“His wife. I’m sure she thinks he’s Mr. Perfect, too. There ain’t no doubt about that.” Mel was drunk, slurring her words into one long statement. Beyond drunk, she was sloppy, and whether or not she had meant to, she had come clean with what she had kept locked away from her friends for over a year. She continued, her voice growing loud and uncaring. “Yep, he’s a keeper, Cara. But he ain’t mine to keep. It’s not even in the cards. God, it’s not even something I’d consider,” she scoffed, unforgiving and insensitive.
Cara stared at her, disbelieving. The tone of Mel’s voice shocked her and left her feeling ill. Stunned, she raised a hand to her cheek as if she had been slapped hard, and then released a gasp, a moan, like she’d been punched in the gut. She thought of Garin inside cleaning, righting the flat and disposing of the mess left behind by the party. He had seemed so wonderful, so sensitive and dedicated to Mel. And here he was playing some sort of game with Mel, some sort of heartless romp.
“Please, Mel, tell me you’re kidding. Please, tell me this is some sort of sick joke.”
Mel didn’t have to answer her, of course. The look on her face said it all. Smug, almost proud, as if she had nothing to hide, despite the fact that she hadn’t told any of them, not in the entire year she’d been dating Garin. She had been hiding it, without a doubt. She hadn’t wanted them to know. But when Cara pushed her, even a little, she couldn’t hold back. Enough of the secrecy, Mel was never good at keeping things to herself. It was just like her, just like her to light the fuse, stand back and watch it blow.
“Oh, my God, Mel, why? How could you?” Cara whispered harshly as if she was afraid someone might hear them. “What are you thinking?”
“What?” she scoffed. “Oh, come on, Cara, you can’t be serious?”
“Why didn’t you tell us? How long have you known?” Cara’s eyes pleaded with her. She was hoping that Mel hadn’t known all along, that she had been fooled by Garin’s dishonesty. At least that way, maybe Cara had a chance of helping Mel out of the relationship, of mending her disappointment and the broken heart that would undoubtedly ensue.
“Tell you what, Cara? That he’s married? I’ve known since the day I met him. For God sake, it’s not like it matters,” she slurred, with a laugh that she croaked out. “It’s not like I’m gonna marry the guy. Not like I’m even gonna get serious ’bout him. What difference does it make what he does when he’s not with me? I don’t want to be the one who is responsible for him.”
Cara’s head spun; the taste of bile in her throat, on her tongue. She choked it back, coughing. “But how could you? How? I mean, after all I’ve been through this year. Do you have any idea about the damage you’re causing, Mel? Didn’t you see how badly Jack’s relationship has hurt me, hurt the kids? God, after all this time, everything you said about Jack. You’re doing the same damn thing, Mel. The same damn thing.”
“This has nothing to do with you, Cara. Don’t confuse the two relationships.” Mel’s voice sobered quickly and her eyes pierced through her friend, careless. “What I have with Garin isn’t anything like what Jack did to you all those years, all the lies and cheating and time he spent away from you. It’s not anywhere close to the same thing. You wanted Jack; you had built something with him. The family unit, the white picket fence, Christmas trees and Saturday-night date nights and family vacations to Disneyland. I’m not that person. God, I’m so not that person. I’ve never wanted that with Garin.”
Cara stared at the cracks in the cement steps, the long, thin lines that ran through the stoop and disappeared down into the city street below them. She felt as if she was being punished, mocked, and by her best friend, the person she had most often confided in. She shook her head to clear the loud buzzing that had settled between her ears. Everything around her felt foreign, her legs weak. She was unable to steady herself, dizzy. She shook her head again, squeezing her eyes tight as if to block out the world.
“But, but how can you think that? He’s married, Melanie. He has a wife. It’s exactly the same thing. He has someone waiting for him at home, wondering what he’s doing when he’s not with her, wondering if he’s missing her. You have no idea what that feels like. You have no idea what it’s like to be the wife. You have no idea about how lonely that is, to watch someone give their heart to another person, and not be able to do anything about it.”
“It’s not the same thing, Cara,” Mel said again, more harshly this time. She was getting angry with Cara, unnerved by the fact that she couldn’t convince her of the simplest differences between her relationship with Garin and Cara’s relationship with Jack. It was so clear to her, so black and white. She’d never wanted Garin, not permanently, not in a way that would require her to give up her own independence, her own heart, her own soul. Certainly she couldn’t give him her soul; it had been taken so long ago.
Cara grasped Mel’s hands, holding them tightly, gripping them. “It is. It is the same thing. I don’t see how you can look at it any other way.” She pleaded with Mel, desperate.
“I don’t want Garin, Cara. I don’t want him on a full-time basis. He isn’t mine to steal or keep or even plan a future with. I wouldn’t have him even if he asked. That’s what makes it different. I don’t want something with this man that I know I can’t have. It has never been about stealing him from some other woman. I wouldn’t have a life with him even if he pleaded with me to give him that. I know he’s got a wife. I’m viscerally aware that he goes home to her. And when he does, I kiss him on the cheek and send him on his way. You think this is about you. You think I’ve fallen in love with Garin the way Barbie fell in love with Jack, and him with her. But it’s not. You can’t see it because you’re too close to it. Because you’ve been hurt by it. I’m not asking Garin to make a commitment to me. He’s not cheating on his wife. Not the way Jack cheated on you, not the way he hurt you. But you can’t begin to understand the difference. And trust me on this, Cara, there’s a big difference.”
Cara stood silent on the stoop. She had known Melanie a long, long time; one would qualify it as all their lives. And she knew that Mel’s version of commitment had always been far different from her own, that when Mel’s mother had left her it had made it nearly impossible for Mel to have a relationship, a real commitment of any kind, with just about anybody. She was afraid of being left, of being the one to be alone again. And up until now Cara had been able to overlook all of that. But now, even as she stood next to this woman that she had claimed as her best friend for as long as she could remember, she wondered if she had ever really known who Mel was at all. She wondered if Mel was the person Cara ever really knew her to be.
Cara tried again, emotion overtaking her, tears streaming down her face. The wind whipped at her hair and she pushed it back from her face, trying to tuck it behind her ears. “But when he leaves, Mel, when this little imaginary relationship of yours takes a break and he flies cross-country and goes home? Who do you think he’s thinking about? Who do you think he takes with him? When he’s gone and he’s at home, maybe on a weekend when he’s sitting around the house making breakfast or watching television, don’t you think it’s you that he’s wishing would come down the stairs to say good morning to him? God, Mel, don’t you think it’s you he takes to bed with him when he’s making love to her? Don’t you get it? Don’t you see any of that?”
The emotions ran through Cara’s blood, crawled across her skin. She wanted to shake her friend, shake her until she could see straight into the logic of it all. “No matter what you think, no matter what you think he’s capable of doing, I’m standing right here to tell you that he can’t just turn you off, he can’t leave you behind. Maybe you can do it, Mel. Maybe you can be the one to send him on his way and pretend that it’s nothing more than a fling, but trust me, he can’t. ’Cause every minute of every day that he’s with her . . . The person he’s really thinking about is you. The person he’s really comparing her to is you. Trust me on that, Mel, Trust me.”
Cara thou
ght back on the days when she knew things with Jack had gone astray, the first time she remembered making love to him and knowing that he wasn’t with her in the bed, not with his soul, anyway. She remembered what it was like to spend so many empty days and nights together when he simply had disappeared from their lives, left with his own daydreams of being somewhere else. She remembered the sick feeling she had when she knew he wasn’t working late as he’d told her but rather holed up in a hotel room somewhere, dinner and a bottle of wine, and the remnants of great sex. She remembered when sex with Jack had changed, when it was something different than it had been. She remembered the night in her bedroom when she knew she was no longer sharing it with her husband but with someone else, someone he’d brought home with him. He had kissed her differently; he had made love to her differently, his body turning a new way, taking a new position that wasn’t familiar to her. And she had been left to try and understand what had happened, how it had happened.
Mel reached for her friend. She didn’t want to talk about this anymore, not like this, on the stoop in front of her flat where their shouts echoed in the streets and came back at them like a reflection in a mirror. “Come on, Cara, let’s go inside. It’s fucking freezing out here and I need to get some sleep. We both do. You’re being ridiculous. We can figure this out later, but not now, okay? You’re upset; I get that. David Michel didn’t show tonight and your ego is bruised and we’ve all had a lot to drink. We should just go to bed and talk about this tomorrow. C’mon.”
Cara avoided her touch, pulling back, defiant and bruised. She would have liked to be anywhere but there, with anyone but Mel. She felt sick to her stomach and nauseous. How could Mel cheat on her, cheat on her like Jack had cheated on her? Mel had hated Jack for what he’d done to Cara, she’d told her so, so many times. And yet here she was; the same loaded gun.
Mel opened the heavy oak door that led into the long hall, which ran the length of the flat. Somewhere at the end of the foyer, near the kitchen, water was running. Garin was rinsing the wineglasses, setting them in neat rows on a dish towel. He had changed the music; faint sounds of jazz poured from the other end of Mel’s flat.
“Mel? Baby, are you okay?” His voice floated down the hall to them before he stepped out into the light.
“Fine. We’re fine. We’re coming in now.”
There was no way to describe it but to call it betrayal. Cara felt betrayed by both of them, mocked and embarrassed. “I can’t believe you, Mel,” Cara whispered, seething.
“What?”
“You have no remorse, do you? You don’t give a shit about his wife. What do you think this is doing to her? Do you think she doesn’t know? God, Mel, I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe you would do this.”
“Cara, honestly. What’s the difference? I told you, I am not interested in a long-term relationship with him. I’m not interested in any sort of commitment whatsoever. He knows this, too. We’ve talked about it; it’s what works for us. It’s between us, okay? I’m not taking anything away from her. It has nothing to do with anyone else. He’s free to go whenever he wants to. He owes me nothing. Honestly, honey, you’ve got to stop getting all worked up about this.”
“Does he have kids?” Cara asked her in a harsh whisper, careful not to let her voice get too loud. A lump formed in the back of her throat, choking her. She thought of her own children, of the impact that Jack’s affairs had had on Katie, how her boys had lost the man in their lives that they should be learning from, idolizing, how Claire was—how they all were—left to bounce between the two families like a Ping-Pong ball. Their wounds were like open sores, not quick to heal.
Mel sighed, annoyed and impatient. “Three,” she answered Cara, much too quickly, dismissing her question as unimportant.
“Oh, God. Oh, Mel, really, how . . . ?”
“Cara. I’m goin’ to bed. Come on, you need some sleep, too.”
“You have no idea, do you, Mel? No. I take that back. It’s worse than that. You do know.” Cara shook her head. “You just don’t care. You really don’t give a fuck.” Cara brushed past Mel in the doorway, leaving her standing in the door frame in her heels, still beautiful even at that late hour. Mel’s guest room was the third door on the right, the last room before the back of the flat opened up to the kitchen and study. Cara inched her way along the wall, steadying herself on the wall, moving as quickly as she could, wanting to run. She thought if she could just make it to the room, she could lock out the world, lock out the whole memory of the hurt and pain and embarrassment she felt when she found out Jack was cheating on her, on their family. She prayed she could make it to the room in enough time; before she broke down and the tears came rushing forth again.
Garin stepped out from the kitchen just before she reached the guest room, a wineglass in one hand, dish towel in the other. He wore an apron—one of Mel’s—over his jeans and sweater, but in stockinged feet he looked amazingly at home, as if he belonged here, as if this was his home, their home, together. Cara glanced at him briefly, barely able to make out the shape of his body through the blur that had become hot tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She felt dizzy, hot.
She pictured Jack in Barbie’s condo, what he must have looked like to Barbie’s friends, how it must have appeared to the social circles he had assimilated into long before he had left Cara, long before he had moved on from his family. She thought of how he must have known where Barbie’s dishes went, how she liked her coffee in the morning, where to place the newspaper when he was done reading it. All of this, everything, going on right beneath her own eyes for so long. And all this with Mel and Garin for so long and she had never guessed, never saw the signs that she should have been so acutely aware of. How had she missed them again?
“Good night, Cara,” Cara heard him say, clearing his throat. “It was delightful to finally meet you.”
She shut the door firmly; shut it on everything that ran the length of the hall between them. She heard Mel trip down the hall, the clickety-click of her stilettos on the cedar floor. She barely made out Mel’s voice, the unmistakable confidence that purred out of her, begging him to abandon the dishes and come to bed with her. Cara lay on the bed and let it start to spin, everything in the room moving as if she was on a boat. She squeezed her eyes together tightly, then opened them just before she thought she might vomit.
In the morning, just as the first light broke through the thick fog that blanketed the city, Cara left Mel’s house. The stench of alcohol and party followed her down the hall and out Mel’s front door. She hadn’t waited for Mel and Garin to wake and come out from Mel’s bedroom, hadn’t stopped to leave a note. Outside Cara gulped giant lungfuls of oxygen, breathing in and out deeply to avoid being sick in the street. The buzzing between her ears had subsided but had been replaced by a sharp, slick knife of a headache that cut deep across her temples and over the bridge of her nose.
She couldn’t imagine a time when she’d ever want to see Mel again.
11
The day Mel’s mother left was the first time Cara remembered having had a fight with Mel. To this day, she couldn’t remember what they’d argued about, only that it was a cold and drab and lonely feeling, like a huge wedge had been worked in between her and her best friend.
They’d walked home in silence, each of them trying to outlast the other’s stubbornness. Cara was just about to give in, to tell Mel to forget whatever it was they’d disagreed about when Mel opened the front door. The house smelled of desolation, of being abandoned. Drawers were open and empty; the pantry had been cleaned out, and most of the hangers in Bea’s closet were vacant. Bea’s car was not in the driveway. There was no note, no explanation.
It wasn’t entirely surprising that she’d gone. Dermott had been unfaithful the bulk of his marriage to Bea, and Bea had put up with his nonsense long enough to know that he wasn’t going to change. Melanie didn’t blame her mother for leaving Dermott; it was the right thing to do considering the circumstances. But
she was pissed as all get-out at her mother for leaving her. And for leaving her with Dermott. Simply unacceptable.
Truth of it was that Dermott was not her biological father. Bea had married him in a civil ceremony the week after Mel’s fifth birthday. Mel had cried through the entire thing. She said she knew Dermott was bad news from the get-go.
Dermott had never bothered to adopt Mel or claim her as his own, either. She used his last name, Paulson, for convenience sake and because he was the only father figure in her life. Only her closest friends—Cara, Leah, Paige—knew the truth. She wasn’t ashamed of it; she just didn’t get around to telling people the difference. And leaving out the details meant she wasn’t forced to come up with answers she didn’t have.
After Bea left, Dermott’s extracurricular activities followed him home like a stray dog. The women were hard looking and crass, vulgar and unrefined. The first climbed on top of Dermott one night while Mel was watching Jeopardy!—grinding her pelvis and hips into Dermott’s lap, the two of them laughing and carrying on. The next left bottles of pills and pairs of thong underwear on the kitchen counter. Still another drank so much Mel would find her passed out half-clothed, on the living room floor, leftover from whatever Dermott had done with her the night before. The first moved in like a thunderstorm, quick and in a hurry to make an impact. The next one brought duffel bags and suitcases of inappropriateness with her. They would stay for a while, then quickly pack their bags and be gone.
Dermott stumbled in and out of the house, whiskey laced on his breath, fire in his eyes. He was angry with Bea for leaving, angrier yet at Mel for still being there. Everything about Mel reminded him of the woman who had left him, burdening him with the responsibility he didn’t want.
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