Gemma nods. “We met when our girls were in kindergarten. We were the only two single mothers in the class. We were pretty much inseparable. We did everything together. The girls have kind of grown apart, but Ruth and I—I guess we’re sort of like an old married couple. Minus the sex. She’s not normally like that. She’s great. It’s my fault. I should have just told her the truth.”
“She’s a big girl. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Come on.” Simon pulls her up out of her chair. “Let’s take a walk around the lake and we can hit up Colonial Donuts on the way back.”
He puts his hand on her lower back and steers her across the street. And even though Gemma is fully aware how quickly they’ve fallen into stereotypical gender roles (she, in need of protecting, he, the protector), she feels a profound sense of wholeness in his company. Of being back in the world after years of being an outsider, pressing her face against the window, looking in.
MARLEY
Her mother comes back empty-handed.
“How was the farmer’s market?” she asks.
Her mother opens a cupboard and rummages around. “Did you finish my turmeric ginger tea?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yes or no, Marley. Did you drink the tea or not? You have to start being more definitive.”
Something happened. She was supposed to meet Gemma. Did Gemma blow her off?
“No.”
Yes, let’s be more definitive, Marley. Stop being such a people pleaser, so afraid of confrontation. She’d confronted Bee the other day, hadn’t she? She’d asked her where she’d been. Marley cringes thinking about it. She should have just come right out and asked, Why are you being so cruel?
“Well, the tea must have disappeared into thin air, then, because I can’t find it.”
Her mother puts the kettle on and drops an Earl Grey tea bag into a mug. She’s wearing snug jeans and a yellow silk top. Her hair cascades down to the middle of her back. Couldn’t she dress more appropriately for her age? Maybe then Marley would stand a chance. People might look at her with admiration and think, That young woman has such great style. What beautiful hands. What slender ankles. But that will never happen. Her mother will never allow Marley to upstage her.
“How’s Gemma?”
“There was a mix-up. She went to Lakeshore, I went to Jack London.”
Her mother is lying. She’s got a tell. Her left eyebrow raises ever so slightly.
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
“Whatever.” Her mother shrugs. “And how are things with Bee?” she asks snidely.
They’re two of a kind, they really are.
“Really good. We walked to geometry the other day together. We were both late. Mr. Nunez almost gave us detention, but Bee talked him out of it.”
“You don’t say.”
Her mother doesn’t believe her either.
* * *
October 22, 1:13 p.m.
Guess what? I’ve lost seven pounds Soleil!
Wow!
It doesn’t really show yet. I can tell my face is thinner but nobody else can
Everybody else doesn’t matter. What matters is how you feel. How do you feel about losing seven pounds, Marley?
Fireworks, champagne glass, clapping hands
So what’s the secret? Is it still moderation?
Turmeric ginger tea
Never tried it. Is it good? I know it’s all the rage.
Face with smacking lips. I went through an entire box in 3 days
That doesn’t sound like moderation
Zero calories
So what else is going on? How are things with Bee?
Marley flashes back to the two of them running down the empty hallway. Their arms linked. The joy she felt. She tries not to think about how Bee walked into the classroom before her. How she’d physically detached from Marley and acted like they hadn’t arrived together.
Great!
Really? You two made up?
Ya!
Well that’s wonderful. I wasn’t expecting to hear that. And how about your mom? How are things at home?
Great!
So everything’s great?
Yup pretty much great
Marley, I want you to know you can be honest with me. This is a space to be honest in.
I am being honest
I feel like you might be holding back. Are you?
I don’t think so
Well, I’m going to be honest here. You are so devoted and loyal to the people you love. I get that. I admire that. But sometimes the people we love the most do things that make us feel bad.
Thumbs up
Is anybody making you feel bad?
Thumbs down
Please be serious, Marley.
Sometimes I guess
Who?
My mom
Would you like to tell me more?
She’s obsessed with Bee’s mom, Gemma. She doesn’t have any other friends
Marley, I want to know about you, not Gemma. How does your mother make you feel bad?
Rainbow, rainbow, rainbow
Okay, you don’t have to say anything now. But I want you to think about it and next time come back with one thing your mom has said or done that’s hurt you. You’re not betraying her by talking about her to me. This is your space. Your time. I am YOUR therapist. There’s good and bad in everybody. Everybody screws up, says things they don’t mean, things they wish they could take back. I do. And I’m sure you do, too. That’s normal. It’s time to go a little deeper, Marley. Are you up for it?
Fire. Fire. Fire.
Interesting. But translate for me. Is that fire let’s jump into the middle of it, or fire source of power, or fire burn the house to the ground?
Woman shrugging
Okay, Marley. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?
I really like you Soleil. Is that your real name?
It sure is. And I really like you, too.
More than your other clients?
I think you’re very special, Marley.
Starstruck face. Googly eyes. Gotta go. More soon
I await your summons.
GEMMA
Bee walks into Gemma’s office and hands her a piece of paper. “You’re invited to attend my health class where we’ll be talking about syphilis and chlamydia and genital warts.”
Gemma takes a cursory glance at the invitation, which isn’t really an invitation but more of a notice of intent so some out-of-the-loop parent can’t threaten to sue the school for exposing their precious child to explicitly sexual material.
Gemma crumples up the paper into a ball and tosses it at Bee. “I suppose this would be an appropriate time to ask you if you’re having sex.”
Bee throws herself into a chair, her legs dangling over the arm, and the years fall away. Bee is two. Her round little tummy. Her starfish hands.
“Um, that would be a big fat no,” says Bee. “How long til you’re done?”
“I’ve got one more appointment at five. Should be quick, no more than half an hour, then we’re out of here.”
“I should have taken the bus.”
“Sorry, honey. I got this consult last minute.”
Gemma hears the waiting room door open. Maria says, “Oh, hi, Mr. Wright.”
Gemma can tell by the tone of Maria’s voice that she’s having a hard time keeping a straight face. Very few people can look at Simon Wright, call him Mr. Wright, and keep a straight face.
Gemma can almost hear his dimples flashing. They’ve been seeing each other practically nonstop for a couple of weeks now. Burrito lunches. Verve coffee breaks. How will she introduce him to Bee? What will she introduce him as? Her friend? Her boyfriend? That was such an outdated term. All she knew was that she loved being with him and loved how she felt with him. Treasured. The source of entertainment, delight. He admired her wit, her honesty, her parenting philosophy, the same as his—somewhere between helicopter and benign neglect, he said.
�
�You can go right in,” says Maria.
* * *
“Ms. Howard,” says Simon.
He notices Bee sitting in the corner and plays it cool. “Hello.” He nods at Bee.
“Hey.” She acts nonchalant, but Gemma can tell she’s intrigued.
“Bee, meet Simon Wright,” says Gemma. “Simon, meet Bee, my daughter.”
“A pleasure.” He shifts his weight restlessly from one foot to the other. “I brought you a coffee,” he says to Gemma.
“That’s nice of you.” Gemma glances at the clock. “You’re a little early. Wasn’t your appointment at five?” Maybe she doesn’t have to introduce him yet. She can pass him off as a client.
“Ah, yes,” says Simon. “My apologies. I tend to be overly punctual.”
“Mr. Wright’s son goes to Athenian in Danville. He’s a sophomore, isn’t he?” says Gemma.
“Righto,” says Simon in a forced voice. Righto? He’s as terrible at this as she is.
Bee looks Simon up and down. When Bee’s on a scent she’s a bloodhound. She’s not buying the early for his appointment excuse. Her eyes settle on Gemma’s coffee. Soy latte 2 pump vanilla is written in Sharpie on the cup and Gemma knows the jig is up. This is her coffee order, as distinct as her fingerprint. This man is not just another father, desperate to get his kid’s scores up.
Gemma explains, “Mr. Wright, Simon, and I are—”
“Happy,” says Simon.
Gemma blinks at him.
“You’re happy,” says Bee.
“Yes, happy. Together,” he clarifies.
“There’s a together?” asks Bee.
Simon raises his eyebrows at Gemma, throwing her a silent feel free to contribute to the conversation at any time look.
“We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks,” says Gemma.
“But it feels like longer,” Simon says.
“Yes, it does,” says Gemma, blushing.
Bee takes a few beats, absorbing this information.
* * *
Gemma knows the proper thing to do is call to extend the dinner invitation to Ruth, but she’s dreading talking to her in person. They’ve barely spoken since the farmer’s market incident. They’ve texted but their communication has been formal and overly polite. Is Ruth punishing her by giving her the silent treatment? Is what she did so wrong? All she had to do was tell Ruth the truth. Why didn’t she?
If the situation had been reversed and Ruth had canceled to go on a date, Gemma would have been thrilled for her. Ruth knows how picky Gemma is and how special Simon would have to be for her to agree to go out for coffee with him, coffee being a much more intimate thing than sex. Sex was easy. It was a simple swipe right. Sometimes Gemma hated this plugged-in world. People were no longer capable of looking each other in the eyes. When Gemma was a teenager, you met at the park. You took long, rambling walks in the woods. You shared your secrets and then you kissed. Now everything was backward. Sex first, and then, much, much later, if you mutually agreed to have caught some feelings, lattes.
Gemma stares at her phone, her heart racing. Just get it over with. After one ring the call goes directly to voicemail, and Gemma feels sick. Ruth always takes her calls.
She puts on her cheeriest voice, acts as if nothing has happened.
“Hey, I’m calling to invite you over for dinner on Friday night. Simon’s coming, as well as his son, Tom. They’re meeting Bee for the first time, well, not technically the first time. Bee ran into Simon at the office the other day, but anyway it’s kind of a big deal and I’d love to have you there for moral support.” Gemma sighs. “I really like this guy, Ruth.” She exhales threadily. “Okay, let me know, sooner rather than later, please. And if Marley’s free, bring her.”
Gemma says this to flatter Ruth, to imply that Gemma thinks Marley is the kind of girl who by Wednesday already has weekend plans with her friends. The truth is Marley’s never invited anywhere.
“Love you. Bye.”
A few minutes later Gemma gets a text. We’ll be there. What time?
* * *
On Friday night, Simon shows up twenty minutes early with a Willamette Valley pinot. Bee’s in the shower. The scent of her orange blossom shampoo drifts down the stairs. The smell of innocence. Of the world being just what it should, everything safe, in its right place.
“Tom’s not coming,” he says. “Opener? This needs to breathe.”
“Is everything okay?”
Simon shrugs. “You know.”
That’s all he has to say; Gemma doesn’t need him to explain. The shorthand of parents with teenagers.
Gemma searches for the wine opener. “It’s an old-fashioned one. I hate those rabbit ear thingies. Do you want me to do it?”
“I know how to open a bottle of wine, Gem. She’s upstairs?”
“Yeah.”
Simon pulls her toward him and kisses her. He strokes her neck with his thumbs. “I’ve been waiting all day to do that.”
The water abruptly shuts off and they spring apart.
* * *
Bee stomps around upstairs. She’s angry. She’s missing the biggest party of the school year for this dinner, she told Gemma. Gemma asked how could she possibly know it was the biggest party of the year if it was only November. Surely the biggest parties were in June, at the end of the school year. That did not go over well.
Gemma wonders what Tom is doing tonight. According to Simon, he’s very popular. Bee would never admit it, but Gemma suspects she was looking forward to meeting Tom. When she finds out he’s not coming she’s going to be insufferable.
Ruth’s a wild card, too. Will she pout throughout the entire meal? Interrogate Simon? Gemma sprinkles dried cranberries and pumpkin seeds on top of the salad. At least she can count on Marley. Always a sweetheart. So pliable. So dependable.
Simon comes up from behind and hugs her. She leans back into his chest. This is antifeminist of her (something she will never admit to Bee), but she loves that he’s such a giant, loves feeling tiny in his huge arms.
“Stop worrying. It’s going to be fine,” he tells her.
The doorbell rings.
* * *
Ruth enters in a cloud of Angel perfume, Marley trailing behind her like an afterthought.
“Gemma,” says Ruth, presenting her cheek for kissing.
“Thank you so much for coming.” Gemma busses Ruth. “Are we okay?” she whispers.
“We’re fine.”
“We haven’t spoken. I was—”
Ruth puts her finger on Gemma’s lips, silencing her. “You deserve your privacy. The right to change your mind. Thank you for including us tonight. It means the world to me.”
Really? The world? That’s a bit much. Has Ruth been pregaming?
Marley clears her throat and Ruth swings around. “Marley, why are you lurking behind me? Stop slouching. Come say hello to Mr.—”
If Marley has been lurking, then so has Simon. The two of them standing behind Gemma and Ruth, waiting to be summoned.
Ruth squints at Simon. “Mr. Wright, is it?” She cracks a smile. Ruth is having fun with him; Gemma can’t believe it. This is a version of Ruth she rarely sees. A sort of Ruth-lite. Maybe Marley told her she needed to make an effort. Often Gemma thought Marley was the real parent in the Thorne household.
“Call me Simon, please.” He extends his hand to Marley. She shakes it weakly.
That’s one thing Gemma has been sure to teach Bee. The value of a strong handshake. She’ll have to work on Marley.
“Gemma’s told me all about you. Hear you’re an academic superstar,” Simon says.
Marley blushes.
“Maybe you could tutor my son. No aspirations, that boy. He’s got quite a sneaker game, though.” He’s joking, but Gemma sees a fleeting expression of sorrow dart across his face.
There’s a pause and then everybody laughs.
Bee sashays down the stairs a few minutes later. She loves a grand entrance. She’s made an
effort to make it look like she hasn’t made an effort. Subtle eyeliner. Barely there lip gloss. Torn jeans, a cami, and a shrunken sweater cling to her curves.
This is for Tom, thinks Gemma.
“Marls!” says Bee.
Bee skips across the room and gives her a big hug. Marley endures the hug and steps back a moment too soon, making her discomfort clear. There’s no warmth coming from Marley and why should there be? Bee barely acknowledges her in school. Marley’s the rare teenager who’s the same person in school as out of school.
Bee pretends not to notice. “Love your boots,” she says to Marley.
Everybody looks at Marley’s bootie-clad feet. A nice little heel. Black suede.
“Macy’s half-price sale,” says Ruth.
Gemma notes the slight rise of Ruth’s left eyebrow. Macy’s, indeed. Nordstrom or more likely Bloomingdale’s or Neiman Marcus.
“We meet again,” says Simon to Bee.
She gives him the once-over. “How tall are you anyway?”
Simon shrugs, almost apologetically. Clearly, he’s asked this all the time. “Six three.”
“You seem taller,” says Bee suspiciously.
“Hi, Bee,” says Ruth.
“Hey,” Bee says, while doing her best not to search the room for Tom. She’s a racehorse. In the gate. Pulsing with energy.
“Ruth, you look gorgeous. She always looks gorgeous,” Gemma says to Simon.
Gemma’s gushing. From confident to obsequious in an instant. She hates this about herself.
Finally, Bee can’t hold it in any longer. “Where’s Tom?”
“Sorry, he couldn’t make it,” says Simon. “Apparently, there was some important party he couldn’t miss.”
The side-eye Bee gives Gemma is deadly. Marley looks like she’s just been punched in the gut.
“Time to eat,” says Gemma. She leads everyone into the dining room. The table is set. The candles lit. “Ruth, please sit next to me.”
Ruth gives Gemma a genuine smile and Gemma relaxes slightly. All she has to do is shower Ruth with attention, and all will be well.
Did I Say You Could Go Page 12
