On her way to get more to drink, Debbie from across the street commended Elisabeth on the dessert choice and said it was all the rage at kids’ parties this year. Elisabeth told her the truth—the cupcake tower had been the caterer’s idea.
When Debbie walked away, Nomi said, “Brooklyn moved on from that particular trend five summers ago.”
Elisabeth wondered if this was what she sounded like. It bothered her, even though she had been thinking the same thing. She wondered if this tendency toward snobbery would ever leave her, or if living in the city had ruined her for life.
She kept glancing at the sky.
“Looks like rain, doesn’t it?” she whispered to Nomi.
Nomi shushed her. “Don’t conjure it!”
“I don’t think that’s how rain works,” Elisabeth said, feeling injured, wishing she hadn’t said anything.
Wind whipped through the yard. The balloon arch swayed.
Elisabeth looked at Gil, happily crawling in the grass, chasing Debbie’s two kids. She took in a deep breath. He was having fun. That was all that mattered. So the first party they threw in this house was an odd one. So what.
From her spot in the yard, she heard the home phone ring.
Her father-in-law must have answered it, because a moment later, he called out the open door, “Lizzy! It’s for you.”
Her first thought was that maybe it was Sam. Maybe George had talked to her, and she would be here with them soon.
Elisabeth dashed inside.
“Your dad,” George whispered. He handed her the phone.
“Calling to wish my grandson a happy birthday,” he said. “Put him on, will you. I want to talk to him.”
Elisabeth was tempted to point out that Gil couldn’t speak yet, but instead she said, “Why don’t we call you back in a bit? We’re having that party now. Remember? I invited you and Gloria to come.”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “You go enjoy.”
He hadn’t bothered to come up with a reason why they couldn’t make it, nor had her mother. Neither of them RSVP’d one way or the other. Elisabeth supposed that for her parents, a one-year-old’s backyard birthday celebration didn’t rise to the level of things important enough to acknowledge, let alone consider attending.
She hadn’t invited her sister. She was still too angry. She put Charlotte’s email address on the list for the Evite, then erased it, then added it again, then erased it and left it at that.
Charlotte sent a toy fire truck via Amazon. After that disastrous Christmas, Elisabeth figured they would now go back to being this kind of family. The kind who sent gifts in lieu of ever spending time together. She was fine with that.
“My accountant sent the birthday boy a little something for college a few months ago,” her father said.
“Yes, I know,” she said.
“Will he be depositing it anytime soon?”
“No,” she said.
Elisabeth didn’t elaborate.
She knew he wouldn’t get it, that the wound was deeper than he’d be willing to admit.
“You know, he doesn’t need your permission,” her father said, an absurd threat that she refused to get worked up about.
“Talk to you later,” she said. “Hi to Gloria.”
“Gloria’s gone,” he said.
“What happened?”
He paused, and then, in a voice that sounded amused by itself, said, “I’m afraid I strayed.”
Why was he telling her this, today? Or any time, for that matter.
“I argued that technically it shouldn’t count as a betrayal,” he said.
Elisabeth wanted to say That’s nice, goodbye and slam the phone down, but instead she said, “Why’s that?”
There was an open bottle of champagne on the counter, half full. She took a swig, not bothering with a glass.
“Technically, I wasn’t cheating,” he said. She swore she could hear his grin. “Because. I ask you: Is it possible to cheat with your own wife?”
Elisabeth closed her eyes, took another drink. She didn’t say anything.
“It was your mother,” he said, in case she hadn’t understood. “I had a fling with your mother.”
“Good for you,” she said. “I’d better go, there’s someone at the door.”
“I’m not saying we’re going to get back together, Boo, so we’re clear.”
“Sure, fine. Whatever.”
“Don’t want to get your hopes up. But I’m not saying that we’re not getting back together either. Love is mysterious.”
Andrew walked in then, as she was draining the bottle.
She froze, having been discovered, then grinned.
“Bye, Dad,” Elisabeth said.
She hung up.
“My father’s having an affair with my mother,” she said.
Andrew nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“Does this party suck?” she said.
“It does,” Andrew said. “Want to go hide upstairs?”
“Yes,” she said. “But no. We’d better get out there.”
They reached the back door in time to see the balloon arch pull away from its moorings, skim the cupcake tower, and float up into the sky.
* * *
—
When Elisabeth got home from the day-care visit, Nomi was at the kitchen table, reading the paper.
“Remind me to abandon my children more often,” she said. “This is heaven. The light in this room is perfect. It’s so quiet. I could sit here all day.”
“Finally!” Elisabeth said. “Something you like about this place.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday it felt like you were judging everything about our life here and finding it lacking. Which, I get it, this isn’t exactly a world capital. But still.”
“Sorry,” Nomi said. “I was only saying things you’ve said to me a million times. Maybe it’s like how you can make fun of your own family all you want, but someone else does it and you are duty bound to defend your people. It’s kind of sweet. You like it here.”
Her tone was teasing, singsong, as if they were in the fourth grade and she was talking about a boy Elisabeth had a crush on.
“I do not. Well, I like some things.” Elisabeth sighed. “I don’t know how I feel. I think I maybe wanted to impress you.”
“That’s adorable,” Nomi said. “And sad. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Maybe I’m not totally over losing you to this place. But I’ll get there.”
“For the record, you can make fun of my family whenever you want,” Elisabeth said. “I knew my parents wouldn’t come this weekend. But then I went to Sam’s graduation. I saw her parents, her grandparents, the whole gang. I think that might have been part of my thing with her. I wanted what she had, in that way. Sam’s so normal. She comes from this perfect family.”
“How many perfect families do you know?” Nomi said. “Maybe she just hasn’t figured out yet what’s fucked up about hers. Look at you. You do a very convincing impression of a normal person. If I just met you, I’d have no idea your parents are so twisted.”
“Thank you,” Elisabeth said, and she meant it.
The doorbell rang.
“Who’s that?” Nomi said.
“I don’t know.”
“A neighbor coming to borrow a cup of sugar? You don’t think Lassie’s fallen down the well again, do you?”
“Shut up,” Elisabeth called over her shoulder as she went toward the door.
When she opened it, a hugely pregnant Gwen stood there, smiling.
“Is this an okay time?” she said. “I wanted to drop off a gift for Gil. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday.”
“You didn’t miss much,” Elisabeth said. “Come in. It’s great to see you.”
&nbs
p; Gwen followed her into the kitchen.
“Gwen, this is my best friend, Nomi,” Elisabeth said. “She’s visiting from the city.”
“Sorry,” Gwen said. “I should have called first.”
“Sit,” Nomi said. “How far along are you?”
“Six months.”
Gwen sat down across the table from Nomi, her body pouring itself onto the chair.
“I had no idea you were expecting!” Elisabeth said.
“You hadn’t heard? I was positive it must be the talk of the neighborhood.”
“I’m sure it is. But nobody tells me anything.”
Gwen laughed. “So I guess that means you haven’t heard the other part either.”
“What other part?”
“Christopher left me. I’m having this baby alone.”
“What?”
“He’s gone. He got a teaching job at some place you’ve never heard of in Arkansas. I’m pretty sure he took one of his favorite students along for company.”
“No.”
“I can’t believe the Laurels haven’t told everyone in town yet. Don’t hate me, but honestly, I skipped the party yesterday to avoid seeing them.” Gwen inhaled deeply, then released the breath. “One good thing about my marriage ending is I won’t have to go to book club anymore. You probably noticed I didn’t come to the last few. It felt great!”
“Oh no, please don’t leave me,” Elisabeth said. “Though truth be told, I always wondered why you wanted to be a part of that book club.”
“Christopher pushed me to go,” Gwen said. “He said since his coworker’s wife had invited me, it would be rude not to. Turns out he had a standing date with one of his undergrads at our house whenever I was here on Laurel Street.”
“What a bastard,” Nomi said.
“Yeah,” Gwen said.
“But why did you do what he said?” Elisabeth said. “You’re such a badass.”
Gwen laughed.
“I was always the more successful one. I had tenure, he didn’t. So I had to act sometimes like he was the boss. How refreshing not to have to play that game anymore. We were trying to have a baby for so long that I forgot about the two of us. Everyone said that was normal. That fertility stuff is hard on a marriage. Then I got pregnant and realized a baby wasn’t what was missing between us.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s for the best. I can’t imagine raising a child with him.”
Elisabeth wasn’t sure if she should push further, especially with Nomi here.
“I have so much to give you,” she said. “A bassinet, a stroller. Tons of clothes—do you know what you’re having?”
“No. Going to be surprised. Because I haven’t been surprised enough lately. Do you have a pediatrician you like?”
“Dr. Gordon is the best. I’ll give you her number.”
“Thanks. What are your thoughts on swaddling? A friend of mine swears by it, but then I read a story about how it can be bad for the baby’s hips. Sorry, I have way too many questions.”
“I’m so happy to answer them and feel like I know something for once,” Elisabeth said. “I was standing where you are a year ago. You’ll be a pro in no time. You’ll see.”
“It’s overwhelming if I think about it too much,” Gwen said. “Stephanie added me to that Facebook group for moms who live in town. She’s sort of the queen of the whole thing. It’s deeply annoying. I had to mute it.”
Elisabeth looked at Nomi. “I didn’t know there was a Facebook group for moms here,” she said.
She had been so consumed with BK Mamas that she hadn’t even thought to look.
Gwen turned to Nomi. “Sorry. My life isn’t usually this much of a soap opera. I must sound crazy to you.”
Nomi smiled. “No,” she said. “You sound like one of us.”
* * *
—
Two weeks later, Elisabeth and Andrew went to Faye and George’s.
Faye made pot roast. The four of them sat at the table longer than usual, talking and eating.
It would be their last dinner together in this house. Faye and George were moving in a few days, to a two-bedroom condo in town. It was a small miracle that they found a buyer. They hadn’t gotten much for the place, but they were out from under.
Faye said it was a relief, mostly. Though she would miss the garden she had planted out back; and the signs of a younger Andrew that she still saw everywhere—the old treehouse, the pencil notches on the basement door frame, denoting his height over the years.
All around them were cardboard boxes, full or half full, labeled in black marker: KITCHEN GADGETS, G’S TOOLS, A’S YEARBOOKS. Gil wandered from one open box to another, removing items, before he settled on a metal potato masher, which he then banged against the linoleum floor for ten minutes.
When the plates had been cleared, George excused himself and slipped into his office to do some packing.
“He’s not packing,” Faye said. “He’s working. He’s still at it. He and the guys from his discussion group are planning yet another protest. Ever since that article in the Gazette about them, people are calling and asking for their help.”
Faye shook her head. “I’m proud of him. But don’t tell him I said so.”
Elisabeth got up to use the bathroom in the hall. When she came out, instead of turning left to go back to the kitchen, she went right and knocked at George’s office door.
“Come in!” he called.
He grinned when he saw her there. “Lizzy,” he said, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I want to apologize,” she said.
“For what?”
“I made a huge mistake when I gave that money to my sister. If it hadn’t been for that, we’d have it to offer you, to save this house. Now it’s too late. I’m so sorry.”
George shook his head. “We never would have taken it.”
“Aren’t you going to miss this place?”
“Yes,” he said. “But everyone I’ve spent time with here, everyone I love, is still with me. So who cares about a house?”
It occurred to Elisabeth then that she had spent so much time worrying about the dark legacy of her own family that she hadn’t considered that this too would be Gil’s inheritance. Good men like George and Andrew. She hoped he would turn out like them.
“Have you heard from Sam at all since she left?” Elisabeth asked, trying to sound noncommittal; just making conversation.
George shook his head.
She felt relieved.
“Did you two make up?” George said.
“Not yet.”
“You should. She’s a great girl.”
“She is.”
“And so are you,” he said. “That goes without saying.”
Elisabeth smiled. “Thanks. Faye mentioned that all these people are coming to you for guidance after that article in the Gazette,” she said. “I’m proud of you, George.”
The part of her fight with Sam that played over and over in her mind was what she’d said about Clive having no money.
He doesn’t have two pennies to rub together.
You don’t know anything yet.
It shocked Elisabeth, how much she sounded like her parents then. The meddling was like them too. So certain that she knew best. Sam had recognized this. How could it be that Elisabeth had made it her mission in life not to become them, and yet somehow, still, she’d done just that.
The hardest lessons were the ones you had to learn over and over again. So again, she was going to try. She’d deactivated her membership to BK Mamas, then deleted her Facebook account altogether. She had no idea whether Sam had taken the job in Brooklyn, or gone to London to be with Clive, and no intention of finding out. Best to seal off this past year in her mind and move forward.
&nbs
p; Sam had often spoken of her summer abroad. A time out of time, in between, when she became some other version of herself. Elisabeth had started to think of the months they spent together in this same way. There was no other year of life when the two of them could have grown so close, or fallen out so spectacularly. Secrets that ought to remain hers alone would move about the world inside of Sam now too. Sam had the power to tell them, or not.
Elisabeth glanced at a stack of library books on George’s desk: Workers’ Rights as Human Rights; Labor’s Untold Story; Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America.
Another thing Sam had been right about. Elisabeth and Andrew didn’t dismiss the Hollow Tree because it was silly and obvious, as they always said, but because it implicated them. They had been blind to something. They’d chosen to be blind.
What would you give anything to stop thinking about? her agent had said.
Her shame and anxiety about her family’s wealth made her never want to discuss it, as if by not mentioning money, she could make all the complexity go away. The same could be said of the conveniences they relied upon to get through a day, a week, a year.
That was why she’d never asked him to elaborate. Because it might be too painful.
Elisabeth put her hand on top of the books.
“George,” she said. “Tell me.”
* * *
—
They stayed late that night.
They took photos in Andrew’s childhood bedroom. He showed Gil where he’d carved a shamrock into the floor of his closet, and where he used to stand and sink baskets on the hoop attached to the back of the door.
His parents’ voices drifted up from downstairs. Elisabeth thought of what it must have been like to be a little boy alone here, listening.
A pang of remorse shot through her.
Eventually, Gil rubbed his eyes, and Andrew picked him up, carried him over to the window. They rocked back and forth, the baby’s head on his shoulder.
Friends and Strangers Page 43