by Liz Kay
She shrugs. She’s such a pretty girl. Sharp angular bones, thin skin. She looks like she’s made of glass. She shifts her feet, and I see these thin white scars around her ankles. They look old, but I wonder if Tommy knows. If I had to guess, I’d say no.
I wait, but she doesn’t say anything. “If it makes you feel any better, I think he’s an asshole too.”
She smiles, but she’s trying not to.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” I say. I stand up and move back toward the dining room.
“Hey,” she says as I reach the door.
“Yeah?” I turn back to look at her.
She’s standing now and starting to move out of the room. “I’m sorry about dinner.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I know.”
• • •
We carry a bottle of wine out to the pool deck and lie on the lounge chairs. “To kids.” Tommy raises his glass in a toast.
“At least mine will be leaving tomorrow.” My parents will get in town late afternoon, and they’re taking the boys straight to Anaheim. They have a reservation at the Disneyland Hotel.
“Maybe Sadie could go with them,” he says.
“Sure.” I nod. “My parents would take her. But it might cost you.”
“Name your price,” he says.
We just sit for a while, quietly. It’s cooling off, and there’s a breeze. I tuck my feet under me to keep off the chill.
“So did you always want kids?” I say finally.
“No,” Tommy says. “I didn’t want them at all.” He pours another half-glass and holds the bottle out to me, but I shake my head. “Sadie’s mom really hounded me on it. She really, really wanted a baby.” He sighs. “And then we split up before Sadie turned two.” He raises his glass. “So great fucking plan, huh?”
“I’ve heard worse. You weren’t married, were you?”
“Uh-uh. Thank god.” He shakes his head, smiles a little, but it’s a tired smile. “She’s cost me a small fortune in child support. I can’t even imagine what a divorce settlement would have looked like.”
“That’s very calculating of you.”
“Not calculating,” he says, “realistic.” Then he laughs. “That’s not why I didn’t marry her though. It just adds to my relief.”
“Huh,” I say. I finish the wine in my glass, hold it out for him to fill.
“She was just very, I don’t know, motivated,” he says as he leans back, setting the bottle on the ground next to him.
I raise an eyebrow. “Motivated is bad?”
“No. I mean, she was very serious about making the most of every opportunity for publicity, whatever.” He shrugs. “If I told her ahead of time where we were going for dinner, she’d tip off a photographer.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s not even”—he waves one hand—“most of the women I’ve been out with would … or do. It just gets old.”
“You poor thing,” I say. I shake my head, push my lip into a pout. “All those gorgeous young women taking advantage of you.”
“You’re hilarious.” He drains his glass, picks the bottle back up, and then he turns toward me, sitting sideways on the lounge chair. “This was different though. We were living together. We had a kid. And then when we split up, she was like …” He shakes his head. “She was doing all these interviews about ‘life after Tommy’ and making sure there were all these shots of her on vacation with Sadie. We had to get lawyers involved. She was selling pictures of my kid.”
“She wasn’t.”
“Oh yeah.” He nods. “She’s a great mom.”
He’s leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, holding the bottle of wine and his empty glass between us. I reach over, rest one hand on his arm.
“Sorry,” I say.
“I’m used to it.” He tips the last of the bottle into his glass, and I pull my hand away. “Honestly, the fact that you’re just back in Nebraska doing your own shit, that’s one of the things I like best about you.”
“Are you sure you’re not a poet? Because that’s like the start of a sonnet—‘The thing I like about you is that you’re so far away.’” I lean back into the chair and pull my knees into my chest. “Please, keep going.”
He laughs. “You know what I mean. Just that you’re not caught up in this whole …” He waves his hand in a sweeping circle like he doesn’t know the word for it. “I like that you don’t want anything from me.”
“That’s not entirely true.” I gesture toward the empty bottle with my glass.
“Okay, then I like that you’re only using me for my wine cellar,” he says, standing up and walking toward the house.
“It’s a good wine cellar,” I say. I close my eyes and listen to the door open and close behind me, and I think, Fuck. I shouldn’t even be here.
• • •
We drink a lot of wine, and by the end of it, I’m feeling sleepy. My eyes keep fluttering closed.
“C’mon,” Tommy says, standing up. “We have to get you inside before the kids find us passed out here in the morning.” He offers his hand and pulls me up, and when I’m on my feet, we’re standing close, inches apart, and then Tommy’s mouth is on mine. I think how Tommy is like a planet, a center of gravity, throwing everything off-balance. I pull back, and there’s just a whisper of air between us. Nose to nose. It’s as far as I manage to go.
“Sadie would kill me,” I say.
“You’re probably right,” he says. “But she sleeps late. I think we’ll be good.”
“No,” I say. “I feel weird about this.”
I step backwards, pull my hand out of his, but he grabs my wrist and draws me back. Kisses the skin along my jaw.
“I’m serious, Tommy.”
“So am I, Stacey. Don’t piss me off.” He kisses me again, and when he does, he holds my lip between his teeth. He doesn’t really bite me though, and even if he did, I wouldn’t mind it. I kind of like things a little rough.
• • •
We spend most of the day at the production office with Jason, but my parents are supposed to be on their way for the kids. I keep checking my phone and texting them. I don’t know if they’re running late or if they just aren’t looking at their phones.
“We should go,” I say to Tommy finally. “I don’t even know when they’ll be here. If they show up to get the boys and I’m not there, my dad’ll flip.”
Jason looks up from his computer. Tommy’s been sitting next to him, and they’ve been super intense about whatever it is they’re looking at. I’m relieved that Tommy stands up to leave as soon as I ask.
“You still scared of your dad, Stacey?” Jason says, smiling. “Seem a little old for that.”
“Watch it,” I say. “I don’t seem old for anything.”
“Right. Right,” Jason says. “I misspoke.”
“My dad just gets worked up pretty easily. I don’t like to upset him.” But then I smile. “My dad’s adorable. My dad’s pretty great.”
“No wonder you’re not into Tommy,” Jason says, and Tommy turns to give him this What the fuck? look. “Tommy only appeals to girls who hate their dads.”
“Who says Stacey’s not into me?”
“Stacey’s too good for you,” Jason says, and he gives me this smile like he hopes I’m not too good for him. His third wife must be on the downhill slide.
I laugh and shake my head. “Let’s just go.” I wave to Jason as we’re walking out.
Tommy opens the car door for me, and as I slide in, he says, “You seem pretty into me.”
“Not really,” I say. “I’m just bored.”
Tommy gets in and starts the car.
“You know, maybe you should just drop me off.” I wave my hand back and forth between us. “I mean, if they thought anything …”
He turns to look at me. “You’re serious?”
“They’re my parents.”
“And they’re a little conservative?”
“Hardly.”
I turn to look out the window. “My parents are like, I don’t know, intellectual hippies. My dad’s an ethnologist. He studies cultural variations on kinship structures. Actually, he co-teaches a lot with the Women’s Studies faculty. Not that it’s called that anymore. It’s Gender and Identity or Gender and Sexuality? I can’t remember.”
“So that’s where your work comes from?”
“Probably, yeah.” I nod. “A lot of it anyway.”
“And your mom?”
“Art history. Mostly folk art.”
“So dinner at your house was like a fucking college course every night.”
“Definitely not.” I laugh. “They were both working a lot. It was mostly me and Jenny.”
“I thought you had this great childhood?”
“I did. My parents just weren’t home for a lot of it.”
“Sounds idyllic.”
“Jesus, Tommy, they just … They were very progressive. They were encouraging. They gave me a great education. So we didn’t do a lot of family dinners. So what?”
He lifts one hand from the steering wheel in a quick wave. “Don’t get defensive. It’s just finally making sense. I mean, it’s always seemed kind of weird that your work is all ‘Fuck the patriarchy!’ but then you’re like this suburban housewife.”
“See? They’re gonna love you. Please, call me that in front of my parents so they can lecture you on the denigration of traditionally female spheres. While you’re at it, maybe you could say something about not doing chick flicks since you want your work to be taken seriously.”
Tommy laughs and pulls left onto the street that leads to his house. “I make a lot of money doing chick flicks.” He hits a button on the opener clipped to his visor and the gate to the drive swings open.
“No car yet,” he says as he pulls in and parks in front of the house. He shuts the engine off and turns toward me. “All right, so here’s the plan for your very progressive parents.”
“You’re leaving?”
“No, that would be rude.” He sets one hand on my knee and slides his thumb along my thigh. “I’m just going to act like I’m not fucking you, and you’re going to act like you’re not damaged by it.”
“Fuck you.” I reach for the door handle, pop it open.
“Oh, come on, Stace,” he calls after me. “That was a good one.”
• • •
The boys come flying down the stairs and launch themselves at my parents almost the minute they’re through the door. Everything’s running behind schedule, but still the boys haven’t packed up the last of their things. I send them back upstairs, and Sadie offers to help them. Today, she’s being super sweet. She seems to have fallen in love with Stevie, and it’s mutual. He’s holding her hand.
“Can I get anyone a drink?” Tommy says.
“Please,” I say, nodding, but he just stands there waiting, his hands in his pockets.
“What can I get you?” he says finally.
“Mom, you want some wine?” I say, setting my hand on her arm.
“No,” she says. “Do you have any scotch?”
“Definitely.” He walks behind the bar and pours a scotch, hands it to my mother. “Stacey, red or white?”
“Red,” I say. “Dad?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve gotta drive your kids to the land of bullshit and cultural stereotypes.”
“I think it’s supposed to be magic and fairy tales, Dad.”
“A good fairy tale has a purpose. A message. It’s not afraid to get bloody. It’s not just some trip through la-la land.”
“You’re a good grandfather,” I say, patting his arm.
Tommy sets a wineglass on the bar. “So I’ve got a bottle of Cab and a Syrah right here, but if you’d rather check the cellar …”
“Either of those is fine.” I shake my head.
“Which one?” he says.
“Whichever. So, Dad …”
“Let me show you the labels,” Tommy says, holding one bottle across the bar to me.
“Syrah,” I say. “I’ll take the Syrah.”
“Good choice,” he says. He pours the wine, then sets the glass at the edge of the bar. He leans forward onto his elbows, facing my mother. “So, Stacey tells me you’re an art historian.”
“Mm-hmm.” She nods, the glass of scotch still at her lips. “I study mostly folk art, but you have some beautiful contemporary pieces. You’re a collector?”
“Hardly.” He shrugs. “I know a lot of artists, and I’m in the position to buy things.”
“A patron,” she says. She smiles a little, but I know she means this dismissively. I take the wine from the bar and sip it. It has a bitter, almost smoky finish that I don’t particularly like. I set the glass back down.
“I wouldn’t say patron.” Tommy shakes his head. “I just get paid too much for ridiculous reasons, so when I see something I like, they know they can gouge me.”
“Because you simply must have it,” she says, her smile much more genuine now. My dad likes altruism, but my mother has an artist’s heart. She’s interested in passion.
“I’m entirely selfish,” Tommy says.
“We had heard that,” my dad says with a sort of quiet laugh.
Tommy nods, letting his shoulders slouch just a little. “Right,” he says. “I’m sure you have.”
“Not from Stacey,” my dad says quickly.
“Stacey says you’re very smart,” my mother says. “Surprisingly well read.”
“Surprisingly?” Tommy laughs, but it’s not a normal laugh for him. He smiles at me with just a quick shrug of the lips, disturbingly platonic.
“Very gifted too,” she says, and my dad nods.
“I’m flattered,” Tommy says. He looks right at me. “That’s really nice to hear. Thank you.”
I’m going to have to get drunk, I think, but just then Ben appears in the doorway, and Sadie’s behind him, holding Stevie on her hip like he’s a baby. She doesn’t look big enough to carry him, but he’s a tiny slip of a kid.
“Well, I guess we’re on our way.” My mom finishes the scotch and sets the empty glass on the bar. “It was nice to meet you,” she says.
“Nice to meet you too.” He’s still leaning forward on his elbows, and he doesn’t move to take her hand.
“Come give me hugs,” I say to the boys. Sadie lets Stevie down and he dashes to me. Ben sort of shuffles behind him. I hug both of them, brush my thumbs across their cheeks. I say, “I know you’re going to be good.”
“Come on, come on,” my dad says. “We need to hit the road.” He kisses me on the cheek. “Kids’ll be fine.”
I follow them out to the front and watch them drive off. I blow kisses and wave. Through the windows, they all look happy, even Ben.
When the gates close behind them, I hug my arms around myself and walk back in the house. Tommy’s drinking my wine, and he’s opened the other bottle and poured me a glass.
“I knew you wouldn’t like the Syrah,” he says, holding the new glass out to me.
I don’t take it. He stares at me for a minute and then he shrugs, sets it down. He leans against the bar across from me. “I don’t act with you if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Everyone’s acting,” I say. “You’re just better at it than the rest of us.”
• • •
Tommy wants me to read this novel that he swears I’m going to love. We’re on the couches in the great room, but we’re sitting opposite each other, our feet propped up on the table. Sadie keeps ducking in and out of the room. She clearly wants attention.
“What are you up to, honey?” Tommy looks up from his book, turns his head back to look at her.
“Nothing,” she says. She wanders over like she’s not sure where she’s headed and leans her elbows onto the couch behind him. “I’m bored.”
“Read a book,” Tommy says. “Read one of Stacey’s books.”
“No,” I say. “Don’t do that.”
Sadie makes a fa
ce at me. “I’ve already read them,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow at Tommy. “Boundaries?” I say.
“What? She’s a smart kid.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I am.” She comes around the couch and sits next to Tommy. He holds his arm up and she slips under it, leaning against him. “What are you reading?” she says, after a minute.
Tommy turns the cover toward her.
“Is it good?”
“That’s why I’m reading it,” he says.
She sighs a little dramatically, but then she’s quiet for a minute. She pulls one foot up and picks at the flaking polish on her toes. “What was your husband like?” she says, without looking up.
“What?” I say.
Tommy sort of grimaces an apology and looks back at his book.
“Was he a writer too?”
“No,” I say. “He wasn’t.”
“I kind of pictured you with an artist, in like a loft apartment or something.”
“Michael was in finance. We live on a golf course.”
“That’s so weird,” she says. “How’d you meet him?”
“Grad school,” I say. She’s leaning forward now, a little expectantly, like I must have a great story to tell, something dramatic or romantic. Everything feels dramatic and romantic when you’ve just turned fifteen. “We met in grad school. And then we got married. And we had a couple of kids.”
She smiles a little sadly. “Do you think you’ll get married again?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I say.
“I’m never getting married,” she says, in the tone of a little girl who can’t wait to get married. She looks at Tommy like she’s daring him to challenge her, like she wants him to say, Someday you’ll find the right person …
“Good call,” he says.
• • •
I try to finish the book over coffee in the morning while Daniel sits on the stool next to me, sorting through a stack of mail.
“Look at this,” Daniel says, holding up this envelope covered in lipstick. “Disgusting.”
I just smile and turn back to the book. “He has very passionate fans.”
“Yeah. But I’m the one who has to open this shit. I swear someday I’m going to catch something.”
His phone rings, and he sort of jumps to pick it up. “This is Daniel,” he says, hopping down off the chair and walking toward the doorway. I can tell he’s trying to lower his voice, but as he steps through to the dining room, I hear him say, “You know, I don’t know if he’s really available right now,” but I can’t hear what he says after that.