Where the Grass Is Green and the Girls Are Pretty

by Lauren Weisberger

  Peyton again opened her mouth to say something, but again, Isaac cut her off. “Promise me.”

  She sighed. “I promise.”

  “No calling him back. No following up. No checks written, to him or some charity, or anyone. Promise?”

  “I said it already! I promise.”

  She’d sulked the rest of the meal, but he had either not noticed or pretended not to notice, and they’d never talked about it again.

  Now, staring at the ceiling, unable to remember a time when her even-tempered husband had been angry enough to storm out of the room, Peyton took a deep breath and acknowledged that she had broken her promise. In all their years together, she couldn’t think of a time he’d been really and truly angry with her. Life with Isaac was an adventure; he was her constant, and had been from the very beginning, starting when they were only still dating, and it was her first weekend off in months from the local Queens network where she’d been working the graveyard shift. Peyton had desperately wanted to go to a hotel, maybe order room service, and lounge near a beach or a pool for a few days. Sleep, make love, drink fruity cocktails. But Isaac had been so convincing! He was different from all the meatheads she typically dated. He was good-looking, but not gorgeous. Didn’t really care much about sports, either watching or playing them. He’d majored in philosophy at Princeton and minored in English literature. He was kind, thoughtful, and affectionate, and man, could he be adamant when he thought something was a good idea. Almost nothing could have gotten Peyton off that chaise longue and onto a filthy, smelly charter fishing boat except Isaac’s patient and persistent pleading. And even though she’d vomited for five straight hours, more than two dozen times, and was so dehydrated she’d needed to go to the emergency room for IV fluids, she still couldn’t keep from smiling at him that night as they sat on their hotel room bed, eating takeout pizza straight from the box and recounting the fish they’d caught. Peyton hadn’t planned it or thought about it, but the moment she’d blurted out the words “Will you marry me?” she knew with a thousand percent certainty that it was exactly what she wanted. For a split second Isaac looked shocked enough to fall off the bed, but then he’d scooped her up into a bear hug, sending the pizza flying onto the floor, and kissed her face. Her hair was still flecked with puke and his clothes still stank of bait and fish, but they’d agreed right then and there to do forever together.

  Forever meant forever. Through all the twists and turns that life brought. Peyton knew it, she thought, as she finished her wine and went to find her family. Isaac knew it, too. They would find a way through this. He would forgive her, wouldn’t he? The alternative was too awful to fathom.

  6

  Florals for Summer

  Max heard the low voices, the doors closing on two separate rooms. She slammed her computer shut. She had to stop obsessively refreshing the headlines across multiple sites. If it wasn’t enough that her father had gotten arrested that morning on national TV in front of the entire world and she would be forever known as the girl whose father bribed her way into college—and really, it was enough—it seemed like the only picture circulating in the media of Max was her freaking senior portrait. No matter that she had a very edgily artistic picture on the “Meet Max” section of her channel, or a whole host of carefully edited photos on her Instagram page. She closed her eyes and the photo appeared behind her closed lids: the ridiculous Milford blazer, the bouncy blowout her mother had insisted on despite Max’s protestations, the lipstick that looked far pinker in the photo than in real life. Christ, who was that person? It bore almost no resemblance to the real her, with her wild curls and bushy eyebrows and the additional three piercings she’d since gotten in her left ear. That photo was plastered all over social media, where every troll with an internet connection had something to say about it, and none of it was nice. Plus, now she had to feel like a shallow, self-obsessed snob for worrying about a photo when her entire life was falling apart in real time, but my god, she was only human and no seventeen-year-old should have to endure this level of public humiliation. Without warning, the tightness in her throat gave way, once again, to hot tears, and Max wondered how she could possibly deal with the rage she felt toward her own father.

  Her phone pinged. It was a picture of Brynn’s Cavalier King Charles puppy that her parents had bought her as a combination consolation/bribe when they’d relocated her to Hong Kong for her senior year. At the time Max had wondered how it was possible Brynn’s parents were even capable of making decisions that horrible, but if the last twenty-four hours proved anything, it was: don’t challenge parents, because they always rise to the occasion.

  Sooooo­ooooo­ cute. He’s gotten so big, Max wrote.

  He’s still peeing on my parents bed. I love him, Brynn wrote back.

  Max leaned over and looked under her bed. Cookie growled back at her ferociously. Whats it like to have a dog that doesn’t bite?

  Whats it like to understand what everyone’s saying? I’ve taken three years of Mandarin and still can barely speak a word.

  Whats it like to take a gap year and travel the world?

  Whats it like to live in a minuscule apartment with both your parents, two little brothers, and no friends/guys/life of which to speak about in this weird, weird city? I feel my situation is worse right now.

  In case you forgot, my father spent the day in JAIL because of a BRIBE FOR ME!!!!

  There was a pause, and then the three dots appeared. Yeah, you’re right. You win.

  Max grinned and Snapped back a picture of Cookie baring his teeth.

  When does he get out? Is it the same as on TV? You pay bail and he comes home? Brynn wrote.

  Max pecked back three question marks, followed by I guess so? He just got home. They’re fighting.

  Family dinner, I hope?

  Obv

  Sounds like a blast. Miss your mom’s boiled proteins and steamed vegetables.

  I’d be so out of here if only I could leave. Paps everywhere downstairs.

  Look on the bright side: you’re famous!

  Max snorted. I’m the most hated spoiled monster in all the land. Who’s going to believe I had nothing to do with this?

  She heard a knock on her door, and her heart did an extra little beat. Her mom opened the door without waiting for a response, and even amid the biggest family crisis ever, she looked like she stepped out of a fucking catalogue.

  “Hi, honey. Daddy’s showered. He’s pretty hungry, so we’re going to eat.” Her mother glanced at Max in her sweaty boxing clothes. “Do you want to shower before dinner?”

  Max had been planning to shower, but now, having been prodded like a toddler, there was no way she was going anywhere near the bathroom.

  “Nope, let’s eat now. What’d you order? Please say it’s a salad.”

  “Oh, Max. Give it a rest,” she said, eyes downcast.

  “I was joking!” Max said.

  Her mother sighed and pulled the door closed. Max climbed out of bed but couldn’t bring herself to walk into the kitchen and actually see her father. What was she going to say? What was he going to say? She’d spent the entire day playing different scenarios in her head, trying to explain how this could all be one big mistake. Intellectually, she knew she should be a rational human and accept the obvious truth. After all, it wasn’t like the FBI was known for lying. But he was her father. The one who insisted on meeting all her friends before she could go to their apartments. Who cooked every breakfast for her and who always helped with her homework and who had muddled his way through a humiliating but endearing lecture on periods and another on only having sex when you’re in love. He was the one who admitted that he, too, had experimented with drinking and weed in high school, and while he wasn’t encouraging it, he was much more open-minded about an occasional beer or joint so long as Max understood: no pills. None. Of any kind. Ever. Pills were unknown, da
ngerous, terrifying, and he’d made her swear on her life multiple times that she’d never, ever take a pill from an unknown source.

  There was no way on earth her father—who constantly harped about helping others and being kind and all that dad stuff—would have gone and done something knowingly illegal. And not only illegal, but something that had the potential to ruin her future and their relationship. It wasn’t possible. All these years it had been her mother who was so freaking hung up on college, constantly advising Max on which APs to take and charities to volunteer for and ideas for assuming “leadership positions.” Max got it. It didn’t require a PhD to see that her mother’s obsession with the Ivy League stemmed from her own feelings of insecurity in high school, when Peyton’s own parents paid more attention to Skye, who’d gone to Amherst, and treated Peyton like the sweet but slightly dumb party girl. But her dad had always talked her mom down from the ledge: Max is an excellent student; she has a wide variety of authentic interests, which means much more than mere résumé-building fillers; there are literally hundreds of incredible schools she could go to for a top-notch education and an all-around amazing experience; the Ivy League, while prestigious, is hardly the be-all, end-all. He’d said a million times that he could envision her happily ensconced in a small liberal arts college in the Northeast, or an exciting city university in Chicago or Boston, or a dedicated film school in Los Angeles. Had he been lying that entire time? Did he truly believe, like her mom, that there were only eight colleges worth attending, eleven if you added Duke, MIT, and Stanford? Did he believe it enough to pay one of those schools—his very own alma mater—to have her admitted?

  “Max, come before everything gets cold!” her mother called from the kitchen.

  She took a deep breath and walked into the eat-in kitchen. “I’m right here!” she said, taking her usual seat at the built-in banquette.

  Her father was freshly showered, but he couldn’t hide his exhaustion—it made him look haggard. And sad. “Hey, sweetie,” he said, placing his hand over hers.

  She pulled her hand away and grabbed for the salad bowl, trying not to notice his hurt expression. In addition to salad, there was a bowl of steamed broccoli, a small platter of asparagus spears and lemon slices, and three pieces of plain grilled chicken, none bigger than a deck of cards.

  “My god, I bet you got better food in the clink,” Max said.

  “Mackenzie!” her mother said sharply, but her father gave a little laugh.

  “Let’s just say they didn’t use whole wheat noodles,” he said with a smile, referencing their old inside joke. Whenever her dad would come tell her dinner was ready, Max would ask what they were eating. One totally ordinary night a few months earlier, when Max had been muddling through a brutal chem assignment, her dad appeared in her room and closed the door behind him. “Yes, there’s a salad, because your mother would divorce me if there wasn’t. And the so-called chicken parm is grilled and missing the cheese, and the marinara sauce is sugar-free. However, it is served over linguini and”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“I did not use whole wheat noodles. Repeat: did not use whole wheat noodles. Can I trust you with this information?”

  Max suppressed a sigh. My god, didn’t he get that he’d betrayed her? Should she ask him point-blank why he did it? Put him on the spot and make him explain how he could have been so insanely, madly stupid? She was just about to open her mouth when her mother said, the strain evident in her bright tone, “I can’t even explain how spectacular it was to see peonies in this quantity. I mean, they must have been flown in from Hawaii that morning. Do you think that’s possible?”

  It was Peyton’s superpower, this ability to change the subject to something benign, inane, or both. It was literally what she got paid to do, and my god, she was good at it.

  “Neither of us have any idea what you’re talking about,” Max said flatly, without looking up.

  “Remember the luncheon I was asked to speak at last week? For children’s literacy?” Peyton asked. When no one responded, she continued. “The expense of it all! For a charity event. That’s what always has me wondering. I understand the theory that without the fabulous, over-the-top party you can’t lure in the big donors, but still! It must have been hundreds of thousands of dollars in flowers, and I can’t stop thinking how far that money would go toward helping kids learn to read instead of decorating for the event that’s meant to help kids learn to read.”

  Max and her father sat in silence. Max chewed her tasteless chicken.

  “So, I’m sitting at my luncheon table, listening to Salman Rushdie read, for heaven’s sake—like that’s something you get to hear every day, right? And I can’t even concentrate on what he’s saying because these insane peonies are blooming right in front of me.”

  “Florals for summer? Groundbreaking!” Max said, and looked up, but her mother said nothing.

  Her father winked at her, but she pretended not to see. It was exactly like the wink he’d given her last week, when she’d emerged from the subway in the Financial District and handed him one of the two Yoo-hoos she’d brought.

  “Vile stuff,” he said, opening it and taking a long swig.

  “Disgusting. All chemicals.” Max drained her bottle in a few swallows.

  “Cancer in a bottle,” Isaac said, finishing his and winking at her. “Don’t ever tell your mother.”

  “Some men have affairs. Others engage in nutritional betrayals. I get it,” Max said, nodding.

  They swiped their MetroCards and ran to make the number 1 train, which had just pulled into the station.

  “How was your meeting?” Max asked, after they’d found a seat together.

  “Fine, just fine. Here, look.” He pulled out a folded sheet of paper, smoothed it on his leg, and said, “Here’s my plan. Tell me what you think.”

  He’d researched three potential fishing spots, each of which they planned to scope out, but he was most hopeful about their first stop, the Belt Parkway Promenade.

  “We have a lot to get in this summer, kiddo,” he said, his voice cracking the tiniest bit.

  Max poked him gently in the arm. “You know I’m not leaving home forever, right? It’s just college. I’ll be back. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  He smiled, but it seemed tinged with sadness. “I know. But this is the beginning of your real life. Your adult life. Of course, you’ll be back to visit, but it won’t ever be like this.”

  Max peered at him as the train hurtled into darkness, the interior lights flashing on and off. “Are you crying? Dad, I’ll only be an hour away! You can come visit whenever you want!”

  “I’m just…so proud of you. Of who you are and what you stand for. And you’re going to love college so much. I know you weren’t completely sure about it, but Princeton is going to be incredible. Literally anything you can dream of studying is available to you.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too. I’ve been emailing with a sophomore who’s currently enrolled in an Intro to Digital Arts and Culture class, and she says it’s amazing. She’s working on analyzing femininity in the digital age by studying Instagram accounts. I mean, how cool is that?”

  “It sounds incredible. I can see you loving it so much there. All that high school crap about who’s invited to what party or whatever? It’s just gone. Over. Done. You’re going to meet so many kinds of people with different backgrounds and upbringings and ideas….” He sighed. “I would do it all over again.”

  “Oh, come on! The homework, the finals, the all-nighters? You would not!”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Is being old really that bad?”

  Her father laughed. “Yes. From a learning perspective, at least in my world, I think it’s garbage. Sure, it’s great not having parents or professors tell you what to do. You can go anywhere or do anything that circumstances allow. But in the twenty-five years I�
��ve been out of college, I haven’t learned as much as I did in the first semester of my freshman year. You read, and you grow professionally, but…It’s hard to explain. The emphasis on learning for learning’s sake—for the pure pleasure of knowledge—never happened again for me.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just not a priority anymore, not with kids and jobs and mortgages and all that.”

  Max considered this. She thought of both her parents as smart, fairly engaged humans. Did they totally understand any of the social changes that were taking place in her generation? Of course not. They still expressed incredulousness when Max told them that this boy came out as gay or that girl came out as transgender, and that it wasn’t a thing. That these were un-newsworthy announcements. They struggled with the idea that people had pronoun preferences. They could not grasp the concept that a whole lot of her friends, and maybe even Max, thought of sexuality as fluid, and something that happened on a continuum, not a fixed point on a straight line. Hell, they’d probably freak out if she wanted to marry someone who wasn’t Jewish one day, despite being the least religious people she’d ever met. And they were the liberal ones! The New Yorkers! But still, when it came to politics, current events, obviously the news—her parents always put on a very impressive show. Multiple newspapers arrived every day; her father read loads of novels; her mother could name every senator from every state, and most representatives. But Max understood that wasn’t the kind of learning her father was talking about. That kind of pure, academic focus had long given way to headline scanning and endless sessions of staring at their phones. Both of them always seemed so insurmountably exhausted. Was that all parents? Or just hers?

  A notification had popped up on her phone. She swiped it open and her administrator’s page told her she’d gotten 130 new subscribers in the hour since she’d posted her last video.

  “Hey, Dad? Check this out.” She handed him her phone and pointed to the number. “That’s how many people are currently subscribed to To the Max. How crazy is that?”