“Son of a gun!” Don said, and he slapped the center of his steering wheel. Lexie had never seen him angry like that. He turned to Janet, whose face was as tight as a childproof pill bottle.
“I’ll tell Amy to email you as soon as we get in touch with her,” Janet spoke as if Don hadn’t had his little outburst. Then she turned and pressed her back flat against the seat as she stared out the front window. Was that her good-bye?
“Let me see you to your car,” Don said, even though the Jetta was parked beside them. Just as he stepped out, Don’s cell phone rang. He answered the call and then hustled out of hearing distance.
Lexie lingered in the backseat, waiting for Janet’s final words, something she could report to Amy that they might later laugh at.
“Okeydokey,” Lexie finally said. She got out of the car and stood at the open door for a last look at the envelope she’d left on Don’s backseat. Even a poor girl from a shit-hole town in California could walk away from a pile of Daniel Waite’s cash. Even a poor girl could value the truth more than money.
Lexie threw the door shut and went to the Jetta. She started the engine. Don paced as he talked on the phone; his eyes alit on Lexie every couple beats. There was no doubt Daniel Waite was on the other end of that call. After a minute, Don tucked the cell phone in his breast pocket and approached Lexie’s window. She rolled it down.
“Be safe.” Don gave Lexie an awkward pat on the shoulder. When he shuffled back to his car, Lexie knew it was the last time she’d see him. Or Janet. They’d soon become memory, fictionalized. No more real to Lexie than characters in a book.
one year later
Epilogue
LEXIE STOOD ON THE STEPS OF THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY. THE baby was bound to her chest, face-out, in a contraption that reminded her of a parachute pack each time she put it on. She had one hand on the baby’s belly and one hand under his warm rump.
“Hey.” Lexie smiled down at the baby, who grinned up at her, all gummy and fat-cheeked. At this age he was smiling a lot and even silently laughing. It seemed he was always happy to see her.
It was noon, bright and sunny out. Lexie descended the steps and quickly fell into the crowd at Copley Square. It was busy in a way that made Lexie feel not claustrophobic, but connected. She, like all these people around her, was a part of the city. At the lawn, Lexie turned in a circle so the baby could see the fountain, the old stone church, and The Hancock, a massive glass skyscraper that hovered above it all. Her walk from her apartment to work at The Charles Center—where Lexie counseled women who had recently been released from prison—led her through Copley Square. It was a beautiful walk, which she was happy to repeat each week or so during her maternity leave in order to check on her patients’ progress.
Today the blue sky was reflected on The Hancock so that it was camouflaged within the clouds around it, almost invisible. Like Lexie herself, she thought. Ever since her stomach had bulged out, and then once she’d had the baby strapped to her body, or nested in a stroller, men didn’t look at her the way they used to. Women, sure. They caught her eye and then leaned over the stroller or peered at the package against her chest and asked how old, or was it a boy or a girl, or what was its name. But men didn’t see her the way they once had. Lexie had been recategorized. That was fine by her. Currently, she had all the love she could handle; Lexie was overflowing with it.
The baby kicked his legs out and back, keep going, so Lexie walked past the church and toward the tower. It was the highest building in Boston, something that demanded to be seen, and yet Lexie had never crossed the road to go near it.
She paused on the sidewalk in front of the building. People poured out of the revolving doors: men in suits, women in suits, everyone looking like they were a busy working part of an elegant machine. And then she saw him. Daniel Waite. That giant rectangle smile opened up like a window; his eyes were glinting. Lexie planted herself on the pavement where she stood. Everything went silent, save the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Was she returning his smile? No. But her mouth was open in what she imagined looked like a perfect letter O. Lexie forced herself to close her mouth, bite her lip.
Lexie followed Daniel’s gaze and realized he wasn’t looking at her. He hadn’t even seen her. He was beaming at the bone-legged fawn of a woman on Lexie’s right. Her slacks were so tight she couldn’t have worn underwear with them. And her white blouse ballooned behind her so that her breasts were outlined in the front. She looked like she hadn’t yet hit thirty.
Daniel reached the woman and kissed her on the cheek. He cupped her elbow in his palm and led her in Lexie’s direction. Daniel was whispering in the woman’s ear. Lexie knew what he was likely saying: I’ve been thinking about you all day . . . you smell so good I want to eat you up . . .
The woman was smiling, looking straight ahead as Daniel leaned into her. As they closed in on Lexie, the woman stopped. “How old’s your baby?” she asked. Her face was as smooth as poured cream. She looked like she’d never smoked a cigarette or had a whiskey or even had a bad thought in her life.
“He’s three months old today.” Lexie looked up at Daniel whose complexion had turned the mealy white of cigarette ash. His face tensed and there was a pulsating rhythmic popping on either side of his jaw. The woman stepped closer and put her pointer finger on the baby’s cheek. He beamed up at her with that big, gooey grin. “Oh my god, he’s so cute. Daniel, look! Look how cute he is.”
“His name’s Harrison.” Lexie watched Daniel as he took one stiff step closer to Lexie and peered at the baby.
“Like Harrison Ford?” The woman stroked the baby’s nearly bald head and he gurgled.
“Yeah,” Lexie said. Her ultrasound had failed to show any protuberances, leading Lexie and the doctor to believe she was having a girl. She’d name it Dot, she’d decided. So when a boy slid out, Lexie and Amy (who was in the delivery room with her) were stunned. Harrison had been Amy’s idea. A way to still name the baby after Dot.
“Harrison! You’re so sweet.” She looked up at Lexie and said, “What’s his full name?”
“Harrison Waite James.” Lexie spoke deliberately. Precisely. She stared at ash-faced Daniel who refused to meet her eyes.
“Oh my god, Waite?!” The woman straightened and then whacked Daniel on the upper arm. “W-A-I-T-E, is that how you spell it?”
“Yes.” Lexie smiled at the woman, then she smiled at Daniel. He reminded her of a prisoner stubbornly standing before a firing squad. Choosing death over giving up state secrets.
“Oh my god, that’s his last name!” She pointed at Daniel. “Maybe you’re related!”
“Doubtful,” Daniel said, and then he took the woman’s hand and pulled her toward himself. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”
A flash of irritation scratched across the woman’s smooth face. And then she said, “Bye Harrison Waite James! You be a good boy for your mommy!” Daniel held the woman’s wrist like a rope as he walked ahead, tugging her past Lexie, onward down the sidewalk.
Lexie realized her body was trembling, an internal earthquake of sorts. She put her hand to her mouth and pushed in on her lips to still them. Harrison made a chirping sound. Lexie leaned over him and inhaled his cottony, sweet baby smell. He was her Klonopin. Simply feeling him against her, breathing him in, stabilized Lexie in a way that nothing else could. When she looked up again, Lexie caught a glimpse of Daniel and his girlfriend—his height and her white blouse flashing like two beams of light. She lifted Harrison’s tiny dumpling hand and shook it as if he were waving good-bye. “Bye pretty lady,” Lexie said, in what she imaged Harrison’s voice would sound like if he were to speak. “Bye Grandpa, you lying motherfucker.”
With rubbery legs, Lexie continued on, closer to the tower. Was it wrong not to run after the woman and set her straight? Lexie wondered. No, it would do no good. Lexie would come off as crazy. Love creates its own balloon of reality, Lexie now knew, and anything that defies that reality is efficiently bounced away. Until the balloon pops.
She paused at the base of the tower where the suits and skirts flowed past her like water around a rock. Once she felt solid again, Lexie extracted Harrison from the carrier. She held him up by his doughy middle and raised him to face the towering glass obelisk.
“Look at that!” Lexie swept the sky with Harrison, flew him from side to side as he happily paddled his arms and legs. She lowered him to face her and said, “One day, when you and your daddy, Ethan, are both a little more grown up . . .” Harrison opened his mouth and blinked his eyes like he was trying to focus on Lexie’s words. She laughed and continued: “You might want to meet each other. And then . . . well, who knows where that could take you.”
Lexie kissed each of the baby’s eyes and his fat, juicy cheeks. In a flash, she saw everything she had gone through to arrive here: a ruptured engagement, hurricane-force heartbreak, humiliation at a depth to which she had previously imagined herself too sophisticated to reach, jail time (!), and even a bacterial infection that had started with seventeen-year-old Skyler Bowden (aka Patient Zero).
“I’d do it all over again.” Lexie dappled the baby’s face with kisses.
And Harrison, Lexie’s one true great love, happily cooed.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I FEEL INCREDIBLY LUCKY TO BE BACKED UP BY TWO TRULY AMAZING and brilliant women: Katherine Nintzel and Gail Hochman. Thank you both. Enormous and heartfelt thanks to early and multiple draft readers and to those who frequently sat across from me and worked on their own stuff while I wrote this book: Geoffrey Becker, Bonnie Blau, Fran Brennan, Jane Delury, Michael Downs, Larry Doyle, Lindsay Fleming, Elizabeth Hazen, Elizabeth Lunt, Marisol Murano, Claire Stancer, Ron Tanner, Madeline Tavis, Tracy Wallace, and Marion Winik. Thank you to the experts consulted: Dr. Kathy Boling, Jessica Keener, and Don Lee. I am infinitely grateful to the kind, smart, and talented people of HarperCollins: Amy Baker, Gabriel Barillas, Cal Morgan, Jo O’Neil, Mary Sasso, Sherry Wasserman, Margaux Weisman, and Martin Wilson. Thank you to meticulous copyeditor Jane Herman and thoughtful proofreader Marcell Rosenblatt. I must thank my yoga teachers who have kept me moving through the work: Melody, Michele, and Rivka. And I am always thankful for my wonderful family: Mom, Dad, Cheryl, Becca, Josh, Alex, Satchel, Shiloh, Sonia, and all the fabulous Grossbachs of New York, especially the one named David who lives in Baltimore with me.
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About the author
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Meet Jessica Anya Blau
About the book
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Reading Group Guide
Playlist
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Excerpt from The Summer of Naked Swim Parties
About the author
Meet Jessica Anya Blau
JESSICA ANYA BLAU’S third novel, The Wonder Bread Summer, was picked for CNN’s summer reading list, NPR’s summer reading list, Vanity Fair’s summer reads, and Oprah.com’s “Six Sizzling Beach Reads.” Her second novel, Drinking Closer to Home, was featured in Target stores as a Breakout Book and made many “best books of the year” lists. Jessica’s first novel, The Summer of Naked Swim Parties, was a national bestseller and was picked as a Best Summer Book by the Today show, New York Post, and New York magazine. The San Francisco Chronicle and other newspapers chose it as one of the best books of the year. All three novels have been optioned for film and television. Jessica cowrote the screenplay for the film Love on the Run, which is currently in postproduction. Her short stories have appeared in numerous magazines and have won or been nominated for many awards, including the Pushcart Prize. Several of Jessica’s stories and essays have been anthologized in books such as CRUSH: Writers Reflect on Love, Longing, and the Power of Their First Celebrity Crush; The Prose Reader: Essays for Thinking, Reading, and Writing; Dirty Words: A Literary Encyclopedia of Sex; and The Moment: Wild, Poignant, Life-Changing Stories from 125 Writers and Artists Famous and Obscure. Recently, Jessica ghostwrote a memoir that is coming out with HarperCollins in the fall of 2016.
Jessica grew up in southern California and lives in Baltimore, Maryland.
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About the book
Reading Group Guide
1.“The problem wasn’t so much that Lexie had taken the Klonopin. And it wasn’t even that she had stolen them.” These are some memorable and attention-grabbing opening lines. How do they help us enter the world of the novel and introduce us to the character of Lexie?
2.What are the small moments the author uses to illuminate the nature of Peter and Lexie’s relationship? How does the author frame the idea of a relationship with Daniel in contrast?
3.Why do you think Lexie is able to cheat on Peter so easily? Considering how happy she and Peter are, and how carefully she plans all other aspects of her life, what about this situation causes her to betray her own morals?
4.How do money and privilege play into Lexie’s sense of herself? How do they affect her relationships?
5.Do you think Lexie’s upbringing influences her ideas about intimacy and commitment? How so?
6.In what ways do you think Lexie relates to some of the students she counsels?
7.Were you surprised to find that Daniel had lied? Why or why not?
8.Did you have trouble justifying Lexie’s actions toward the end or did you sympathize with her? Did you find yourself wondering what you would have done in her shoes?
Playlist
HERE ARE THE SONGS mentioned in The Trouble with Lexie. It’s a strange, seemingly disjointed list, running from classical to ZZ Top. Then again, a lot of strange, seemingly disjointed things happen to Lexie during her troublesome year.
1.When the Saab is towed, Lexie and Peter listen to a classical station and pretend to sing opera. They’re probably listening to Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” as it has an easy, recognizable melody that would make faking an opera simple.
2.At Jamboree Ribs, Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” is playing out of cheap, fuzzy speakers. Lexie thinks she’s seen crazy enough for a lifetime with her parents.
3.Peter signs his texts with a line from the Jefferson Starship song “Runaway.” It’s also a song he’s been teaching Lexie on the guitar.
4.Lexie sings along with Taylor Swift on the radio. I didn’t write out the song because it didn’t work with the flow of the sentence, but I imagined she was singing “I Knew You Were Trouble.” Of course at this point, Lexie has no idea how much trouble is coming her way.
5.Dear old, craggy-voiced, foul-mouthed Dot likes to tap-dance to the title song from the musical 42nd Street.
6.Ethan pats out a tune on his thighs. Lexie incorrectly guesses he’s aiming for “No Scrubs” by TLC. She remembers the time when . . .
7.. . . Peter slapped out the song “Like a Virgin” by Madonna on Lexie’s bare bottom.
8.Ethan really wants Lexie to guess what song he’s patting out, and, finally, she correctly guesses the Commodores’ “Brick House.”
9.Lexie tells Ethan that love is the only thing that matters. He says, “That’s so John Lennon of you.” So, let’s put “All You Need Is Love” by the Beatles on this list.
10.When they were younger, Lexie and her best friend, Betsy Simms, liked to listen to the Ben Folds Five. Neither one ever had a real boyfriend in high school so they hadn’t been dumped by anyone (yet). Still, I imagine their favorite song was “Song for the Dumped.”
11.Standing near the entrance of the townie bar, a man with a trapezoid-shaped beard tells Lexie he’d marry her. She thinks of ZZ Top when she looks at him and she doesn’t think of any song in particular, but let’s just say that if she did think of a song, she’d think of “La Grange” since it’s a pretty great song and fun to have on a playlist.
12.When she’s driving to Daniel’s house Lexie sees a street sign that says Scarborough Road and hears the Simon and Garfunkel song “Scarborough Fair” in her hea
d.
13.And because no playlist should end with the slow and elegiac “Scarborough Fair,” let’s finish up with “Ooh Child” by the Five Stairsteps. It’s another song that Lexie incorrectly guesses Ethan is patting out on his thighs. It’s also a hopeful song and just the kind of thing Lexie would need to hear near the end of the book.
Read on
Excerpt from The Summer of Naked Swim Parties
AFTER ALL, IT WAS THE SEVENTIES, so Allen and Betty thought nothing of leaving their younger daughter, Jamie, home alone for three nights while they went camping in Death Valley. And although most girls who had just turned fourteen would love a rambling Spanish-style house (with a rock formation pool, of course) to themselves for four days, Jamie, who erupted with bouts of fear with the here-now/gone-now pattern of a recurring nightmare, found the idea of her parents spending three nights in Death Valley terrifying. Jamie was not afraid for Allen and Betty—she did not fear their death by heatstroke, or scorpion sting, or dehydration (although each of these occurred to her in the days preceding their departure). She feared her own death—being murdered by one of the homeless men who slept between the roots of the giant fig tree near the train station or being trapped on the first floor of the house, the second floor sitting on her like a fat giant, after having fallen in an earthquake.
Jamie’s older sister, Renee, was also away that weekend, at a lake with the family of her best and only friend. But even if she had been home, Renee would have provided little comfort for Jamie, as her tolerance for the whims of her younger sister seemed to have vanished around the timeJamie began menstruating while Renee still hadn’t grown hips.
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