“David,” she said sharply, “did something happen between you and Allie? Did you two have some sort of fling?” She thought of the very first comment Allie had made to David back in the lounge: “Good to see you”—and then there was a pause—“again.” Again?
“When?” he shot back.
And that was when Jennifer snapped the puzzle pieces together. Oh, my God. When? as in Which time?
“At the end of our senior year, David. And, again, I suspect. Sometime more recently.” She wrenched her hand away from his. “Right?”
He halted in the middle of the sidewalk, not more than a few yards away from a constellation of trees in one of the small quads. He tugged her into the shadow of a massive oak and leaned close to her. “Jenn,” he whispered, his voice urgent. “Don’t waste time thinking about Allie. She’s irrelevant. I’ve missed you. How do I get you to understand that? To understand that nothing else matters?”
He positioned her so her back rested against the tree trunk, jagged bits of bark pressing unevenly into her thin jacket. He leaned closer still until his lips connected with hers. Until he had slyly managed to reenact a scene from their senior year in college, one she remembered distinctly.
They had kissed here before. Right at that very spot. On a night like this one, not long before their Thanksgiving break when they knew they would be apart for a whole week. As David’s lips moved against hers, that past night and this present one merged. She didn’t resist him at first because, well, it was so strangely familiar. Almost not like a new scene at all. They were merely picking up—across the dimension of time—where they had left off.
And then, that very familiarity became creepy. The moment turned a shade peculiar, and the oddness of this recognized duality twisted in her gut, like a coin flipping sides.
She pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him gently away. “Did you have a fling with Allie?” she asked him again. “Ever? At any time?”
He took a step backward and exhaled heavily. “Look, a few years ago, we had a brief…tryst, I guess you could call it. We’d gotten in contact again—I can’t even remember how that happened now. But she’d just gotten divorced and my marriage really sucked and, so…” He tried to shrug it off. “It made me realize how much I missed you, actually. I think I was trying to substitute Allie for you.”
His dark eyes bored into her, his ultra-earnestness a poisoned-tipped bayonet. She closed her own eyes for a moment so she wouldn’t have to cope with the duplicity. Then she opened them and met his gaze. “And were you trying to substitute Allie for me right before graduation, too?”
He shook his head too vigorously. “No, Jenn, look—”
“Tell me the truth, David. Or I’ll ask her myself.” She pointed in the direction of the Vat Building. “I know Allie will tell me if you two slept together back then. Gleefully, I’m willing to bet. And in front of the whole CPU gang.”
He grunted and swiveled away from her. “Fine. Yes—okay? But just one time. It was a dumb thing. A reaction. I don’t know what it was. Anyway, it was a really long time ago. It doesn’t matter.”
She laughed because, truly, this was ludicrous. Did he really not recognize how he had handed her the perfect counterargument? Did he not see, as she did so clearly now, what a little fool she had been…and, in some ways, still was? Maybe he was counting on her to continue her streak of idiocy because he just kept staring at her, his expression one of pathetic pleading.
“David, we were a really long time ago, too,” she said, surprising even herself with the levelness of her voice given the news she had just been dealt. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter. It’s over. We’re over. In fact, we’ve been over for more than eighteen years. We need to say good night and go home.”
She stayed facing him, awaiting his inevitable argument, but in her mind, she sprinted through all the reasons (even putting aside his involvement with Allie) that had clarified their incompatibility to her already that fall:
The way he had tried to subtly undermine her relationship with Michael and to downplay the significance of his own numerous deceptions to his wife.
The way she had seen him relishing every moment of his club-president omnipotence and trying to recreate the world where she and all their friends revolved around him. A means of bolstering his ego and tapping into the vitality of a now-diminished youth.
The way he had chosen to assert what little potency he had retained with an air of entitlement that wasn’t the least bit kind or attractive, in her opinion.
And, in answer to Lexi’s excellent question, the way he had repeatedly proven he didn’t have her best interests in mind. Not then. Not now.
“Please, Jenn. We’re not through with each other yet. There’s unfinished business between us. You felt that kiss, didn’t you? It felt so right. We’re so right together. We get each other. You can’t deny that.”
David was smart, yes. He understood her on many levels—certainly enough to manipulate her well—but he only ever did what he thought was good for himself. Not for her. Not for his wife. Not even for stray lovers. Michael at least demonstrated putting her and the girls ahead of his own needs sometimes. Many times, she realized. She couldn’t help but be grateful to him for that. To wish she’d shown him much more appreciation for this trait.
“I’m not denying that, David. I’m not denying anything. I just think we want very different things out of life, and one of the things I want is my family.”
He slanted her a speculative look, and said, “The two don’t have to be incongruous. I mean, I love my kids, too. We can be together, you and I, and still be good parents and pretty good spouses—if we’re careful. It’s not like your husband and my wife are such great prizes, right? It’s not like they understand us like we deserve to be understood.”
She stared at him, amazed the man could look so normal on the outside (with trim abs even) and, yet, be such a pathological liar and all-around bastard. Jennifer was pleased with herself for attaining an undeniable sense of certainty about that. And a sense of peacefulness. She would no longer be haunted by the end of that relationship.
“It’s incongruous for me, David. So, I don’t think we have any unfinished business left now. Really. Good night…and goodbye.”
She spun around and half walked, half jogged back to her car, breathing deep yoga breaths and saying farewell to each building on campus as she passed it. So long, Vat Building. Bye-bye, Weaver Center. Adios, Thomas Jefferson Hall. David, she was relieved to discover, was intelligent enough not to follow her. And as she slipped into her car and turned the ignition, she knew this part of her life was officially, finally, thankfully over.
She drove home without even the comfort of the radio. She found herself tuning in to something different—something internal—but the signal was coming in kind of fuzzily still. She didn’t want too many distractions from it, even though it kind of felt more like indigestion than intuition.
But, also, it was late, she was tired and she wanted to be near those she loved. Her daughters, of course, but Michael, too. Despite his negative feelings toward the “massively bad guy” from her past, she was thankful he didn’t try to physically prevent her from going to see David. Whether Michael realized it or not, it was a necessity for her. And, God, what she’d learned. It sure took her long enough….
Of course, the problem remained that she still really didn’t know what Jennifer World was like when she was alone. She had never taken the time to experience it, which was her fault, perhaps, but if she didn’t do it soon, she would still be to blame. She also wouldn’t be doing Michael or even her daughters any favors. She had been a poor guide for Veronica and Shelby lately. She wasn’t helping them navigate adolescence well at all. This, she realized, couldn’t happen if she didn’t know herself. If she just kept blending into whatever environment appeared before her.
Jennifer left her overnight bag in the car and walked into the house, surprised to find Michael still awake at
eleven-thirty. He was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise type and, considering how drained he looked, he should’ve gone to bed at ten.
“Hi,” she said.
He raised his hand in a faint wave but didn’t speak. With their relationship issues unresolved but at least out in the open, he hadn’t been as susceptible to breaking things lately, nor was he as inclined to walk on eggshells around her anymore. She understood this. She gathered he had spent the day trying to shield and reassure their daughters but, by this late in the evening, he was weary. And still very angry with her.
“You’re still up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He paused. “You’re back, I see.”
“Yes, I’m back. And, Michael, you were right about something. David is not a great guy. I knew that before, actually. I remembered it, but tonight…I remembered a lot of other things, too. I wanted to see what it was like to be back in the same place with everyone again.”
“And?”
“And mostly it was sad. Mostly it was a lot of people wishing they were twenty years younger and they had their choices to make all over again.”
He bobbed his head once or twice. “Human nature.” But something in his eyes brightened a bit. They didn’t have quite the sheen of exhaustion and despondency as when she had first walked in. “So, where are you now? Did you get all that out of your system?”
Something about the way he said this rubbed her the wrong way. They were just words, but it was the implication that she’d been completely mistaken that bothered her. She’d made plenty of mistakes, yes, but not everything she’d reacted to in the past few months was erroneous. And not everything that was a problem in their marriage was because of her ex-boyfriend.
“I won’t be seeing David again. Not anytime soon. Probably not ever,” she told him. “If that’s what you’re wondering. I spoke with another old friend of mine tonight, though. Lexi. And she and I might get together for lunch sometime.”
He shrugged as if to say “Whatever.”
“And as for ‘getting all that out of my system,’ I’ll have to get back to you on that. I still don’t know what’s in my…system. Or how it works.” Then, for the first time in months, since David’s original message on August thirteenth, to be precise, she was being honest enough to look her husband in the eye. And she felt—yes, actually intuited—that he knew she was no longer their family chameleon.
21
The Trio
Friday, November 19
They arrived at the Indigo Moon Café within five minutes of each other. This time, Tamara got there first, a penitent look on her face and a preorder of three lattes and three big hunks of pecan-caramel coffee cake (the November special) on their table.
“What’s this for?” Jennifer asked, when she walked in next.
And Bridget, who whisked herself to the table a moment later, exclaimed, “Oh, my goodness. Those look like they have a million calories! Who ordered already?”
“I did,” Tamara said. “It’s my apology for accidentally skipping out on you two last week.”
Was an act of contrition necessary? Bridget thought.
And Jennifer was on the verge of saying, “So, why—really—did you skip out on us?” But Tamara shot her a please-don’t-ask look and pointed to the table. “Try the coffee cake, you guys. It’s good.”
So, they all sat down, started nibbling and began their customary chitchat routine…their focus on the usual, predictable subjects, which created a visible degree of ease and emotional weightlessness:
Benji was going to be coming home on Monday, just as Jon was leaving for a few days, but both would be there for Thanksgiving.
Bridget took Evan to the doctor for more follow-up tests, all of them seeming to confirm a diagnosis of celiac disease, which, while good to know, would mean a lifetime of restrictive diets for her son.
Jennifer’s daughters were withholding information, especially Veronica, and this was causing parental concern.
And so on and so forth for the first twenty minutes.
They were interrupted only once, by the owner, who’d stopped by their table to ask how they liked the new coffee cake.
“It’s delicious,” Bridget enthused.
Tamara and Jennifer agreed, but Tamara couldn’t help but roll her eyes when Gordon Lightfoot began his 1970s lamentation of “If You Could Read My Mind.”
“The cake’s excellent,” she told the man, “but is there any chance we could bribe you into changing the radio station? I’d take eighties, nineties, alternative, Elvis’s greatest hits, anything else.”
The owner shook his balding head. “No can do, ma’am. The wife loves this station. Only one she’ll listen to.”
“But why?” Tamara had lived through the seventies. Year by agonizing year. She’d had more than enough of its music before the decade ended.
“She says they knew how to write about real heartache back then. She says it’s way better than that whiny stuff on the radio today.” He leaned closer to Tamara and pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “I’d rather listen to Smashing Pumpkins myself, but I’m gonna give her what she wants, you know? I need her here. She’s the one who bakes.”
Tamara couldn’t think of a counterargument to that, so she shrugged and the owner smiled at her. Then he walked off to the next table.
Bridget, who shared neither Tamara’s resentment for the music nor Jennifer’s affinity for it, felt she had a lot to be thankful for and expressed her excitement over the upcoming holiday. “It’s more of a challenge now to cook recipes Evan can eat,” she said. “There are a bunch of traditional dishes he just won’t be able to have anymore, like the bread pudding, but I’m having fun coming up with things he can enjoy. It’s going to be a pretty big crowd this year.”
Jennifer, who thought Bridget’s overly packed house for every national and religious holiday was just a few millimeters short of a screaming nightmare, couldn’t help but ask, “How many people are coming?”
Bridget stared into space and started counting, her left thumb touching each finger as she named a family cluster. “Well, there’s my brother’s family, my two sisters and their husbands and kids, my parents, my Auntie Barb and the five of us…so, about twenty-two, if everyone shows up.”
Tamara groaned. “You’re cooking a full Thanksgiving dinner for all of them? Good God, you’re insane.”
But Bridget shook her head. “No, it’s the best. Everyone’s together. We’ve all changed a little since the last time we saw everybody, but not so much that we don’t recognize each other. We can catch up on news. Spend a few hours with my parents and my aunt, who are getting older. Well, I guess we all are.” She smiled faintly. “And I have a captive group of taste-testers at my disposal for my latest recipe acquisitions—like Turkey Tetrazzini al Formaggio and Sweet Potato Dumpling Bake. It’s gonna be awesome.”
“Knock yourself out, sister,” Tamara said.
Bridget knew this wasn’t a passion her friends would understand, but, oh, Dr. Luke did! Just yesterday at the dental office, she was flipping through one of her newest cookbooks, A Tasteful Thanksgiving, when he stood behind her at the desk and looked over her shoulder as she perused some possible side dish selections.
“How about those?” he said as she turned to the page with recipes for Spinach-Stuffed Zucchini and a very healthy looking Autumn Squash Casserole.
She used a purple Post-It Note to tag the page, but then she saw a picture for the delectable Wild Rice Stuffing on the other side. Oh, and Savory Corn Pudding. Hmm. She skipped to the next page—Brandied Pumpkin Pie!—but before she could even point to it, Dr. Luke said, “Oooh, that one.”
“Or maybe the Sherry-Soaked Cranberry Cake?” she suggested, tapping the picture on the facing page. She shot a look back at him and they shared a moment of enchanted expectation. So many possibilities.
“Or both,” they said together, laughing. It was like being at the Italian restaurant with him all over again. Like kids playing with an Ea
sy-Bake Oven. Like a free pass back to the imaginary creations and simple pleasures of childhood. No wonder she didn’t want to let go of him.
Then, with one eye on her and another on the door, he added, “And you can invite me over for it, too.”
It occurred to her then that, perhaps, this was something Dr. Luke missed as well. The whimsy of childhood, the sense of inclusion…both of which often seemed to dissipate into the overpowering mist of the adult world. That their ability to have reclaimed a bit of that joy together—in the course of their short friendship—was rare.
“We’d love to have you join us, you know,” she said, hoping she projected the earnestness she felt. “Do you have plans for Thanksgiving Day?”
Again, his eyes strayed to the door. Graham had popped into the office as a “surprise” more than once this month, and Dr. Nina would just as soon grimace as grin at someone if she walked in. “I’m afraid I do,” he said with a gentle smile. “My sister and her family have slotted me into a place at the kids’ table already, but thank you.”
He was absentmindedly fingering his gold cross, and Bridget remembered something he’d told her one day in passing. That there were times that shook a person’s faith. He said he knew all about that. But he also said people needed to do whatever they could to get it back, and being with those they loved and those who loved them in return always helped. “It’s fun just imagining what you’ll come up with next week,” he added. “Your creativity with food astounds me.”
“Another time, then,” she said. “Promise?”
“Yes,” he said. “I promise.”
Bridget embraced his words—“your creativity with food astounds me”—and, through them, finally found the courage to give voice to the dream she had held silently but hopefully within her for so many years.
To Jennifer and Tamara that day, she explained, “This is really what I want to do with my life. I want to go to culinary school. I want to cook complicated things for people.”
Friday Mornings at Nine Page 32
