City Mouse

by Lender, Stacey;

It was two half-naked men on a bed. The first man I immediately recognized as Jeff’s campaign manager in a black leather body harness. The second man’s face was partially obscured; he was kneeling with his lips around the campaign manager’s impressively long penis. But even though his eyes were closed I could tell from the profile it was Jeff, wearing a pair of lace bikini briefs that looked a lot like Alyson’s La Perlas.

  “Whoa, Nelly,” Aaron said.

  The campaign manager looked stunned at first. Then he turned to Jeff and punched him in the face. Jeff teetered but didn’t fall, and then hit him right back. The two flailed at each other and fell into a jumbled heap and rolled into the movie screen, which deflated only halfway, so as their wrestling match continued, everyone could still see the jumbo image of Jeff’s mouth wrapped around that enormous penis.

  Alyson stood with her hands on her cheeks, attempting to look horrified. But I could see her lips trying not to curl upward and I knew: Alyson was the one who had put that picture in the slideshow. She was the one who had sabotaged Jeff.

  That was certainly one way to get out of hosting fundraisers.

  I turned to Aaron. “Ready to get out of here?”

  “Without a doubt,” he replied, springing to his feet.

  The melee on the deck blocked access to our usual backyard path, so we walked down their driveway and out into the cul-de-sac along with other astonished partygoers. It was barely eight, too early to go home. So we sat on the edge of the curb, watching the exodus of cars heading down the street.

  And I told Aaron everything.

  The cell phone photos and Tami’s dared kiss. The bar and the bra and Steven. He listened, asking questions every so often and laughing at the ridiculousness along with me. Turns out he had never heard of vajazzle, either. And he liked my bikini area as is, no grooming necessary, let alone with chicken shears.

  He shook his head as I described seeing Tami and Carolann and Ivy and Alyson on the boat.

  “And I swear, I didn’t do anything. Except totally embarrass myself, drunk and stoned in front of a potential new client.”

  Aaron was silent now.

  “You believe me, don’t you?” My words hung in the air.

  “Of course I do. We all have nights where we get out of hand,” he said with a sheepish smile.

  “Speaking of out of hand, I didn’t even tell you what happened tonight with Chris and Alyson.” And Tami had missed the whole blow-up in the backyard; she was going to be pissed. “Maybe this is the kind of thing that goes on here all the time and we just didn’t see it. Or didn’t want to.”

  “Who the hell knows what these people do; they’re a bunch of morons. All those couples’ nights when you made me go to Marcello’s and that awful Mediterranean place down on Route 59? The conversations were as blah as the food. I couldn’t care less whether or not the Yankees make the playoffs or how much horsepower your new truck has. I always thought this group was bo-ring.”

  “Even Jeff?” I smiled.

  “I have to admit, Jeff just got a lot more interesting.”

  “You don’t have to worry about those couples’ nights anymore, at least not with those people. We’ll just have to make more of an effort to go out and find some new friends. Maybe Michelle and Randy—I meant to introduce you tonight—we could make plans with them.”

  The cars streamed away, tail lights following in the dark.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have done this,” Aaron said quietly. “I mean, I love the house, I do. But I feel like I’m never here to enjoy it. Even when I’m in town, the girls are always sleeping by the time I get home. Commuting really sucks.”

  “I know. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

  Aaron kicked the loose gravel with his toe. “I miss my girls. I miss you.”

  It felt good to hear those words. I rested my head on his shoulder. “I miss you too. It’s been a long week without you.”

  “Last weekend was endless when you were away. You have no idea how hard it is to take care of these girls.”

  Seriously? I turned to rip him in retort, though as I opened my mouth I saw he had a boyish grin on his face. I punched his arm. “Ow!” he said, and smiled. He knew just how to get me. He knew me better than anyone, and I felt a hint of our old closeness again.

  “Listen, I need to talk to you about this work thing that’s been heating up with a start-up in Palo Alto. They had me come out to meet their CEO before the conference and their clean tech technology is mind-blowing. Jess, it’s incredible—they figured out a way to transform the natural power in water systems into energy, and their model is totally scalable. And fully funded, with some seriously huge backers.”

  Uh-oh, start-up fever again. Even in the dim light I could see the excited gleam in his eyes. “What exactly is clean tech?”

  “It’s part of the whole green movement—finding ways to make renewable energy. Clean electricity that leaves a smaller environmental footprint.”

  I liked the sound of it, renewable energy. And I also liked the sound of fully funded.

  “Last night they made me an offer to be their new COO. It would be a definite departure from digital for me, but it could be an exciting move, taking on something totally new in a growing field.”

  “Didn’t you just say it’s based in Palo Alto?” For a split second, I actually hoped he would say it was.

  “Their main office is, but they’re opening a New York office, in Brooklyn.”

  I paused. “We could just sell the house and move there,” I said, kidding but not.

  “Come on, Jess. Brooklyn? Really?”

  Yes, I thought. Brooklyn. Really. Suddenly I could see how Brooklyn made all the sense in the world. “So many start-ups and thought leaders, so many of the people making things happen are out in Brooklyn now. People we want to be around and hang out with—who we want Phoebe and Madison to grow up with.” And it’s in the city. My pulse started to quicken, just thinking about it. Except when I imagined saying goodbye to Lupita. She was the one friend I didn’t want to let go.

  Aaron stood and took my hands to help me up, and our fingers stayed interlocked as we walked up our driveway.

  Our house did look like a birthday cake up on the hill, with its white shingles and creamy trim. A sweet confection, so tempting. And the first bites, delicious. But mouthful after mouthful, day after day, it was way too much—all that flour and sugar leaves you sick to your stomach and empty inside. And hungry for more.

  I was ready to be hungry. For less.

  As we reached our front door Aaron said, “Maybe Dave’s daughter shitting all over Phoebe’s room was a sign.”

  I laughed. “I thought you did a pretty good job cleaning it up, considering.”

  Aaron reached for a strand of hair that had fallen on my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. It was an absentminded gesture, something he had done the first week we’d met, standing on the corner of Bleecker Street after our second date, deciding what our next stop of the night should be. That first, delicate intimacy had caught me by surprise and I took it as a sign, a good sign, that he could very well be a keeper. And to think that on that night so many years ago, I had been right.

  “So Brooklyn, huh?” Aaron said, and my heart leapt as I heard the possibility in his voice.

  “Park Slope. DUMBO. Carroll Gardens. Williamsburg.” I closed my eyes, imagining us very happy wherever we landed.

  “Anywhere but Williamsburg. My grandfather would roll over in his grave if we moved to Williamsburg.”

  He turned to me and we kissed, soft and tentative at first, connecting us back and moving us forward into our future, together. He whispered, “Are you feeling better? I mean, down there?”

  “Much better now.”

  “Should we go upstairs and take a look to make sure?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Definitely yes.”

  Chapter sixteen

  Madison helped me spread our quilt on the soft grass. “Can I have a Rice Krispie Trea
t now, Mommy?” she asked. “Please?”

  It was hard to say no to that please. She was talking a mile a minute now, like a switch flipped to On when she hit her second birthday last month.

  “Not yet, sweetie, after dinner, before the fireworks,” I said, and started to unload our insulated picnic bag full of fresh pasta salads and roasted veggies and a homemade banana loaf and what looked like a delicious marinated grilled chicken Caesar from the farmers’ market stand a few blocks away. “Can you run over to Daddy and Phoebe and tell them it’s time to eat?”

  I watched as Madison skipped freely across the park’s freshly mowed lawn to Aaron and Phoebe throwing a Frisbee with Lupita and Samuel.

  This could be our park, I thought, if we end up in the loft on Front Street. I loved the DUMBO neighborhood—Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass, we had to explain to Phoebe, not the flying elephant, much to her dismay. Not only was Brooklyn Bridge Park lovely, with its running paths and playgrounds and beautiful vistas, but I also loved the feeling of the cobblestone streets leading down to the water and the old renovated warehouses.

  Aaron and I had both liked so many of the apartments we’d seen in Brooklyn that day, some in brand-new, modern glass buildings, but our favorites were the ones in the prewar spaces. There was even a duplex in a brownstone near the Promenade in Brooklyn Heights. It needed a little work, but I didn’t mind. We already had a bunch of possibilities, within walking distance of the subway and zoned in areas with up-and-coming public schools.

  I knew no matter which neighborhood we chose, this time, I’d be smarter. Take the time to get to know people and not just jump in. Be careful and not get too close too fast; I’d let things happen naturally, the way true friendships are meant to grow. Of course, it was possible I could get lucky—it didn’t happen often, but sometimes the person next to you on the swings at the playground turned out to be a gem.

  Samuel jumped and caught the Frisbee and as he raised his arms in a cheer, Lupita kissed the top of his head. He threw the disc to Phoebe, a little too high. It grazed her fingertips, just out of reach. She ran to where it landed on the grass and picked it up. “I got it, Daddy!”

  “Throw it back to me,” Samuel said.

  We were not only celebrating our nation’s birthday with good friends, we were also celebrating Lupita’s recent news.

  The Hamilton-Burr paper had been accepted as the cover article for the fall issue of the American Historical Review, one of the oldest and most prestigious academic publications in the country. And when word of her discovery of the letters was strategically leaked on the Internet by one of her professor’s friends, the offers started to flood Lupita’s inbox. Berkley, Michigan, Duke, Arizona State, Johns Hopkins, and other top schools from coast to coast, all trying to entice her to continue her studies there.

  Lupita had just told us she’d made her decision. After the holiday, she would accept a scholarship from New York University to finish her undergraduate degree and begin graduate work. NYU had presented Lupita with a package she couldn’t pass up: in addition to subsidizing nearly all of her tuition, the history department would also accept some of the grad credits she had earned in Mexico.

  I couldn’t have been more thrilled for her. And while I’d tried to stay objective during the process, I had selfishly been crossing my fingers she would pick NYU—located in the heart of Greenwich Village, and Brooklyn was just a few short subway stops away. Now both of us, together with our families, would be looking forward to a fresh start this fall in New York City.

  I wondered where the Suffernites were congregating today. I knew one thing for sure: they weren’t in Alyson and Jeff’s backyard. For the past month, it had been mostly quiet next door; I’d heard Jeff was spending the summer out on Fire Island, and that Alyson had decided she and Emmy would stay with her parents for a while. Tami and Chris were working it out with a little outside help from a marriage counselor. And Ivy had texted me a few days ago with the news that Carolann had started a summer class at Ramapo College toward a certificate in special events management. Good for her, I’d thought when I read the text.

  Plus, Ivy had some exciting news of her own: she was pregnant—just eight weeks, so keep it low. If I was doing the math right, I knew it was quite possible that child would have an excellent chance of entering the world with a qué bonita set of deep brown eyes.

  That would be enough local Suffern scuttlebutt to last a while, along with god knows what rumors about why we left. Or maybe our names were already forgotten, almost as if we had never been there in the first place. It didn’t bother me either way; soon we’d be gone. Our house already had two interested buyers: couples from the city with young kids looking for more space. With the housing market in Suffern on an upswing, we were even poised to come out with a small profit on the flip.

  It wasn’t a last goodbye, though, since we’d already promised Michelle and Randy to come back and visit. We had finally made plans with them for a family-friendly hike up the mountain trail in Kakiat Park and, to my surprise, we all made it to the top, helped along by handfuls of trail mix and singing about a hundred rounds of “The Ants Go Marching.” As we stood there, admiring the peaceful Ramapo Valley stretching green and wide below us, I caught a glimpse of what our lives might have been like if fate had moved us in next door to Michelle and Randy instead of Alyson and Jeff—a totally different suburban trajectory, one with yogurt-covered raisins and sing-alongs and sharing real laughs with down-to-earth friends. In that Suffern parallel, we might have found our place.

  We finished our dinner as the sky started to darken into summer evening, and I took out the sweatshirts I had brought for the girls even though the air was still warm. The park was starting to fill up with other families and couples gathering to watch the fireworks, and I was glad we had arrived early.

  “Ready for the carousel?” Aaron asked, and the kids jumped up. “I can take them if you two want some time to relax,” he said to me and Lupita.

  “I would like to try a ride,” Lupita said.

  “Let’s all go,” I echoed, and we walked together toward the river’s edge, to the hand-painted horses, lovingly restored to their original splendor, circling to the music within a stunning glass pavilion. Through the clear panes we could see the panorama stretching wide behind it, the Brooklyn Bridge on one side and the Manhattan Bridge on the other, and across the river the sun about to dip behind the glorious Manhattan skyline.

  As we stepped on, I thought about how I’d been spinning in circles for so long, like so many mothers, trying to live a life that was supposed to be best for my kids without losing the essential bits of myself. Listening to everyone else’s opinions about the “right” way to nurture a family. Everyone’s except for mine.

  But through the dips and leaps, sometimes things open up. Today I could start to see the pieces of what Aaron and I had wanted coming together—now in Brooklyn, who knew? Maybe it wasn’t everything we thought we needed, but it was enough for our family. Even if that meant living without Aaron’s double sink.

  My heart went out to all those other women still out there twirling, whether in the city or the suburbs, desperate to find the perfect place to land. Dreams tucked away in the back of their closets, counting the days until their toddlers graduated from high school for their present to begin.

  They had no idea what they were missing.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank Kaylie Jones, who is one of the smartest, bravest, and most talented people I have ever met. She is a true advocate for writers and the craft of writing, and because she believed in me, this book is in your hands today.

  I am especially grateful to Johnny Temple and everyone at Akashic including Johanna, Aaron, Susannah, and Ibrahim; Lynn Nesbit, for connecting me with my agent extraordinaire Stefanie Lieberman; and my fabulous publicist Kathleen Zrelak, with thanks to Lynn Goldberg for her introduction and support. I couldn’t ask for a more passionate, responsive, and good-looking team
of literary gurus to help birth this baby. I thank (and blame) Kevin Fox for saying yes, you can write a novel; and Jennifer Belle for her classes and workshops with Renee Geel, Emily Axelrod, Elin Ewald, and Michael Sears. A heartfelt thanks to readers Laurie Loewenstein, Dawn Zera, Marni Pedorella, Tamar Newberger, Chip Cordelli, Jose Parron, Julia Ryan, Heidi Packer Eskenazi, Julie Jacobs, Gary Adelman, Adam Bernstein, and Tomm Miller for being incredibly generous with their time, honesty, and insights.

  Thank you to my friends, colleagues, and family who never stopped asking (aka nudging), How’s the book going? Special shout-out to Craig H. Long for unlocking the Suffern Village Museum for me; and to Lisa Cohen, A.J. Jacobs, Claire Gilman, Jennifer Romanello, Jennifer Unter, Lisa and Matt Shatz, David Bergman, Kimberly Berman Cohn, Jaimie Bolnick-Yannalfo, Caren Sinclair Kay, Rachel Rimland, Stacey Brooks, my parents, and Abby Endres and the always amazing team at LIFT, for their above-and-beyond support.

  And to David, Avery, and Carson—thank you for enjoying takeout dinners as much as (if not more than) my cooking, and for making me feel every day like the luckiest person on the planet.

  STACEY LENDER started her career as a roadie and rose through the ranks from luggage schlepper to marketing executive for entertainment brands including Radio City Music Hall, USA Network, Madison Square Garden, Sesame Street Live, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, and One World Observatory at the top of One World Trade Center. She grew up in the suburbs of New York City with a god-awful perm and later graduated from Cornell University. Today she lives in Manhattan and Connecticut with her husband and two daughters, and has traveled to all fifty states. City Mouse is Stacey’s first novel. For more information, visit staceylender.com. Photograph by David Bergman

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