The Cast

by Amy Blumenfeld

  “We should probably wrap this up,” I said, waving the Tupperware lid in my hand. “I think it’s safe to say it has been a memorable night.”

  Sal smiled. Together we lifted the blankets from the grass, folded them up, and packed them away.

  Chapter 14: Seth

  Had Lex been one of the many women I met as a single guy in New York City, I would have known exactly how to play the game. I would have transformed my attraction into something tangible—a first kiss, an official date. There would be no need to second-guess her tendency to touch my arm when we spoke, or wonder why she held her gaze a split second too long when she smiled at me, or question her intentions when she slid her hand down the back pocket of my jeans at Tanglewood. None of it would have been a mystery. But with Lex, everything was gray.

  “I’ll come with you” were the words that ignited an internal ricochet of nervous excitement when we returned to Jordana’s house and Lex followed me down to the basement and out the glass doors to the backyard. Everyone else had claimed to be exhausted, but after the Yvonne fiasco, I was too wired to turn in.

  As we walked out onto the slate patio, she said, “Wow, I didn’t realize they had a fire pit! How cool is that?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not exactly an Eagle Scout,” I said, heading over to a large, lattice-framed shed to look for supplies.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe if you had stayed at sleepaway camp a little longer you would have learned how to make a fire,” she said, and settled onto a cushioned sectional couch beside the fire pit.

  I tried to think of a comeback but came up empty. “Are you kidding me?” I finally said, as I returned with a box of matches and a single wooden log. “You knew about that, too?”

  Lex covered her smile with her palm. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I never got the real scoop about camp. I just heard you were asked to go home for a few days.”

  After several failed attempts to light some twigs, I finally ignited a weak fire. “You wanna know what happened?” I asked, sitting down beside her. She immediately turned onto her back and lay across the cushions, resting her bare feet on my lap. My heartbeat quickened. Her burgundy toenails and smooth skin were practically calling out for a massage, but instead I interlaced my fingers and placed them in a safety zone behind my head. “So, three weeks into overnight camp, my parents came for Visiting Day and I begged them to bring me home. All the athletic boys in my unit were bullying me mercilessly. Mom insisted I stay until the end of the season because she had paid the tuition in full and it was nonrefundable. I figured my only way out was to get in trouble. So the next morning I drank three glasses of orange juice in the mess hall, snuck outside, climbed a tree, and hid on a branch where no one could see me. When my bunk met up under that tree after breakfast, I pissed that juice down on top of them like rain on their heads.”

  “No you didn’t!” Lex’s eyes bulged. “You’re making that up! You’d never do that!”

  “Hey, what can I say?” I responded with a cunning smile. “I was home by five o’clock. Did what I had to do.”

  “You’re evil!” she said, and laughed.

  “Shrewd, resourceful, wily, clever, determined—take your pick,” I said, winking at her. “Never evil.”

  She lay back on the couch and put her feet on my lap again. I could tell she had sobered up since the concert; maybe her quiet gaze just meant she was tired.

  “Seth?” she asked, breaking the silence. “What’s it like to follow a different path?”

  “You mean in life?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. My path’s not different to me.”

  She smiled. “True.”

  “What are you getting at?” I asked.

  “I was just thinking about how you got kicked out of camp. And kicked out of college. But if you hadn’t flunked out of Princeton, moved home, and become roommates with a gym rat, you never would have become a trainer and a physical therapist.”

  “What’s your point?” I was still sensitive about my failures.

  “My point is that sometimes the right thing doesn’t always present itself in the most traditional or obvious ways. Sometimes you just have to wing it.” A smile inched across her face as she looked up at me.

  “Yeah.” I grinned. “Sorta see what happens . . .”

  “One step at a time,” she said, tilting her head coquettishly on the pillow.

  I noticed how her hair lay softly against her shoulders. I tried to remember the flat-chested, freckled, eleven-year-old version of Lex but couldn’t pull up that memory. She was here. She was grown-up. She was stunning.

  “You never know where things can lead,” I added. The hem of her sundress draped across her shins and onto my lap. I wanted to touch her legs.

  “And somehow, if it’s meant to be, it works out in the end,” Lex said. Her tone was more intense, and her blue eyes, glowing from the soft light of my pathetic fire, remained fixed on mine.

  I knew that if she weren’t married, this would be the moment I’d make a move. Instead, I swallowed and broke her gaze.

  “Hey, your flame’s burning out,” she said.

  “Huh?” I asked, still mid-trance.

  She motioned toward the fire pit.

  “Ah, yes, such is the fate of a summer-camp dropout.” I sighed and removed her feet from my lap. “I’m gonna get a log from the shed and see if they’ve got some lighter fluid, or possibly a blow torch. I would never have survived as a caveman.”

  I grabbed another box of matches and reached for a piece of firewood from the back wall of the shed. Just as I turned around to return to the patio, the corner of the log I was holding collided with her forehead.

  “Ow!” she cried out.

  “Jesus! Lex! What are you . . . I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were right behind me! Are you okay?” I dropped the log on the ground and placed the matches back on a shelf.

  “Yeah, I think so,” she said, rubbing her head.

  “Do you need ice? Aspirin?”

  “No, no. I’ll be okay. But, um, it feels a little tender,” she said, and pointed to a spot over her left eyebrow. “Can you see if I have a splinter?”

  “Go over here. The light is better,” I said, directing her to sit atop a foot-high pile of fertilizer bags stacked beneath a patio sconce. I crouched down onto my knees so that we were at eye level and leaned in just inches away from her face. I glided my finger across the reddened area above her brow. Though I was focused on the task, I could feel her eyes searching my face. “I don’t feel anything,” I said, as I inspected the spot for damage.

  Her eyes welled up with tears. “But I do,” she whispered.

  “Oh, Lex.” My stomach turned. I felt terrible for hurting her. “Don’t worry. I’ll go find a flashlight and tweezers. I’ll get the splinter out. I promise.”

  As I stood up to head inside, she grabbed my hand and gently guided me back down to the floor of the shed.

  I resumed the position on my knees, facing her. “What is it?” I asked softly.

  She started bawling.

  I was utterly confused. Does she want me to get the tweezers or not? “I wish, I wish . . .” she continued, practically hyperventilating between words.

  “It’s okay, honey. Just breathe,” I said, wiping away her tears with my thumbs and unintentionally creating skid marks of black mascara across her beautifully sculpted cheekbones. I was surprised a splinter could be that painful to a woman who had given birth to three children. “Whatever it is, Lex, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ll help you. Tell me what you need.”

  With bloodshot eyes, she looked at me, her mouth quivering. Her lips formed a word but emitted no sound.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Can you say it again? What do you need?” I asked, placing my hands on her bare shoulders beside the spaghetti straps of her dress. I was beginning to suspect something was very wrong.

  “You,” she said softly.


  “What about me?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

  Lex, typically confident and cool, offered a fragile, vulnerable smile.

  “I think I need you,” she whispered, and wiped her dripping nostrils with the back of her hand, like a little girl.

  Had we not been the only two people in the shed, I surely would have looked around, wondering if she were speaking to someone else. In my mind’s eye, I was still the fat, funny kid with whom she swapped chocolate for licorice when we went trick-or-treating.

  My heart raced. My hands remained frozen in place and my lips mere inches from hers. A minute earlier, the physical distance between us had seemed innocuous. But now the chemistry had changed. My fingers released their grip and repositioned themselves on her face, as if they had a mind of their own. I could feel her breath—a warm cocktail of alcohol and Mentos—and watched as she closed her eyes. I glanced down at her mouth; her full bottom lip was ripe and beckoning me closer. Her manicured nails slipped onto my scalp and ran through my hair. Still on my knees, she pulled me close and our lips touched.

  When I cut class to play poker in college, I knew it was wrong. I was fully cognizant that nothing good would come of my delinquency, yet I wouldn’t stop myself. I had been a good kid for so long that a perverse adrenaline rush accompanied seeing how far I could push the envelope; how much I could get away with, regardless of cost, which I suspected would be tremendous.

  As I kissed Lex and gently touched her in a way that was wholly different from when we played schoolyard tag as kids, I knew I was doing something immoral, but I couldn’t stop myself. The thrill was similar to the one I experienced at Princeton, but this time, there was no sense of doom and inevitable destruction. What I did in college was an act of rebellion—a mutiny against injustice, parental expectations, and years of pressure. But this? This was no act of defiance. This suddenly felt like an acceptance of destiny—albeit a complicated one.

  I loved the way she smelled. Though I couldn’t place the notes, it was sexy, like fresh wood mixed with vanilla. I inhaled her as I kissed the crevices of her neck.

  “Seriously, when did you get so hot?” she whispered. Suddenly I felt something pull my hair. I reached up to the spot and realized a few strands were snagged on her ring.

  I slowly removed her hands from my head and held them in my own. “Maybe it’s a sign,” I said, motioning toward the gigantic diamond. I kissed the tops of her fingers before releasing my grip.

  She placed my hands on her heart and began to speak.

  My palm is on her boobs, my palm is on her boobs was all that went through my head. After a moment, however, I tuned back in.

  “I don’t remember the last time I felt this alive,” she said. “This has been the best weekend in . . . I can’t tell you how long. I haven’t been this happy in years. Years! And I know it’s in part because we are all together, but I have to tell you, the best surprise has been reconnecting with you, Seth. I love . . . being with you.”

  She looked up at the ceiling as if she were trying to stop the pools of tears in her eyes from overflowing.

  I blushed. She was still clamping my palm onto her chest, and I wanted it to stay there forever. I wanted to stay with her forever. Yes, she was beautiful, but it was more than that. She was like that sabra plant we learned about years ago in Hebrew school: prickly and tough on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside. I wanted to tell her how I felt. I closed my eyes and tried to organize my thoughts. I wanted to explain how I had been attracted to plenty of women before but had never felt anything remotely close to the way I did with her. I wanted her to know that I felt my best with this group—and my very best with her. I wanted to tell her how I thought I was falling in love, if it was possible to fall in love with a childhood playmate you haven’t seen in over a decade but have just spent a really great thirty-six hours with. I had been so preoccupied by choosing the right words, however, that I failed to realize that two excruciatingly long minutes had passed without my saying a single one. I opened my mouth to speak, but she released her grip and relinquished my hand.

  “I’m sorry, did I . . .” She pointed back and forth between us. “Am I making this uncomfortable?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Oh no, I’m so embarrassed!”

  “No! Not at all,” I insisted. Only then did I realize how my lengthy silence must have confused her.

  “I’m making a complete fool of myself. I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said. Her voice shook as she gracefully tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. I found her utterly enchanting.

  “Lex,” I began, before she cut me off.

  “Don’t say it!” She put her hand in front of my face. “It’s okay if you’re not feeling it. You don’t have to say it.”

  “Lex!” I said more emphatically, then looked nervously down at the floor. The words composted manure written across the fertilizer bag on which she was sitting caught my eye and distracted me. It occurred to me that we had begun this new chapter in our relationship on a literal pile of shit. I suddenly wondered if the universe was trying to tell us something. I was determined not to make Lex the next major screw-up in my life. I wanted her—oh, man, did I want this woman—but only when it was right. In that instant, I ditched my plan to profess my love and quickly shifted gears.

  “You have no idea how much I want this. Really. No idea. But you’ve got a husband and kids. I mean, we just bought them T-shirts at Tanglewood’s gift shop.” I looked her in the eyes. “Lex, I’m not going to be that guy. I’m not going to destroy your marriage.”

  She nodded, stared off into the lattice, and then burst into tears. “But it’s already a mess,” she sobbed. I pulled her close and held her until she calmed.

  “You’re still wearing a ring. You still live in the same house. You still share a bed.”

  “He hasn’t touched me in almost two years,” she whispered, and cocked her head like a shy child, before another round of tears trickled down her face. She held up two fingers to illustrate her point.

  I found it incomprehensible for a man to live with this woman and not touch her.

  “That doesn’t mean the marriage is irreparable,” I said gently, while a voice inside my head implored me to shut up. “Have you talked to anyone? Have you tried to make it work?” The voice returned. You schmuck. Don’t blow it! It’s like you’re genetically predisposed to ruin any great opportunity that comes your way!

  “It is irreparable if you don’t want to fix it,” she said, and then seemed to catch herself, falling silent for a minute or two. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before. I don’t think I ever felt it so strongly—that I don’t want to fix it.”

  Neither one of us uttered a word.

  She repositioned herself and crisscrossed her legs.

  “I guess I stuck to the traditional recipe, you know?” she said, dabbing a tear at the outer corner of her eye. “I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I married after college, had kids about ten minutes later, got a house that actually had a white picket fence . . . Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret any of it, because, had I not married Jack, I would never have had these particular children, with whom I am completely in love.”

  “I feel a but coming,” I said.

  “But,” she began, with a laugh that rapidly disintegrated into another cry, “other than being their mom, I’m miserable! Until this weekend, I don’t think I really realized how bad it’s become. But since the moment you picked me up in that shit-brown car of yours, I’ve felt like the best version of me. Grounded. Authentic. Real. If I could bottle the way you make me feel and take it home to experience it every day for the rest of my life, I would.”

  “So would I,” I said. I felt the words fly out of my mouth. My palms began to sweat.

  “I mean, my God, look at Bec . . .”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Get real. She could—” She stopped herself. “I mean, how many—” She stopped herself again.

&n
bsp; I knew where she was going, but I refused to finish the sentence: How many lives does any of us have? Or: How many times can one person cheat death?

  “All I’m saying is, how much time does any of us really have? We may as well be happy for as much of it as we can.”

  One strap of her dress dangled off her shoulder, all the way down to her bicep. Her gaze remained fixed on my face. Her body language could not have been less subtle.

  I could tell she was waiting for me to make a move. It was as if I were twelve years old again, locked in a closet with Lauren Applebaum during a game of Truth or Dare at her junior high graduation party and scared shitless to lean in for my first kiss.

  Everything in me wanted to ravish her, but my body stayed fixed. Lex pulled the wilting strap of her dress back up onto her shoulder. She seemed disappointed and self-conscious. I cleared my throat but remained immobile. She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Hey,” I said, gently brushing away some stray hairs covering her eyes. “You are gorgeous. Inside and out. You’re a riot and brilliant and a sweetheart, and exactly what I want and need. You’re the brass ring. You hear me? The brass fuckin’ ring. But if we’re gonna do this, I want to do it right. I’ve screwed up enough opportunities in my lifetime; I’m not going to make you the next casualty. Figure out whatever you need to figure out. And when you do, I’ll be here.” I touched her chin and kissed her forehead, then stood up. “It’s late. I’m gonna head inside. Plus, staying out here any longer may be physically torturous for me.”

  She rose to her feet from the fertilizer bag and dabbed another tear from her eye. “Okay. I think I’m just going to hang out for a few minutes by myself. Just me, the stars, and an empty fire pit.”

  I stepped forward and enveloped her in a long, full-body squeeze. We stood that way quietly for nearly a minute, until I whispered, “Damn, you smell good.”

  Neither of us would release from the embrace. She gradually inched her hand down the small of my back and into the rear pocket of my jeans, just as she had at the concert. My fingers—once again declaring independence from my conscience—reciprocated the gesture and found a resting spot on the outer curve of her butt. A moment later, we were kissing beside a wall of hanging gardening tools. I noticed the spades, brooms, and shovels surrounding us like art in a museum and swiftly flipped Lex around away from the sharp objects. But in the heat of the moment I neglected to take note of the rake tooth hooked onto the belt loop of her dress.