She was disgusted by the cost.
“It’s highway robbery,” Faye said to Elisabeth. “I wouldn’t stand for it.”
As if they had a choice. As if fertility treatments were a used car they could haggle over.
They were made to wait fifteen more minutes before being ushered into the doctor’s office, where they waited another twenty. Gil was restless. They let him crawl around on the floor, poking his fingers in between the heating vents, trying to open a low drawer.
When Dr. Chen came in, he looked proud, taking in the sight of the baby. Elisabeth didn’t like his expression, as if Gil were his creation, which she supposed he was in a way, but still.
“Hello there,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Gilbert,” she said. “Gil.”
She knew from experience that this meeting would be as brief as he could make it, and she was happy about that.
“As soon as you’re finished nursing, you can get started,” he said. “A brother or sister for this guy in time for next Christmas, if you wish.”
She wanted to make a crack about how much fun Christmas with her own sister had been this year, but this, like so many things, was a loaded topic.
The doctor looked at his computer screen, reading their file. “You have two grade-B embryos left,” he said. “Given your age and the challenges we faced before, I’d say the chance of success with one embryo would be around seventeen percent. It will be much higher if you transfer both at once. But that will increase the likelihood of twins. So you need to do some soul-searching to determine if that fits with your plans.”
“Absolutely not,” she said. “I could never handle twins.”
“I can think of worse things,” Andrew said.
Elisabeth stared at him. “Like what?”
Dr. Chen cleared his throat. “You two have a lot to talk about. I’ll leave you to it. Just—don’t delay. The sooner you do this, the better. Wonderful to see you both. And to meet the famous Gil.”
He looked down.
It was then that Elisabeth realized the famous Gil was chewing on the tassel of the doctor’s patent leather wing tip.
“We’ll be in touch,” Andrew said.
He scooped the baby up off the floor with more dignity than she could have mustered.
Out in the hall, Andrew looked at her with such expectant eyes.
“What are your thoughts?” he said.
Elisabeth knew this might be the only way to win him back, to make things right between them. And yet, no part of her wanted to do it.
“I need to think about it some more,” she said.
For the first time in a long time, Andrew looked satisfied by the words coming out of her mouth.
16
Sam
SAM AND CLIVE STAYED WITH Maddie for the weekend, in the Washington Heights apartment she shared with two other medical students. On Saturday, after watching Gil, they took the A train from Forty-second Street, pausing first to look at the neon behemoth that was Times Square. Sam knew from both Maddie and Elisabeth that real New Yorkers hated the place, but she thought it was sort of magnificent, those bright lights and gaudy flashing signs and people everywhere you looked.
On the subway, Clive read the ads for personal injury attorneys out loud to her.
“Is there any American who hasn’t sued someone?” he said.
And Sam said, “Yes. Me.”
She planted a kiss on his cheek. She was excited to see Maddie, and relieved in a way to be free of Elisabeth for the rest of the weekend.
Once they reached Maddie’s, the three of them went to a bar in her neighborhood. Then, back at the apartment, Clive fell asleep, and Sam and Maddie stayed up talking.
Sam told her about the hotel room where they had spent the afternoon and evening with Gil.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said.
“Did you take pictures?” Maddie said.
“No, but I stole a bunch of shampoos from the maid’s cart. Half for me and half for you.”
Maddie nodded. “Sweet.”
She was a year older than Sam. They met on the one day when eighth graders got to visit the town high school. Maddie was assigned to be Sam’s tour guide. They had been best friends ever since, even though it was hard to find a place for their shared history in the midst of new friends, new lives.
Sam was more comfortable with Maddie than anyone. Their families were alike. Even their houses were nearly identical—modest white Colonials, distinct from each other only because the shutters on Sam’s were black, and the shutters on Maddie’s were red.
“Elisabeth thinks I should move here after graduation,” Sam said now.
“Personally, I want to leave as soon as possible,” Maddie said. “Go to a smaller city, where normal people can afford to live.”
“That’s pretty much what I told her, that I could never afford to live here,” Sam said. “Elisabeth made it seem like she struggled when she was young, but it was worth it. Which is odd, considering the real story. Apparently she comes from a lot of money. Andrew’s father told me the other day.”
Sam pulled the shampoo bottles from her tote bag and lined them up on Maddie’s coffee table.
“I thought she just had good taste. I didn’t realize her father was a billionaire.”
“An actual billionaire?” Maddie said.
“Probably not. But still.”
“Still,” Maddie said. “Sketchy.”
“They lived in Brooklyn when they were here,” Sam said. “I didn’t know rich people lived in Brooklyn.”
“That’s where the undercover rich people live,” Maddie said. “Like actual movie stars, but the kind who take their clothes to the laundromat because they think that’s keeping it real. That’s the thing about this city. So few people’s lifestyles correspond to what they do for a living. You’ll meet a poet, and she’ll invite you over, and it turns out she has an entire brownstone. But it will never be mentioned how. You’re supposed to pretend all poets live like that.”
Sam hadn’t said anything to Isabella about what George had told her. Isabella wouldn’t get it.
She told Clive, who said, Rich people are the worst. So predictable. I could sense that in Elisabeth, based on how you described her. You’re too trusting, babe.
She wished then that she hadn’t told him.
But Maddie’s reaction confirmed what Sam had already been thinking.
“This place isn’t for me,” Sam said. “It’s so—big. And dirty. And crowded. No offense.”
“None taken,” Maddie said. “I didn’t design it. It’s not for me either, long term. But if you move here after graduation, we could live together for two years, until I finish school. Remember we used to talk about doing that? You working in a gallery, me in med school. Making dinner together every night. Watching TV in our pajamas. Dating identical twins named Chad and Brad.”
Sam laughed.
“How fun would that be?” Maddie said.
“So much fun. Too bad you already have roommates.”
“Calvin and Marisa graduate this spring. I’ll need new roommates soon.”
“Ooh.”
“We should totally do it,” Maddie said. “We’ll live like an old married couple, at last.”
Sam looked toward Maddie’s room, where Clive was asleep on the air mattress.
When she crawled in beside him a few hours later, he woke up, groggy.
“I like New York City,” he said.
“You’ve hardly seen it.”
“What I’ve seen, I like.”
“Elisabeth keeps saying I should move here,” she said, testing his reaction.
“We should do, for a year or two. It’d be brilliant.”
He kissed her and fell back to sleep.
/> Sam felt guilty. There was no space for him in the stories they had plotted tonight. She told herself that she and Maddie were only talking, having fun imagining what might have been had Clive not come along.
* * *
—
On Sunday, the Orthodox family in the apartment next door sat Shiva. A stream of mourners arrived. Their children spilled out into the hall, chasing one another, shouting like it was any other family party. Every so often, the children accidentally ran into Maddie’s apartment. One little boy went straight to the bathroom, peed with the door open, and left without taking note of his surroundings. They could have turned the lock, but they found the situation too amusing.
Sam had made a list of places to take Clive, but they ended up spending most of their time at home, talking with Maddie and her roommates. Maddie made a frittata for breakfast and a big salad with walnuts and dried cranberries and goat cheese for lunch. Clive made salmon with fingerling potatoes for dinner. It felt so adult, a world away from dorm life.
After dinner, Sam and Clive sat on the sofa in the sunken living room. She pretended they were married, that the apartment was theirs. She could almost picture it.
Maddie and Clive developed an easy rapport that he had never managed with any of Sam’s other friends. There was some special quality to the three of them together—Sam liked Clive better, liked their relationship more, when Maddie was around.
At some point on Sunday evening, the topic of Maddie’s roommates leaving in a few months came up, and Clive said, “As luck would have it, Sam and I are thinking of moving here.”
She was surprised he even remembered. He’d been half asleep when they discussed it.
Maddie looked confused, and Sam bumbled, “We were just talking, that’s all.”
Clive spent the whole weekend sniffling and coughing.
Allergies, he said.
“Sorry, it’s probably the cat,” Maddie said.
“It’s okay,” Clive said.
“It’s not the cat! He was like this in the car on the way here!” Sam said.
She felt tense, like Clive had laid the blame on her friend, even though he hadn’t been the one to bring up the cat.
“It’s probably because you spend all day and night walking around London and it’s freezing outside and now you’re getting sick,” she said, and then immediately felt bad.
“I never get sick,” Clive said. “It’s a fact.”
On Monday, Maddie had a full day of classes. Sam and Clive went out for breakfast.
Their conversation was stilted. She felt like they were grasping for things to talk about. He didn’t want to leave the waitress a tip, and Sam explained that such things were not optional in this country, at least not for decent people. Clive was cheap.
The other night, she had said as much to Maddie, who replied, “I think he’s just poor.”
Sam recoiled from that remark, but then said, “I think he’s both.”
After the awkward breakfast, they found a park by Maddie’s place, where they made out on a rock on the far side of a little pond. They were surrounded by turtles, unbothered, unmoving, soaking up what they could of the weak winter sun.
* * *
—
Nobody talked much on the drive home.
“Please don’t make me go back,” Elisabeth said.
She sounded like they were taking her to prison.
Sam still sensed that things between Elisabeth and Andrew were fraught, even as Elisabeth described all the exciting activities they had done in the last forty-eight hours. How could they possibly have had a bad time staying in that hotel room, ordering as much room service as they wanted, going to Broadway shows and spa dates and dinners in fancy restaurants.
Sam wished she could unknow what George had told her.
At some point, Elisabeth said, “These friends we met up with on Saturday were telling us they just bought an eight-hundred-square-foot apartment for over a million dollars. They’re using it as an office, not to live in. People in the city have too much money, I swear.”
Clive nudged Sam and rolled his eyes.
So many people pretended at wealth they didn’t have. Sam wondered why Elisabeth went to such lengths to seem average. She felt like she didn’t really know her at all.
But an hour into the drive, Gil let out a squeal, and Elisabeth turned toward the back seat to look at him. Sam’s eyes met hers and they exchanged a smile that felt so familiar, so comfortable, that Sam wished they could be alone, up in the den after a Sunday dinner, Elisabeth explaining whatever was going on with Andrew, Sam telling her about Clive.
Smooshed into Andrew and Elisabeth’s back seat, subject to their timing and on their terms, Clive seemed diminished. He could not keep still. He kept making a noise with his tongue. He tapped his fingers on his knees. He was used to being the one in charge on a road trip. In England, Sam never knew what route they were taking or how far it was. She was his passenger. They both liked it that way.
Now Clive kept asking questions about the car that Andrew didn’t know the answers to, and then positing his own ideas.
“What kind of horsepower does this thing have?” Clive said.
“Two hundred, maybe?” Andrew said. “Three hundred?”
“One eighty-five, I reckon,” Clive said.
Fifty miles from home, they pulled over at a rest stop so Sam and Elisabeth could pee.
Gil was asleep.
“I’ll stay in the car with him,” Andrew whispered.
“Me too,” Clive said.
Sam wondered if Andrew found this annoying; if he was hoping for a few minutes alone.
She and Elisabeth went inside. They walked past the crowds lining up for Chipotle and Sbarro and Subway, all of which sounded delicious right now. Sam wanted dinner, but no one else was hungry, and she didn’t want to be the only one eating.
Elisabeth started talking about the Central Park Zoo. She said she could never decide whether it was delightful or depressing.
“On the one hand, how incredible is it that you can see a polar bear in the middle of Manhattan?” she said. “On the other, that poor polar bear. He doesn’t belong there.”
They went into two stalls, right next to each other.
Sam paused and waited to see if Elisabeth was a stall-to-stall talker. She herself always let the other woman decide. She assumed Elisabeth would stop talking and resume their conversation at the sink, which proved accurate.
“Is everything going well with you and Clive?” Elisabeth said as they washed their hands.
Something about the way she said it made Sam uneasy. As if Elisabeth expected the answer to be no.
“Yeah,” Sam said.
“You had a good time?”
“We did.”
She considered mentioning how the conversation had been harder than she might have liked, or that Maddie had invited her to move in. But either thing felt like an admission she wasn’t ready to make.
Instead Sam said, “I wish we’d gone to the Guggenheim.”
She took in their reflection in the mirror.
Elisabeth always looked put together, even now, traveling in jeans and sneakers.
Sam looked rumpled. The arms of her plain striped shirt were wrinkled. Her hair was everywhere.
She noticed, with annoyance, her chubby cheeks. Baby fat, her mother would say. Elisabeth’s were almost concave, a wonderful hollowness about them that Sam coveted. Clive had said he didn’t think Elisabeth was that good looking, but Sam found her appearance endlessly appealing. Her big smile. Her elegant, protruding collarbones. Even the lines at the corners of her eyes that resembled the darting rays in a child’s drawing of the sun.
* * *
—
Back at the dorm, they came upon Isabella and Shannon sitting on Isabel
la’s bed with their laptops.
“How was the weekend?” Isabella said.
“Fun!” Sam said.
“Glorious,” Clive said.
“We’re gonna go to a late-night showing of the new Ben Affleck movie,” Shannon said. “Buying tickets now. You two should come.”
“I’m not overly interested in scripted films anymore,” Clive said, before Sam could respond. “They’re mostly rubbish, aren’t they? You reach an age where that sort of thing stops being interesting.”
He turned to Sam. “I’ll only pay to go to the cinema if it’s a really good documentary at the Barbican or something.”
Isabella and Shannon both looked at him, and then down at their computers, without answering.
“We’d better leave you guys alone,” Isabella said a few moments later.
“You don’t have to,” Sam said.
But they fled across the hall to Shannon’s room anyway, and shut the door.
When she and Clive planned this trip, Ramona and her girlfriend hadn’t broken up yet. Now that they had, Ramona was back to sleeping in her own bed, which meant Isabella would be on the floor. Everyone was sacrificing for Sam’s benefit, and for Clive’s. She wished he wouldn’t default to snobby and arrogant whenever he felt uncomfortable.
Sam heard her friends laughing across the hall. So often while in their company, she had wished she was in London, with Clive. But now Clive was here and she wanted to be with them.
“I’m starving,” he said. “Let’s order something in.”
“Any place that delivers around here closes by nine,” Sam said.
Then she remembered her key to the kitchen, the one Maria gave her her first year, when she worked the early shift. Sam had never given it back.
“Come with me,” she said, leading him by the hand down the back stairwell.
The dining hall felt foreboding with no one in it, and all the lights turned off.
“Where are you taking me?” Clive said.
“You’ll see.”
They crossed the room in the pitch black, his hand creeping down her back, squeezing her butt. Sam let out a squeal, and Clive said “What? What happened?” as if it hadn’t been him.
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