“Nothing exciting,” Nellie said lightly. “Is it time for another shot?”
Samantha laughed and signaled the waiter.
“Has he told you where you’re going for the honeymoon yet?” Marnie asked.
Nellie shook her head, wishing the waiter would hurry up with the fresh round of tequila. The problem was, Richard wanted to keep the destination a surprise. “Buy a new bikini” was all he’d say when she begged for a hint. What if Richard was taking her to a beach in Thailand? She couldn’t endure twelve hours on a plane; even the thought made her heart pound.
In the past weeks, in two of her unsettling dreams, she’d been trapped aboard turbulent flights. In the latest one, a panicked attendant had raced down the aisle, yelling for everyone to tuck themselves into the crash position. The images were so vivid—the attendant’s wide eyes, the bouncing jet, the thick roiling clouds outside her tiny window—that Nellie had awoken gasping.
“A stress dream,” Sam had said the next morning as she applied mascara in their tiny bathroom and Nellie reached over her to grab her body lotion. Sam, always the therapist’s daughter, loved analyzing her friends. “What are you anxious about?”
“Nothing. Well, flying, obviously.”
“Not the wedding? Because I’m thinking the flying is a metaphor.”
“Sorry, Sigmund, but this cigar is just a cigar.”
A fresh shot of tequila appeared in front of Nellie and she downed it gratefully.
Sam caught her eye across the table and smiled. “Tequila. It’s always the answer.”
The next line in their routine sprang from Nellie’s lips instantly: “Even if there isn’t a question.”
“Let me get another look at that rock.” Josie grabbed Nellie’s hand. “Does Richard have a hot, rich brother? Just, you know, asking for a friend.”
Nellie pulled her hand back, hiding the three-carat diamond under the table—she always felt uncomfortable when her friends made a fuss over it—then laughed. “Sorry, only an older sister.”
Maureen was coming to New York for the summer, as she had in past years, to teach a six-week course at Columbia. Nellie was finally going to meet her in a couple days.
An hour later, the waiter had cleared their plates and Nellie was opening her presents.
“This one’s from Marnie and me,” said Donna, an assistant 4s teacher, handing Nellie a silver box with a bright red bow. Nellie pulled out a black silk teddy as Josie released a wolf whistle. Nellie held it up against her body, hoping it would fit.
“Is that for her or Richard?” asked Sam.
“It’s gorgeous. I’m sensing a sexy-night theme here, ladies.” Nellie laid it next to the Jo Malone perfume, position-of-the-day playing cards, and body-massage candles she’d already unwrapped.
“Last but not least.” Sam handed Nellie a gift bag containing a silver picture frame. Inside was a thick piece of ecru paper and a poem printed in italics. “You can take the paper out and put in a wedding photo.”
Nellie began to read aloud:
I remember the day I met you, the way you won my affection
You gave me Advil for my hangover at the Learning Ladder; we had an instant connection
It was your first job in New York City, and your path I did lead
Showing you the best spin studios and where to find the closest Duane Reade
I taught you the ropes, like how to stay on Linda’s good side
And about the secret supply closet, for when you just needed to hide
We soon became roomies in an apartment with bugs
Overflowing with makeup, magazines, and kids’ decorated mugs
You were late with the rent—let’s face it, you’re not good with money
And I’m a bit messy—always leaving out my mugs and honey
Over the years you’ve taught kids how to count and to write
And how to use their words, not their hands, when they begin to fight
Every day we worked hard—couldn’t the parents tell we were trying?
Still sometimes we’d get yelled at, and then we’d just start crying
We’ve been together for an amazing five years
We know each other so well—our hopes and our fears
You got engaged and Linda bought you a fancy cake with many calories
How ironic that it cost more than our combined salaries
You’re moving out soon and I worry I might sink
At the very least I’m sure it will drive me to drink (ahem, more)
But when you’re walking down the aisle wearing something old and new
Please know that you’ll always be my best friend and I really love you.
Nellie could barely finish the poem. It brought her back to her early days in the city, when she’d been desperate to put distance between herself and all that had happened in Florida. She’d traded palm trees for pavement, and a loud, busy sorority house for an impersonal apartment building. Everything was different. Except the memories had followed her across the miles, draping around her like a heavy cloak.
If it hadn’t been for Sam, she might not have stayed. She could still be running, still trying to find a place that felt safe. Nellie leaned over the table and gave her roommate a tight hug, then wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Sam. I love it.” She paused. “Thanks to all of you. I’m going to miss you. And…”
“Oh, stop, don’t get sappy. You’ll only be a train ride away. We’ll see you all the time. Only now you’ll always pick up the tab,” said Josie.
Nellie let out a small laugh.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Samantha pushed back her chair. “The Killer Angels are playing at Ludlow Street. Let’s go dance.”
* * *
Nellie hadn’t smoked a cigarette since her last year of college, but now, three Marlboro Lights, three tequila shots, and two glasses of wine later, she had been dancing for hours and could feel a trickle of sweat running down her back. Maybe leather pants hadn’t been the wisest choice. Across the room, a cute bartender was wearing Samantha’s veil and flirting with Marnie.
“I almost forgot how much I love to dance,” Nellie shouted over the pulsing music.
“And I almost forgot what a terrible dancer you are,” shouted back Josie.
Nellie laughed. “I’m enthusiastic!” she protested. She lifted her arms over her head and did an exaggerated shimmy before spinning around in a circle. Halfway through her spin, she froze.
“Heya, Nick,” Josie said as a tall, slim guy in a faded Rolling Stones concert, circa 1979, T-shirt and dark wash jeans walked up to them.
“What are you doing here?” Nellie asked, belatedly realizing her arms were still above her head. She pulled them down and folded them across her chest, aware of how her damp tank top was clinging to her body.
“Josie invited me. I moved back a few weeks ago.”
Nellie glared at her friend, and Josie made a mock-innocent face and shrugged, then melted away in the crowd.
Nick had waited tables alongside Nellie for a year, until he moved to Seattle with his band. Slick Nick, they’d all called him, although a few heartbroken women in his wake had modified it to Nick the Prick. He was the hottest guy Nellie had ever dated—although “dated” wasn’t an accurate description of their encounters, since most took place in a bedroom.
Nick’s black hair was shorter now, emphasizing his sharp cheekbones. Any one of his features—his blunt nose, his heavy eyebrows, his wide mouth—might have been overpowering alone, but together, they all worked. They worked even better than Nellie had remembered.
“I can’t believe you’re engaged. It seems like we were just hanging out.…” He reached over and slowly ran his hand up her bare arm.
Her body responded instantly, even though she pulled her arm away and took a step back.
How predictable that Nick was interested in her again now that she was taken. He’d stopped answering her texts about two minutes after he left the city. He’d always like
d a challenge.
“Happily engaged. The wedding is next month.”
Nick’s heavy-lidded eyes appeared amused. “You don’t look like someone who’s about to get married.”
“What does that mean?”
Someone bumped into her from behind, pushing her closer to Nick. He curved an arm around her waist. “You look hot,” he said softly, his lips so close to her ear that the dark stubble on his chin tickled her skin. “The girls in Seattle don’t compare to you.”
She felt a tug in her lower stomach.
“I’ve missed you. Missed us.” His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt to rest against her lower back. “Remember that rainy Sunday when we stayed in bed all day?”
He smelled like whiskey and she could feel the heat of his taut body through his T-shirt.
The pulsing music and heat of the crowded room made her feel dizzy. A strand of her hair fell into her eyes and Nick smoothed it away.
He bent his head slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “One last kiss? For old times’ sake?”
Nellie arched her back to look up at him and offered him her cheek.
He gently cupped her chin, turned her mouth toward his, and kissed her softly. His tongue grazed her lips and she parted them. He pulled her tightly against him and she let out an involuntary groan.
She hated to admit it even to herself, but although sex with Richard was always good, with Nick, it had been great.
“I can’t.” She pushed him away, breathing harder than when she’d been dancing.
“C’mon, baby.”
She shook her head and walked toward the bar, squeezing between people and flinching as a man’s elbow bumped into her right temple. She stumbled over someone’s foot.
Eventually, she reached Marnie, who flung an arm around her shoulders. “Tequila time?”
Nellie winced. She’d been so busy talking at dinner that she’d only eaten one slice of pizza, and she’d had just a salad for lunch. She felt a little nauseous, and her feet ached from dancing in heels. “Water first.” Her cheeks were burning and she fanned herself with one hand. The bartender nodded, his veil bobbing, and began to fill a tall glass from a spigot.
“Did Richard find you?” Marnie asked.
“What?”
“He’s here. I told him you were dancing.”
Nellie whipped around, scanning the surrounding faces before she finally spotted him across the room.
“Be right back,” she said to Marnie, who was leaning over the bar, clinking a shot glass with the bartender.
“Richard!” Nellie called out. She hurried toward him, slipping on the sticky floor just as she reached him.
“Whoa.” He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Someone’s had a lot to drink.”
“What are you doing here?”
A purple light washed across his face as the band launched into a new song. Nellie couldn’t read Richard’s expression.
“I’m leaving.” He let go of her arm. “Are you coming with me?” He’d seen. She knew by the way he held himself; his body was still, but she could sense energy churning within him.
“Yes. Let me just say good-bye.…” She’d last noticed Sam and Josie on the dance floor, but now she couldn’t spot them anywhere.
She glanced back toward Richard and saw he was already headed for the exit. She ran to catch up with him.
He didn’t speak once they were outside—not even after he’d hailed a cab and given the address of his apartment.
“That guy—I used to work with him.”
Richard stared straight ahead so that she was looking at his profile, just as she had on the drive only a few hours earlier. But then his hand had been resting on her thigh; now he sat with his arms folded rigidly across his chest.
“Do you greet all your former colleagues with such enthusiasm?” Richard’s tone was so formal it chilled her.
Nausea rose in her gut as the cabdriver lurched through traffic. She put a hand over her stomach, then pushed the button to roll down her window a few inches. The wind whipped at her hair, slapping it across her cheek.
“Richard, I pushed him away.… I didn’t…”
He turned and faced her. “You didn’t what?” he asked, enunciating every word again.
“Think,” she whispered. She’d been wrong: He wasn’t furious. He was hurt. “I am so sorry. I walked away from him and I was about to call you.”
That part was a lie, but Richard would never know.
Finally, his face softened. “I could forgive you for just about anything.” She began to reach for his hand. His next words stopped her: “But do not ever cheat on me.”
Even when he’d been on contentious business calls, she’d never heard him sound so absolute.
“I promise,” she whispered. Tears sprang to her eyes. Richard had picked out an exquisite home for her. He’d sent her an email earlier that day asking if she thought their guests would like passed hors d’oeuvres or a buffet at the cocktail reception between the wedding ceremony and the dinner. Or both? he’d written. He’d worried when she hadn’t answered his text—he knew she wouldn’t feel secure entering her dark apartment alone late at night. So he’d come to find her and make sure she was safe.
And in response she’d kissed Nick, who’d dated half the women at Gibson’s and who probably couldn’t remember her last name.
Why had she risked so much?
She wanted to marry Richard; this wasn’t cold feet.
But Nick had been unfinished business. In spite of his practiced charm, Nellie knew Nick had a tender side. She’d heard him at Gibson’s talking on the phone to his grandmother. He hadn’t known Nellie was rolling silverware into napkins just around the corner. He’d promised to bring his nana chocolate-chip cannoli and watch Wheel of Fortune with her the next night.
Nick was also the first man she’d slept with since leaving college. She’d stopped thinking about him even before she met Richard. But when Nick had leaned toward her on the dance floor, she’d relished that glorious moment of knowing how much he wanted her. Of feeling the power shift into her hands.
She wished it was as simple as blaming it on the shots. The truth wasn’t pretty.
For a brief, rebellious moment, she’d embraced spontaneity over steadiness. She’d wanted one last taste of the city before she settled into the suburbs.
“I’m so glad you came and got me,” she said, and at last she felt Richard’s arm wrap around her.
She drew in a deep breath.
She’d always regret certain decisions in her life, but choosing Richard would never be one of them.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning her head against his chest. She heard his steady heartbeat, the one that lulled her to sleep when nothing else could.
She’d had the sense for a while now that a deep pain was in his past, one he held so closely he hadn’t yet shared it with her. Perhaps it had to do with his ex, or maybe his heart had been broken even earlier.
“I won’t ever do anything to hurt you.” She knew that even on their wedding day, she’d never make a more sacred vow.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
I TURN MY HEAD to see the silhouette of Aunt Charlotte, backlit by the hallway globe, as she stands in my doorway. I don’t know how long she has been there, or if she noticed I’ve been staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Feeling better?” She walks into the room and pulls open the blinds. Sunlight floods in, and I wince and cover my eyes.
I told her I had the flu. But Aunt Charlotte understands the intertwining of emotional and physical health—how the former can ensnare the latter, suffocating it like a thick vine. After all, she had taken care not only of me, but of my mother during her episodes.
“A little.” But I make no move to get up.
“Should I be worried?” Her tone navigates the edge between playfulness and sharpness. It is familiar; I remember it from when she’d help my mother out of bed and into the shower. “Just for a
little while,” she’d cajole, her arm around my mom’s waist. “I need to change the sheets.”
She would’ve been a wonderful parent, Aunt Charlotte. But she never had children; I suspect all those years of nurturing my mother and me had something to do with why.
“No, I’m going to work.”
“I’ll be in my studio all day. I’ve got a commission for a private portrait. This woman wants a nude of herself to give to her husband to hang over her fireplace.”
“Seriously?” I try to inject energy into my tone as I sit up. Like a throbbing toothache, thoughts of Richard’s fiancée dominate every other aspect of my life.
“I know. I don’t even like the communal dressing area at the Y.”
I muster a smile as she starts to leave the room. But then she bangs her hip against the edge of the dresser by the doorway and releases a little cry.
I leap out of bed, and now it’s me with my arm around Aunt Charlotte’s waist, guiding her toward a chair.
Aunt Charlotte brushes off my arm and my concern. “I’m fine. Old people are clumsy.”
And suddenly, the realization pierces me: She is getting old.
I get her ice for her hip over her protests, then I make us some scrambled eggs, mixing in cheddar cheese and scallions. I wash the dishes and wipe down the counters. And I hug Aunt Charlotte tightly before I leave for work. The thought strikes me again: I have no one in the world but her.
* * *
I’m dreading seeing Lucille, but to my surprise, she greets me with concern: “I shouldn’t have encouraged you to come in yesterday.”
I notice Lucille’s eyes linger on my Valentino tote. Richard brought it home for me one night just before he left for a business trip to San Francisco. The leather is slightly worn around the clasp; the bag is four years old. Lucille is the type of woman to observe such details. I see her take it in, then look at my old Nikes and my bare ring finger. Her eyes sharpen. It’s as if she is really seeing me for the first time.
The Wife Between Us Page 7
