Where the Grass Is Green and the Girls Are Pretty

by Lauren Weisberger

  “Grandma!” Aurora said. “This is their culture!”

  “Says the seven-year-old,” Gabe said, and everyone laughed, the ice not quite broken but beginning to melt. He climbed to his feet and gave Isaac a half hug with a shoulder thump. “Good to see you, man. It’s been a long time.”

  “You too, Gabe.” Isaac handed the sunflowers to Aurora. “Happy birthday, sweet girl! I can’t believe you’re ten today.”

  “I’m not ten, I’m seven!” Aurora shouted, appalled.

  “Seven? Not a chance. At the very least you must be nine.” Isaac laughed good-naturedly, and Peyton could feel herself beginning to relax. She watched as Isaac looked around the table, smiling at each person, until he got to Max. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said softly.

  “Hi, Dad,” Max said. The words were as flat as her expression.

  Max was flanked by Skye and Aurora, so Isaac eased himself down next to Aurora and gave her a few moments of attention, asking her serious questions about her day. Then, leaning over her, he whispered to Max, “It’s really good to see you.”

  Although she was certain no else could detect a thing, Peyton could see the slightest wobble of Max’s lower lip. This was the first time Isaac and Max had seen each other in weeks.

  Peyton lowered herself into the well area beside Isaac. She made sure her thigh pressed against his, but he didn’t seem to notice. The waitress appeared. They ordered cocktails and some starters to share—edamame, vegetable spring rolls—and Aurora very sweetly requested a Shirley Temple. Then there was silence.

  “Mom, how was Tahiti?” Peyton jumped in, addressing Marcia, who was watching the table with an amused expression. She was wearing a shapeless skirt, topped with a sleeveless shirt and a scarf, a combination that irritated Peyton for no good reason.

  “People always confuse Tahiti with the whole of French Polynesia,” Marcia began.

  “Did you bring me a present?” Aurora interrupted and everyone laughed.

  Marcia smiled. “Of course,” she said, yanking her gigantic tote from the floor to her lap. Plastic crinkled as Marcia extracted various bags and pouches within the tote, placing each on the table in front of her, along with a banana, a tin of Altoids, a sandwich-sized Ziploc full of over-the-counter medications for every imaginable ailment, a brush teeming with strands of hair, a fistful of loose receipts, and an empty M&M’s packet.

  “Here!” Marcia exclaimed, pulling out a hot-pink organza bag with a cinch tie. “This is for you, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you!” Aurora breathed, as she removed a neon woven bracelet with a tiny black bead in the middle.

  “You see that, there?” Marcia pointed to the bead. “That’s a Tahitian pearl! A real one. They’re known for their black pearls.”

  “Cooooool,” the little girl breathed.

  Marcia went back to the organza bag and pulled out more trinkets. There were Tahitian tea bags, packets of Tahitian vanilla, and woven jewelry with questionable “pearls,” which she passed around the table and, in the case of Peyton, who was sitting the farthest away, tossed.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Skye and Peyton said simultaneously, as they each took a necklace and some tea bags.

  “I got some extras of everything,” Marcia said. “For my dates.”

  “Your dates? What kind of dates?” Isaac didn’t say it meanly, but Marcia glared at him.

  “My dates as in my beaus. Or really, soon-to-be beaus,” she said, as though this clarified things.

  “What’s a beau?” Aurora asked, admiring the neon bracelet that Max had tied on her wrist.

  “Men that Grandma can travel with and kiss and love,” Marcia said matter-of-factly.

  “Aurora, sweetheart, do you want to make some wishes in the koi pond?” Gabe asked. He removed a dollar from his wallet and handed it to her. “Go ask someone who works here to give you change for this, okay? Then you can throw the coins into the water and your wishes will come true!”

  Aurora grabbed the dollar and jumped up, beelining for the curtained door.

  Skye turned to Marcia. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Marcia shrugged. “Don’t be such a prude, dear. It’s natural. And lovely.”

  Peyton laughed. “That wasn’t your perspective when you found out I was sleeping with Brian my senior year.”

  “Well, that’s because Brian looked like a derelict drug addict. I’m meeting the most fabulous men. Gentlemen, all of them.”

  “How are you meeting so many men?” Isaac asked.

  Marcia peered at him, her eyebrows arched. “I have an app! Really quite easy to use. The quality of people on it…I’ve been very impressed.” She held up her phone for everyone to see, and Max snatched it.

  “Oh my god, Grandma, this is Tinder for old people! I’m so impressed!”

  Marcia shot Peyton an I-told-you-so look.

  The waitress appeared with their appetizers.

  “Would you like to order the rest now?” the young girl asked timidly.

  “Should we keep it easy and share a mixed assortment of sushi?” Peyton asked, looking around at everyone. “Heavy on the tuna, salmon, and yellowtail, a little lighter on the more exotic stuff?”

  There were nods all around, except for Marcia. “I don’t eat raw fish!” she said loudly to the waitress, just in case the girl had a hearing problem. “I’d like an order of chicken teriyaki, please, with sauce on the side, and an order of steamed broccoli, no butter.”

  The waitress wrote frantically on her pad.

  “Also, a Diet Coke with no ice, that I’ll drink right now, and after that I’ll take a hot tea—caffeine-free, please, anything but chamomile, which I loathe—with my entrée. The chicken is all white meat, yes?”

  Peyton looked over at Skye, who was shaking her head and trying to suppress a smile.

  “Do you know if the teriyaki sauce is bottled or made in-house?” Marcia asked.

  The waitress stared at her; Marcia explained, “I find that bottled sauce has so much added sugar. I’m not diabetic, not strictly speaking, but one can’t be too careful.”

  “You are allergic?” the waitress asked. “To teriyaki?”

  “No, dear, that’s not at all what—”

  Peyton turned around to the waitress, who was standing behind her, and placed a hand on the girl’s forearm. “She’s not allergic. Don’t worry. I think that’s everything, thank you so much.”

  The girl gave Peyton a grateful look and bolted.

  “She’s traumatized,” Max said. “Grandma broke her spirit.”

  “Nonsense!” Marcia said.

  “Skye?” Isaac’s voice was tentative, nervous.

  Looking surprised that he’d addressed her directly, Skye met his gaze and moved her head ever so slightly as if to say Go on.

  Isaac coughed. “Were you able to find another investor after…Henry pulled his support?”

  Instantly it felt like someone had come in and pressed the mute button on the entire restaurant: the music, the people laughing at the adjacent bar, all of it. Peyton once again became acutely aware of the dampness under her arms.

  “Another investor?” Skye’s laugh was hollow. “Um, no, I didn’t. Not for lack of trying, but I suppose there aren’t many people walking around looking to invest over a million dollars in a residential school for underprivileged Harlem girls.”

  Skye’s words were benign enough, but her tone was dripping with uncharacteristic sarcasm. Even Max’s eyes widened across the table.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Isaac said.

  “A little late for sorry,” Skye shot back, glancing down at her plate.

  Peyton inhaled, trying to suppress a wave of nausea. It was making her physically ill, listening to Skye blame Isaac. It was enough already—she’d allowed them to live this lie for long enough. Peyton jumped to he
r feet.

  But like a flash, Isaac was standing too, next to her, tugging firmly on her wrist. “I need to speak with you,” he hissed into her ear, while he pulled her toward the exit. “Please excuse us.”

  “I can’t let them talk to you like that any longer,” Peyton whispered as soon as the heavy curtain closed behind them. “This has gone on too long.”

  Isaac was still gripping her wrist. “I appreciate that. But you and I agreed, and I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “But they’re our family. Your relationship with Max! What if Skye never forgives you?”

  Isaac’s shoulders slumped, but he merely nodded. “We’ll explain everything one day. We’ll make Max understand—even if I don’t entirely understand myself. But not now. I’m more…equipped to deal with this now. We’ve discussed this.”

  “But, Isaac, it’s sickening how—”

  He stared hard at her. “I mean it.”

  Peyton looked into his eyes, noticed how they’d recently softened more around the corners. She placed her hand flat on his chest. “Okay,” she said.

  Aurora appeared with an excited description of her hundred pennies, and she chattered as Isaac and Peyton escorted her back to the private dining room. The conversation had shifted to politics, and Peyton was happy to see Max engaged in the heated debate. Moments later the heaping trays of sushi arrived. During the meal Max, Gabe, and Marcia did the heavy conversational lifting, with a few comic additions from Aurora, but Peyton noticed that she, Isaac, and Skye were nearly mute.

  “Speaking of which,” Marcia suddenly said, although no one was speaking about anything, “I think we should acknowledge that this is someone’s quote-unquote ‘last meal’ and wish him the best in his next endeavor. Isaac, may your stay be—”

  “Mother!” Peyton interrupted at the exact same time Max said, “Grandma!”

  Marcia raised her eyebrows. “What? We’re not all capable of acknowledging reality? It feels very strange indeed to merely ignore the elephant in—”

  “That’s enough!” Peyton snapped, glaring at her mother.

  “Oh, leave her alone, Peyton,” Skye said sharply.

  Peyton swiveled to Skye, shocked at her tone. Not since they were children could she remember a time when Skye had sided with her mother.

  Gabe raised an arm. “Now, let’s all just take some deep breaths and—”

  Peyton cut him off. “And what?”

  Isaac’s voice next to her was a warning. “Peyton.”

  For a brief second the glare on Isaac’s face silenced Peyton: he stared at her with a rare intensity. But almost immediately her mind rocketed through the possibilities. What if Skye and I become estranged forever when she realizes it was me and not Isaac? Can my relationship with Max withstand this revelation? How can I continue to let my husband take the fall for this? Our marriage is already tanking; how much more can it take?

  Marcia and Max were watching the action like they were at a tennis match. Gabe was staring at his plate.

  “He didn’t do it!” Peyton whispered. The moment she uttered the words, she felt equal parts relief and horror.

  “What do you mean, ‘he didn’t do it’?” Skye asked.

  “He didn’t do it.” Peyton’s voice was much quieter now. She sounded in control, but she felt like she was spiraling.

  Max shook her head. “Mom, I love you, but you’re sounding—”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  “Peyton,” Isaac said, but he sounded more resigned than angry.

  Peyton felt the lump in her throat harden as she looked at Max. “Your dad didn’t bribe anyone. He didn’t break the law. He didn’t even know about it. It was all me. I did it.”

  * * *

  •

  “Come in,” Marcia urged. “I’ll make hot chocolate with Baileys.”

  “I can’t, Mom. I’ve got to get home and talk to Max.”

  Marcia snorted. “There’s not a chance in hell your daughter is going to speak to you tonight. Leave her be. She’ll be more willing tomorrow, or the day after that.” When Peyton didn’t respond, Marcia reached over and gently lifted her chin. “Come.”

  Nodding, she switched off the car. They walked together to Marcia’s two-bedroom on the ground floor; neither spoke as she unlocked the door and turned on the lights.

  “Go, sit. I’ll make the drinks.”

  It was a relief having someone tell her what to do, and Peyton listened. She sank into the couch, the same one from her childhood home, because why on earth would someone buy a new couch if it wasn’t broken? The place was immaculate, almost impersonal if it weren’t for the lone framed family photo on the bookshelf and the small pile of albums on the coffee table. Peyton grabbed the top album and began to flip through the pages. It was from a family trip they’d taken to the Bahamas when Max was five.

  “My god, how could that have been almost twelve years ago?” she asked, accepting a steaming mug from her mother.

  “Such a fun trip, that one. I think that was before your sister and Gabe were married? Or actually, I should say, before they were married to each other.”

  Peyton exchanged the album for another one. This one was from the year she’d graduated Penn State and gone to work at a small news channel in Tennessee.

  “Remember you helping me move into that apartment? My god, it was so grim,” Peyton said, pointing to a page of grainy photos.

  “Vile,” her mother agreed. “But you were so excited anyway. Your first job. Your first real apartment.”

  Peyton flipped through the pages. There were photos of her dressed in her Ann Taylor skirt suit for her first day; her entire team out to dinner together at a Mexican restaurant; Thanksgiving dinner back in White Plains, the very first year they’d celebrated without Skye because she had been in Uganda.

  “I was so young. So optimistic,” Peyton said.

  “You still are,” her mother said automatically, although neither was technically true.

  “Back then I couldn’t even imagine a life like I have now. How is that even possible? When did it all change?” She sipped the cocoa, and the Baileys felt like liquid warmth in her mouth.

  “You grew up,” Marcia said matter-of-factly. “It happens.”

  “Yes, but when did I change so much? Back in college and those early years, it was all about the story. I was a reporter. A journalist. The stories might not have had a national reach, but they were important to the people in these places. Now what do I do? I’m a talking head.” Peyton waved her hand, practically punching the air. “No, I’m not even that. Talking heads have their own opinions! I’m a teleprompter reader! I can read, that’s what I can do. Essentially, I’m a third grader.”

  “A very well-paid third grader.”

  “A very well-paid third grader who has still not managed to save almost anything, and who might never work again.”

  “Peyton, I’m not going to sit here and pity you; you know that’s not my style. Shit happens. Men leave. Jobs go away. People mess up. In your case, it seems like you’ve nailed all four. But so what? No one’s dead, thank god, spit three times.” Her mother spat three times. “And you’re a fighter, just like I am. It might take a little while, but everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Isaac didn’t leave,” Peyton said.

  Marcia raised her eyes.

  “We agreed to separate for the sake of appearances! Besides, it’s Max I’m most worried about. You saw how she was with Isaac when she thought this was his fault, and she actually adores him. What chance do I stand?”

  “Sweetheart, I know it can be easy to miss when it’s your own child—I think I might have missed it with you—but eventually you need to stand back and admire the person they’ve become. It’s almost never the person you wanted, or expected, them to be, but once you can see them as separate from you,
it’s pretty incredible how much you can respect them for the path they’ve chosen.”

  Peyton peered at her mother. “There is so much to unpack there, but all I’m really hearing is that I’m not what you wanted me to be, but Skye is?”

  “Yes,” her mother said, nodding solemnly. “That’s right.”

  They both burst out laughing.

  “She checked all the boxes, your sister did. Perfect grades, first-seat violin, well-mannered boyfriends, academic scholarships. Check, check, check. She was as easy a child to raise as they come. You were the exact opposite: parties, sneaking out, drinking. Those loser boys. Refusing to study. Every word out of your mouth hostile. At least, that’s how it all felt to me then. But now? I see this incredibly accomplished woman who fought like hell for everything she wanted. Who found a truly happy partnership and built the kind of career most people can’t even dream of—and, of course, had a whip-smart daughter of her own who, in a beautiful demonstration that all is right in the world, is giving her mother a run for her money.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “But that’s the point! Max is doing exactly what she should be doing—for her. Just as you did. She’s a mini you, Peyton, in all the best ways. And as for Skye—”

  “Your favorite.”

  “Yes, my favorite. All those perfect grades and violin recitals don’t mean a damn thing if you don’t listen to your own, inner heartbeat. I love Skye more than life itself, but until she realizes that she’s living in the wrong place and doing the wrong thing—for her—she’s always going to be tortured.”

  Peyton closed the album. They sat for a moment, sipping. “How did I fuck everything up?” she whispered.

  “You were selfish. You thought of yourself and not of Max.”

  She nodded, knowing that was right. “I really do think some part of me was trying to save her from what I went through. To keep her from making a stupid decision when she was seventeen that she’d regret the rest of her life.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. But you’d be lying if you said that was the only reason.”

  “When did you get so smart about this stuff?”