A Good Marriage

by Kimberly McCreight

  That was how Amanda found herself waiting by Zach’s rental car when he checked out that night. He’d acted surprised to see her there. But she was pretty sure he wasn’t. Not really.

  He’d smiled in this little boy way that made her feel so good inside, and said: “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Soon they’d stuffed her three boxes of belongings into his trunk and were hurtling west—top down, wind in their hair. Safe. Alive. Free. Overhead there was only darkness and all those stars. Amanda knew then: she’d do whatever she had to never to return to St. Colomb Falls.

  What she hadn’t ever counted on—what she’d never even considered—was St. Colomb Falls coming after her.

  Amanda picked up her pace until the Gate was finally within view, brightly lit on the corner of Fifth Avenue. The old-fashioned pub was where Sarah and Maude, and occasionally some other moms, met once every other week for drinks. It had a delightful outdoor area, one of the places where the young and child-free of Park Slope congregated—or so Sarah liked to say, her tone steeped equally in envy and disdain.

  Once Amanda was safely within arm’s reach of the Gate, she paused and looked back over her shoulder one last time. But no one was behind her, at least no one that she could see.

  Amanda spotted Maude and Sarah huddled at one of the worn mahogany booths in back. Maude’s head was tipped back, and she was laughing hard, feet tucked up on the seat next to her in a feline way. Sarah was leaning in close, saying something with one of her trademark wicked grins. Already, Amanda was glad she’d come. Snuggled back there in that dark corner were her friends. Not sister-friends, maybe, not friends like Carolyn. But friendships like that were a lifetime in the making. And after such a short time, Sarah and Maude were already so much more than Amanda ever could have hoped for.

  Amanda had met Sarah outside Henry and Case’s classroom, and they’d hit it off instantly. Amanda did best with very confident, outgoing women like Sarah who weren’t bothered by the way she looked, or how much money she had, or how fit she was. Amanda didn’t consider herself an athlete by any stretch, but she could run ten miles without much thought, and even she had to acknowledge that she was rather fast. Over the years, many women had been eager at first to be Amanda’s running partner or her coffee date or her friend. But sooner or later those women always began to eye Amanda up and down, jockeying to stand farther away from her so as not to suffer in the comparison. Inevitably, that jealousy would sharpen into something they’d used to poke at Amanda, cutting her down to size.

  Had she really not gone to college? How interesting. Had she really never been anywhere in Europe? Such a shame. Did she really have so little say in the things her husband did? How … unusual. And how old was she anyway?

  Twenty-eight. Amanda was twenty-eight years old; often as much as fifteen years younger than mothers with children Case’s age. But sometimes the gulf between them felt even greater. It felt infinite, and impenetrable.

  Standing in the doorway to the Gate, Amanda glanced down at her crisp white blouse and the platform Prada sandals the salesman at Barneys had convinced her were so very New York when she went to buy yet more clothes she hoped would be the right ones. But Amanda hadn’t clarified that by “New York” she had meant “Park Slope mom,” which was a different uniform altogether. Calculated indifference, that was the look. Park Slope moms were beautiful and fashionable and fit, but they were above caring too much about silly things like fashion. They had more important things to worry about, like causes or children or their meaningful careers. In other words, Amanda needed to master the application of the exact right amount of concealer and precise coating of mascara to appear flawlessly barefaced.

  Unfortunately, Amanda continued to make her fair share of mistakes in this regard. That was the problem with pretending to be someone—not even someone else, just someone. It was so easy to overshoot the mark.

  Amanda smiled hard as she made her way over to Maude and Sarah’s booth, pulling her long hair down and rolling up her white sleeves in an effort to appear more casual.

  “So sorry I’m late.” Amanda motioned to her outfit by way of explanation and then offered her go-to white lie. “I had a donor meeting.”

  It said so much and so little at the same time.

  “Look at the shoes, Maude!” Sarah cried, pointing at Amanda’s heels. “I love them!”

  Maude pressed up in her seat. “Let me see.” She tipped over to look. “Wow, amazing. Someday you do need to take me shopping, Amanda.”

  This was her friends being kind. They knew exactly where to shop and had the means to do so anytime they pleased. They chose not to because they, too, had more important things to do.

  Maude was an art dealer, her husband a well-respected ob-gyn, and they had a teenage daughter, Sophia, the same age as Sarah’s middle son, Will, who was a sophomore at Brooklyn Country Day—which was how those two knew each other. But the age of their children was all Maude and Sarah had in common as parents. Sarah liked to joke that Maude wasn’t just a helicopter mom, she was a kamikaze pilot. But Maude and her daughter were extremely close, and Amanda saw Maude’s hovering for what it was: love.

  In addition to having a successful business and being a devoted mother, Maude was also effortlessly sexy in a way Amanda found especially intimidating, with ivory skin with just the right smattering of freckles, intense brown eyes, and a head of long reddish-brown curls. Her husband Sebe was French, though he’d attended medical school in the States. Amanda had met him a couple times when he’d dropped Maude at the Gate. Tall and extremely well built with light brown skin and bright hazel eyes, Sebe was shockingly handsome, especially with his accent. The first time Amanda met him, she’d been unable to stop herself from staring.

  “You should see your face,” Sarah had said, laughing, once Sebe had gone.

  “My face?” Amanda had asked.

  “I mean, no judgment, but you’re drooling. Don’t worry, that was my reaction, too, the first time I saw Sebe.” She’d turned to Maude, who’d been focused on her phone. “It’s like a joke, how good-looking your husband is, Maude. And talented and charming and he births babies. And now he’s doing that tech start-up thing with the online genetics testing, what is it called again? Digital DNA or whatever. Sebe will probably also end up a billionaire. It’s almost too much to take.”

  “First of all, he doesn’t birth the babies,” Maude had corrected good-naturedly. “The women give birth. Also, he’s only a medical adviser to that company. There’s not going to be some huge payout. Anyway, he still won’t pick up his socks. Husbands are husbands, no matter what they look like.”

  “Just make sure you’re seated, Amanda, if you ever see Sebe without a shirt on,” Sarah had warned, ducking away as Maude swatted at her. “Ow, it’s true. We were at the beach when I first saw Sebe shirtless, and I almost got taken out by a rogue wave.”

  A waiter appeared before Amanda sat down. He was bearded, short, and overconfident. Amanda noticed the two beers already on the table. The people of Brooklyn were big on craft beers. Among her friends in Palo Alto, it had all been cocktails.

  “An IPA, please,” Amanda said.

  The waiter nodded begrudgingly, as though she’d saddled him with some unreasonable obligation, and then disappeared.

  “We were just discussing how our rotten children haven’t written to us from camp yet,” Sarah said. “Have you heard from Case?”

  “Case’s camp probably makes them write,” Amanda said, treading lightly. “It’s one of those extremely touchy-feely places, very West Coast.”

  Many, but by no means all, Park Slope children were gone by now. Most of the others would leave later in the summer for shorter stints at sleepaway camp. Amanda had been dead set on flying to the West Coast with Case, to get him settled. But he’d insisted on going alone. Amanda hadn’t flown on an airplane until she met Zach, much less halfway across the country alone at Case’s age. But off he went. Her son had already had such a diff
erent life than hers. He lived with the expectation that the world was a safe place. And that was a good thing, Amanda reminded herself. A very good thing.

  As soon as the first letter arrived, there was no denying Case was happy. He’d written two full pages about how exciting the flight had been and then all about how he was having the very, very best time. His only worry seemed to be that Amanda might be missing him too much, which made her feel dreadfully guilty.

  She’d already written several letters back intended to show Case how absolutely great she was doing on her own, even though that was hardly true. Amanda felt so lost without her son, that was the honest truth. But in the letters she’d insisted otherwise, writing all about how they’d have plenty of time together at the end of summer to share stories. At Sarah’s suggestion, Amanda had already rented a house in Wellfleet for the last two weeks of August, and it would almost certainly end up being only Amanda and Case. Zach didn’t like the beach. Or vacations.

  Sarah looked over at Maude and rolled her eyes.

  “I told you, Maude. Of course Amanda has already gotten letters. Case is so sweet and perfect and adoring. Honestly, Amanda, it’s disgusting,” Sarah huffed. “He holds your hand!”

  Amanda thought of Sarah’s youngest son, Henry. Sarah was right: Henry was neither adoring nor sweet.

  “You may have the best-looking husband, Maude,” Sarah went on, “but Amanda has the most perfect son. So spill it: exactly how many letters has Case sent you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know … six, maybe …,” Amanda said, though she knew exactly how many.

  Eleven. She’d gotten eleven letters in the eight days Case had been gone. It was excessive for a child to be writing home that much, but the letters were all filled with such joy and not an ounce of homesickness. It was hard to be too concerned.

  “Sophia has written a couple times from Costa Rica,” Maude said, her voice suddenly shaky. “That’s not the problem.”

  “Wait—am I the only mother here who didn’t get a fucking letter?” Sarah cried.

  “It’s what Sophia’s letters said that was the problem. She just—” Maude’s voice broke off in a way that was unusual and alarming. “Sophia doesn’t sound like herself. She sounds … depressed.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Sarah said. “Listen, Jackson wrote me horrid letters when he went on that backpacking thing in Glacier National Park. He kept begging me to come get him. Of course, he did end up sick as a dog and in the hospital with that crazy sepsis. But it was a good experience for him anyway.”

  “Sepsis?” Maude’s eyes widened. “Why are you telling me that?”

  Sarah clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” She reached forward with her other hand to grip Maude’s arm. “I didn’t mean—Sophia doesn’t have sepsis, obviously. The place I sent Jackson was essentially a penitentiary. It was his scared-straight summer, remember? They had to, like, catch their own fish, clean it, and then cook it. He probably didn’t wash his hands once the whole summer. Anyway, the camp you sent Sophia to is nothing like that, Maude. It’s run by Country Day, and you know how uptight they are. Besides, Sophia is nothing like Jackson. I mean, she might finally be acting like a regular pain-in-the-ass teenager instead of your best friend, but I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

  Maude took another sip of her beer and smiled, though she did not actually look any more relaxed. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m definitely right.” Sarah squeezed Maude’s arm once more. “Now, can we please change the subject off our children and onto something actually interesting?” Sarah’s face brightened mischievously. “Like your Sleepaway Soiree, Maude. Do you need any help?”

  “I think we’re all set,” Maude said distractedly. “The invitations have gone out, and we’re using those same caterers from Red Hook. They’ve done such a good job for so many years now. At this point, they probably don’t even need me to show up. To be honest, with everything with Sophia, this party is really feeling like—”

  “The perfect distraction?” Sarah said. Then she fanned herself dramatically. “It’s worth it to see the caterers alone. With all their tattoos and beards and hipster plaid. I’m telling you, the two brothers who own that place are everything I should have married.”

  Amanda hadn’t been invited to any party. She was sure that she hadn’t been. She shifted in her chair even as she willed herself to be still.

  “Come on, Sarah.” Maude laughed for real. “I adore them because they do a great job. But those two guys are like peacocks, always preening. You’d hate that. You like doting. Like Kerry, who is attentive and adorable.”

  “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind trying deliberately hot on for size.”

  “Didn’t you already do that once?” Maude batted her eyelashes.

  Sarah made a face. “Anyway, Amanda, you’ll see what I mean about the caterers.”

  Amanda smiled awkwardly.

  “Wait, Maude, you did invite Amanda, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, no.” Maude dropped her head into her hands. “I really have been so consumed worrying about Sophia. I used last year’s guest list! I’m so sorry, Amanda. Of course you’re invited. I’ll send you the invite tonight.”

  “And you really must come,” Sarah added. “I mean, you really, really have to. Nothing compared to what will be my fabulous cooking at Kerry’s birthday dinner, of course, or the fab holiday parties we have. But Maude’s is a party party.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “A special party. So special everyone will happily delay leaving the city for the Fourth this year to attend.”

  “Do you think?” Maude asked. “I was hoping the holiday might control the numbers.”

  “No, Maude, no one will miss it. It’s that special.”

  “What kind of special party?” Amanda asked, but only because it was obvious Sarah wanted her to.

  “We do a whole summer-camp theme. A little over the top, for sure—party favors, games, themed food,” Maude said. “We’ve been throwing these Sleepaway Soirees every year since Sophia started going away to camp, which was, what, seven years ago now? Hard to believe it’s been that long. She was so young, eight, that first summer. But she was desperate to be independent …” Maude’s voice drifted, lost again, it seemed, in worry over her daughter.

  “Okay, Maude,” Sarah quipped, glancing Amanda’s way. “But I’d say, under the circumstances, party favors are like the least interesting thing about your party.”

  “Under what circumstances?” Amanda asked obediently. “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Oh, can I tell her, please?” Sarah asked Maude. “Because you know I am dying to.”

  “Go ahead,” Maude said, rolling her eyes. “But know that whatever Sarah says is purely for shock value, Amanda. It may or may not have any bearing on the truth.”

  Sarah pulled herself tall, laid her palms flat on the table, and settled her body as if she were about to deliver a great proclamation. Her eyes remained closed.

  “Maude’s party is … wait for it … a sex party.” Sarah’s eyes snapped open gleefully.

  “Come on!” Maude shouted, but she was laughing. “That’s a ridiculous way to describe it!”

  “If by ridiculous”—Sarah was laughing, too—“you mean completely and precisely accurate, then sure: it’s ridiculous.”

  “That is not accurate,” Maude protested, but it was halfhearted.

  “I’m sorry. Do people have sex with individuals who are not their spouses every year at your party?” Sarah demanded. “Or do they not?”

  Maude made a face. “But that’s not the point of the party,” she said. “That’s what you’re making it sound like. A sex party is where everyone arrives and puts on a mask and strips naked or something.”

  “Hmm,” Sarah said with a sly smile. “Now that you mention it, maybe that would be even better.”

  Even Amanda was laughing now. They all were. Flushed and giggling, loud enough that the pudgy w
aiter looked up from the copy of My Struggle that he was reading at the bar and shot a nasty look in their direction.

  “Okay, fine,” Sarah said, her voice breathy with laughter. “Maybe ‘sex party’ is a teeny bit much, but I like the way it sounds. Besides, there is more than a grain of truth to it.”

  Maude looked down. “Okay, the truth is this: Sebe and I open the upstairs of our home during our annual Sleepaway Soiree for consenting adults to make use of as they see fit. Do people on occasion have sex with people who are not their spouses, while their children are hundreds of miles away at camp? Perhaps they do.”

  “Please, you know they do, even if they all deny it afterward. And you have to explain why you decided to offer this public service. You need to give context.” Sarah motioned to Amanda. “Tell Amanda. She’s a safe space, Maude. Trust me.”

  “I don’t need to do anything, Sarah,” Maude said sharply, and for a moment she seemed actually annoyed. But just as swiftly her face softened. “Sarah likes to talk about my sex life because hers is uptight.”

  Sarah held up her hands. “Guilty as charged. That is definitely why,” Sarah said. “Although technically, I’m not the uptight one. Kerry is.”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Amanda said. “Really.”

  Maude hesitated for a moment. Finally, she exhaled heavily, her shoulders sinking. “No, no, it’s fine. You’re a close friend. Sebe and I occasionally have sex with other people. We always have,” she said. “I could use all sorts of euphemisms, but that’s what it is. And that’s all that it is. We have our own boundaries and our own rules and it works for us. I don’t know that it would work for everyone. In fact, I’m sure it wouldn’t. And, no, Sophia doesn’t know about it. Not because we think it’s wrong or bad, but because it’s gross to talk about your sex life with your fifteen-year-old, no matter how close you are.” Maude’s face had tensed again. “Or at least, I don’t think she knows … Anyway, I don’t want her to. I don’t want her thinking an open relationship is all she’s entitled to. If that’s what she wants, then fine. That’s a different story. It was a thing I had to talk Sebe into, not the other way around. Anyway, that’s why this is the last year for the party.”