I was still angry about, even though he had apologized profusely and had sent me flowers at the office and, I’d noticed, the recycling was sorted neatly in the bins in the garage. He did seem genuinely excited to take care of Phoebe and Madison, though, refusing to hire a sitter and compiling a lengthy list of “best-ever daddy-time” activities I knew he wouldn’t be able to get even halfway through. He was trying and I should have been happy.
But I wasn’t. I trudged in and out of the house through our dull daily sameness, back and forth to the city, two tired parents in our long-running roles with barely a passing peck good night. Maybe Aaron thought he was being supportive, but every time he told me how excited he was for me to go on the trip, I felt like he was pushing me away. I wanted to feel excited about going, I wanted to find a way out of our funk of the mundane, but I knew that fix needed to start with us, and I didn’t know how. All I did know was that it was going to take a lot more than white roses and neat newspapers to get us back to the relaxed and easy happy we used to be.
A few days before the trip I stopped into Solé on my way home from the train to say a quick hi to Lupita, and forty-five minutes later found myself sipping a warm café con leche surrounded by the hustle and buzz of the early dinner patrons. She was telling me about her exams and papers due now that her school semester was ending, and her plans to visit a cousin in Trenton before she started her advanced child development summer class.
“Did you ever finish that paper about Hamilton and Burr?” I asked.
She sighed. “Almost. The deadline for submission to the Journal of American Studies is next week. Just when I think we are done, my professor now has me chasing one more lead. He has been running me ragged with all of his theories and conjectures. If you can believe it, I am meeting tomorrow with a descendant of Aaron Burr’s, a cousin who lives not far, in Bergen County.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I know, it seems crazy, but no, she is for real. I should not be complaining; the work has been very interesting. Entertaining, even.” Her eyes shone with the gleam of excitement that comes right before revealing a secret. “I may be close to discovering something new about Hamilton and Burr and the first American political sex scandal.”
Hamilton’s sex scandal had been news to me when I saw the Broadway show. I had known that Burr was the one responsible for killing Hamilton in the duel, but hadn’t realized that Hamilton had an affair and ended up publicly spilling the beans about it in order to prove he didn’t steal money from the US Treasury.
“Sounds juicy,” I said. “What is it?”
“I promised not to share the specifics until after my meeting, but it involves Maria Reynolds, Hamilton’s mistress.”
Lupita went on to explain how back around 1792, some reports claimed that in an effort to damage Hamilton’s reputation, it was Burr who arranged for Maria, a very attractive woman, to flirt with Hamilton on a trip of his to Philadelphia, and to make sure she took him to bed. It worked; Hamilton and Maria had a three-year affair. Maria’s husband John blackmailed Hamilton in exchange for keeping quiet, and not long after, Hamilton was questioned by Congress as to whether his financial dealings on behalf of the country were above board. That was when Hamilton revealed his affair with Maria, actually using their love letters as proof of his fiscal innocence.
“American history was way more boring when I was in school,” I said, smiling easily.
“Whether or not Burr hatched the Maria Reynolds affair scandal has not been proven. In the end, Hamilton’s career was not tainted, which must have made Burr even more angry. Burr himself had many indiscretions and was also known to be a philanderer, and Hamilton took to the press to spread slander about him.”
“I swear, you could be talking about two men in politics right now and it would sound the same. It’s unbelievable to me how history keeps repeating itself. There was Marilyn. Monica. Now you’re telling me this story about Maria.”
“Even before then: Jefferson had Sally, Benjamin Franklin had many. Grover Cleveland, FDR. Practically every elected official in France. Cheating was, and still is, the norm. The same egos that drive them into office make them believe they are above it all and will not get caught.”
“But you’d think with how fast news gets around these days people would have a little more restraint.”
“We want our leaders to be perfect but in the end they are just people, like the rest of us. Although their affairs do get a lot more press.” Lupita took a slow sip of her coffee. “So we will see if this Burr descendant has anything of interest tomorrow. I cannot wait to put this project to bed so I can spend more time with Samuel. He keeps reminding me we still have not visited the museum with the dinosaurs. Once he gets an idea in his head, he cannot let it go.”
“Driven, like someone else I know.” I smiled. “We definitely have to pick a day.”
“How about this weekend coming? Maybe Saturday?”
Ping-ping-ping, three texts came in. Check out my new beach hat! So sexy, I love it. 2 more days, can’t wait!
I tucked my phone deep in my bag. “Sorry—I won’t be here this weekend. I won a trip at the auction to Kiawah Island in South Carolina with a bunch of moms from Phoebe’s school.”
“That sounds like fun.”
My bag vibrated, ping-ping, and I couldn’t help thinking back to that night at the auction and those awful things Drew and Peter said. I knew Ivy and Carolann didn’t necessarily share their husbands’ prejudices, at least I didn’t think they did, but by association I felt embarrassed about going away with friends married to people who were so shallow and rude.
“I’m actually kind of nervous,” I said. “I haven’t ever been away from Phoebe and Madison overnight before.” That was a secret I still hadn’t told anyone.
“Not even for one night? Your kids are very lucky.”
I’d never thought about my predicament in quite that way. “I guess.”
“You will see, the time will go fast. And it will be nice to be away and relax with friends.”
“I hope so,” I said, and as I was about to complain about the jam-packed activity schedule and the early flight out on Friday and our new nanny having to come early so Aaron could fit in a few meetings, it hit me how incredibly spoiled my gripes were sounding, even inside my own head. I was so fortunate to have the means to fly away for the weekend and stay at a fancy resort. Lupita was right—it would be nice to be away, to have fun on a beach for a couple of days, and it was high time I stopped complaining about it. I hoped I hadn’t sounded snobbish bringing it up. “Can we plan for the museum the weekend after?”
We put it on our calendars, and as I got up to leave I reached into my bag for money for my coffee and Lupita said, “Stop, do not be silly, you are family here.”
* * *
Warm water cascaded from an extra-large showerhead, flowing through my hair and down my back with the perfect amount of pressure. I could already see tan lines on my shoulders after just a few hours in the sun. My chest and stomach were touched pink and I smiled as the water continued its stream through the triangle between my legs. Even my thighs looked toned, good and sore from a late-afternoon beach run. I leaned my head back to feel the warmth wash over me again, lingering in the pleasure of an unhurried shower, wondering when the last time was I had taken one without rushing and worrying that in the two minutes I normally gave myself to quickly wipe away the grime, someone would get hurt, fall down the stairs, hit their head on the coffee table, or burst through the door in desperate need of a cookie or some apple juice or to untangle the twisted rubber band in a doll’s matted hair.
I closed my eyes to listen to the shhhhh of the running water, and even though I did miss the girls, I felt relieved to have a respite from the usual home frenzy. Aaron would be back from work soon to reli
eve Samina, and when I’d called to check in earlier, everything was fine. Thank god for Samina. It had only been a few weeks, but with her youthful fifty years of mothering and nanny experience and calm demeanor, the house was so much more peaceful than it had ever been with Noreen. How perfect that Alyson’s nanny Priya had a friend who was looking for a new gig. And bonus, she turned out to be a terrific cook too. It would have been so much easier if we’d found her to begin with, if we’d been able to avoid the whole Noreen ordeal culminating in those agonizing predawn hours the night before I fired her: Would she cry? Yell? Stomp out the door, furious? It had turned out to be the right decision not to give her a specific reason, to keep it professional and brief. We need to make a change. Sorry for the short notice. And with two weeks’ severance in her hand and a bewildered look on her face, Noreen had walked out and it was over, just like that. And the kids barely noticed she was gone.
I opened the coconut conditioner Ivy had brought for us to share and inhaled the sweet, tropical smell of vacation. Bumble and bumble Super Rich, the kind I always wanted to buy but couldn’t stomach spending the twenty-eight dollars a bottle. I poured an indulgent handful and massaged it into my hair, immediately feeling the silky-smooth results. I decided to leave it in for a few minutes to see just how soft my hair could actually get and nudged the dial even closer to H, feeling a hot chill as the water rained even hotter, so hot I could barely stand it, and as the steam rose I breathed it in deeply and for once felt cleansed, inside and out.
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around myself, tucking the edge in snugly under my arm. Everyone’s toiletry bags were on the vanity counter and a few were left open: intimates on display. Secret roll-on; Bulgari body lotion; Advil; eyeliner; Dulcolax; Lotrimin; Maybelline Great Lash Mascara, like I used to wear in high school; Excedrin Migraine; the pill; tweezers; hairspray; Close-Up toothpaste. I didn’t know they still made Close-Up toothpaste. Cosmetic vestiges of our teenage selves hidden in little zippered travel bags decorated with bright stripes and paisley florals.
One other bag was slightly open and I knew I shouldn’t but found myself gently unzipping it to see what was inside. Behind the floss and the nail polish remover in a side compartment I saw two pill bottles with Buproprion and Lexapro typed on the labels above CAROLANN REYNOLDS, 38 West Gate Road, Suffern. I didn’t know what those drugs were for, but all of a sudden I felt terribly guilty. I quickly tried to set the bag back in its exact spot on the counter, but I was still worried as I stepped into the bedroom to get dressed that Carolann would be able to tell someone had been snooping.
Ivy and I were in the smaller bedroom on the ground floor with two twin beds and a Jack-and-Jill bathroom, which connected to the master suite where Carolann and Alyson had claimed the king-sized canopy bed. Tami had taken the whole upstairs loft for herself with a huge porch overlooking the ocean. Even though Carolann and Alyson’s room was much larger, there was no way I would have ever considered sharing a bed. It seemed weird to me to sleep in the same bed with a friend—and I was looking forward to my two blissful nights of long, late, uninterrupted slumber.
I sat on my bed and picked up my phone. No messages from work. Good. I opened up Safari and typed in bupropion and a long list popped up on the screen. Brand name: Wellbutrin. Used to treat depression and seasonal affective disorder . . . Lexapro: Helps alleviate excessive worrying that interferes with daily life. I thought back to all the times I had been so annoyed with Carolann, so impatient and short, all those months while her husband Peter was out of work. I felt awful. Maybe her depression was serious, something she’d been struggling with for a long time. Or maybe she was just using something to take the edge off. Either way, I would have handled things differently with her from the beginning if I’d known, watched what I said instead of being so blunt. I wished someone had told me. But maybe it was a secret. Maybe no one knew, except for me.
“Are you done with the shower?” Alyson interrupted my thoughts, and I jumped at the sound of her voice in the bedroom doorway.
“Yep, I’m done, go ahead,” I said, quickly clicking off the phone. “Just wanted to make sure no one at the office is looking for me.”
Music started blasting from the living room, signaling the official start of happy hour. Time to get dressed, time to forget I knew anything about Carolann and her antidepressants. I opened my suitcase and took out the three night outfits I’d brought for our two-night stay, and couldn’t decide which one to wear. I tried on my aqua and peach batik dress and put on a white tank underneath to cover the plunging neckline. Not that I had any cleavage left to worry about showing or hiding anymore. What once had been a nice set of Bs was now down to a couple of deflated As after breastfeeding two babies, and in order to fill my shirts I had to wear padded bras. I even had a white cotton one in my current rotation, which, the salesgirl said, was technically a training bra.
I looked in the mirror and wasn’t happy with the dress. I took off the tank and rummaged through my bag to find the new “chicken cutlets” bra I’d bought for the trip—no straps, with sticky stuff to attach it to your boobs. The directions said to lean forward so your breasts hang, and then stick the cutlet underneath while you push toward the middle. I tried it, and a small ridge appeared in the V of my dress. I tried the other side, and adjusted it a little so my faux cleavage would be even. I liked it—instant boobs!—and in a moment of abandon, I chose my high-heeled sandals instead of the flats I usually wore.
Tami entered the room wearing a bright yellow halter dress that showed off her real cleavage and also her tan. She looked beautiful. “Do you have any lip gloss?” she asked.
“I think so,” I said, thinking it was a little strange to be over thirty and still be sharing lip gloss. But we were sharing a house for the weekend and sharing a bathroom, what was a little lip gloss between friends?
“You’ve got to try this thing I bought on our liquor run.” She held up what looked like a fat green test tube. “It’s called Suck & Blow. This one’s green apple.”
I took the tube and she explained, “I blow from one end and you suck in the Jell-O shot from the other. It’s a total rush, like inhaling a great big vodka-soaked gummy bear.”
“Sounds pretty gross but I’ll try it.” I held the “suck” end up to my mouth and Tami stood in front of me and held the “blow” side.
“Ready?” she asked. “One, two . . .” and then she blew forcefully. A wad of slimy sweetness flew through my mouth so fast I could barely taste it, and I felt the alcohol singe my throat as it went down.
“Water! Chaser! Fast!” I coughed and ran into the kitchen.
I heard Tami laugh and say, “Let’s try the watermelon next!”
Soon we were all showered and dressed and gathered in the living room, double height with a fireplace, a dining table, and sliding glass doors that led from the open kitchen to an outside deck. It looked like a page ripped out of Southern Living, the comfy, white slip-covered couches and rattan furniture accents and framed photos of starfish and sailboats on the walls easy on the eyes and making no personal statement whatsoever.
I moved aside one of the blue and white throw pillows shaped like a shell and sat down on the couch next to Ivy with a cold Corona Light. Tami was initiating Carolann with a passion fruit Suck & Blow, which she proceeded to spit halfway across the room.
“Spit—take!” Tami said, doubling over in laughter.
“That is positively vile, Tami!” Carolann said, wiping her mouth with her hand. “Where is that mojito mix we bought? I’ll make us a batch of those—right after I throw the rest of these things out. Blech!”
“Don’t waste them!” Ivy said. “I’ll do another before we go to dinner.”
Alyson sprung up from her seat. “Shit, I just remembered—I forgot to cancel my personal training session with Antonio.”
“Is that the new guy at Planet Fitness who teaches the boot camp class?” I asked.
“More like booty camp,” Tami t
eased, raising her eyebrows. “Whatever it takes to stay motivated to exercise.”
“Staring up at Antonio’s gorgeous face for an hour every week would definitely keep me motivated,” Ivy said. “His wait list is a mile long—I can’t believe you landed a spot with him, Aly, you’re sooo lucky. He’s from Spain, right?”
“Brazil,” Aly mumbled, looking genuinely worried. “I have to see if he can fit me in for a makeup next week. Be right back.”
“Seriously, Aly?” Tami said. “We are not here to worry about home shit, even good-looking shit like Antonio. Stop being so uptight and let it go.”
Alyson ignored her and shut the bedroom door. It did seem a little ridiculous for her to waste precious vacation time rescheduling a personal training session, but knowing Alyson and how anal she was about her workouts, I could understand how she’d feel better with it on her calendar for the following week.
I reached out to touch the stack of diamonds on Ivy’s finger. “Can I try on your rings?”
“Sure,” she said.
I took off my gold wedding band and squeezed her rings over my finger, holding out my hand to admire the intricate designs of the bezel-set stones. “They’re beautiful. Are they white gold or platinum?”
“Platinum. This one was my push present after Tanner was born. And this one with the sapphires was after Ruby. They look really good on you.”
“They do,” I said, imagining what it would be like to walk around with a stack of beautiful diamonds on my finger every day. It would feel pretty fabulous, I thought. Not that anything was wrong with my matte-gold hoop, passed down from my great-grandmother. I loved my ring. But adding a thin diamond band above it and maybe even below for a little update . . . it was a little extravagant, but with Aaron still in apology mode, it might be a good time to do some shopping. Although it seemed ridiculous to even think about spending so much money on a piece of jewelry.
But, like Tami said, that was home shit and we were away. For one weekend, I could let it all go. I finished off my beer and took another out of the fridge.
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