Riley shook her head. When she told him, he wouldn’t want her that close.
“Baby, what is it?” Now, he looked worried.
“I had dinner with Brian tonight,” she said.
It took a moment. The name didn’t penetrate at first, but Riley watched Shawn’s expression slowly change and knew the precise moment that it did. His eyes darkened, and his jaw hardened. He took a breath, swallowed, and then finally spoke, his voice tight, but controlled.
“Why? When did he …?”
“He came into my office a couple weeks ago, and …”
“A couple weeks ago?”
“Yes, but …”
“How many times have you seen him since then?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“How many times, Riley?”
“Shawn, he came because …”
“I don’t give a shit why he came! How many fucking times have you seen him?”
She jumped at the unexpected volume of his voice and looked worriedly toward the back of the apartment where their children were asleep.
If they woke up and heard their father sounding this way, they would be frightened. He had never shouted at them before. And they had never heard him shout at her, either.
“Three. No … four … it was …”
“Three or four times? Which was it?”
“Four. Tonight … tonight was four. But only because …”
“Are you fuckin’ lyin’ to me?”
“No. Of course n…”
“Of course not?” He stood, his face a sneer. “Is that what you ‘bout to say?”
“Shawn.”
“What?”
“He has a non-profit. He came to ask for funding for his non-profit, and I was meeting him about that. Two of those times, his wife was there. He’s married. It wasn’t the way you … You just went from zero to one-hundred and you aren’t even letting me ex…”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. “If he’s married, and it was all innocent, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you’d …”
“You’re lyin’. If you told me right away, what would I have said, Riley?”
She swallowed.
“Tell the fuckin’ truth.” His voice rose again. “What would I have said? You know me, what would I have fu…”
“You would have asked me what he wanted,” she admitted. “And if I told you he wanted funding, you would have asked me what I was going to do. You would have told me it was ultimately my decision.”
Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and she wasn’t even sure when they’d begun.
Shawn nodded. “Yeah. Exactly. But you didn’t tell me. Why?”
“I don’t …”
“You’re lyin’ again.” Shawn shook his head. “Y’know what? You just …”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but instead brushed past her and down the hallway toward the front door. It was dark, so Riley didn’t see what happened, but she heard the loud crash just before the front door opened and slammed shut again.
She worried that something might be irreparably broken, though she didn’t know what.
It was a Limoges vase. A gift from Tracy, who should have known that Riley was not a Limoges kind of girl.
Riley discovered that it was the vase when she woke late, alone in the bed and staggered out to the front room to find Mrs. Park helping the woman from the cleaning service sweeping the shattered pieces of porcelain into a dustpan.
Rubbing her eyes, she cursed herself inwardly for not taking care of it herself the evening before. But after Shawn had slammed out of the apartment, she had immediately grabbed her phone and started calling him. She called maybe six times before he turned his phone off, or blocked her, she wasn’t sure which. So, she called Dennis, who told her he had been relieved for the evening and hadn’t taken Shawn anywhere after dropping him off at home earlier.
I’m sure he’s fine, Mrs. Gardner, Dennis said. He’ll check in soon.
But Riley knew he was worried. Shawn wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without Dennis, or a separate security detail, and almost never did.
Fifteen minutes later, Dennis called back and told her Shawn was at the studio.
Did he call you? Riley asked.
We located him, Dennis responded after a moment. Don’t worry. He’s safe.
She knew that meant that Shawn hadn’t called, and his security guys had probably used location services to track his phone or something. And if they knew where he was, they would make sure he was secure, even if they had to remain out of sight to give him the illusion of solitude.
That was enough for Riley to feel she could try to sleep. She had tried until about three in the morning before sleep finally came.
Now, at seven a.m., Mrs. Park and the cleaning lady were taking care of her mess.
“I don’t know how this happened, Mrs. Riley. We came in, and there it was, all splinters, everywhere.”
“It’s fine,” Riley said, her voice hoarse. “It was my fault. I planned to clean it up this morning, but … thank you. Thank you taking care of it.” She turned to leave them to the task then paused. “I’m staying home today Mrs. Park. So I’ll get the children ready and take them to school.”
“You don’t need me today then, or …?”
“No, I don’t think so. But thank you,” Riley said.
Standing under the shower, Riley thought about Shawn.
He would come home to shower and change at least. And as long as she didn’t miss him while she was walking Cullen and Cassidy around the corner, they would have a chance to talk. She would have to gather her thoughts though, and tell him the fullest, least hurtful version of the truth she could manage.
I love you, but sometimes I don’t love the way we live.
I love you, and love that you make it possible for us to live so well. But sometimes it makes me feel shallow, and empty.
I love you.
I love you, more than anything.
I love you.
What of the things Brian had said? Were they true?
That she was always looking at the horizon? That she was selfish and wanted to have her cake and eat it too? That she resented seeing him happy?
Until she knew the answers to those questions, there was nothing she could tell Shawn that he would accept. He knew her too well. He understood when she was genuine and would sniff out falsity or insincerity a mile away.
There was only one person who knew her as well as Shawn did. Well, two. But she wasn’t about to tell Tracy any of this. Being non-judgmental was not one of her strong suits.
Cullen and Cassidy were giddy when they realized their mom was walking them to school instead of Mrs. Park. It took Riley twice as long as it should have to get there, because they wanted to show her everything, pointing out the newsstand where Mrs. Park sometimes got them treats on the way home, the private garden nestled between two buildings where an old man sat on a bench feeding pigeons, and the dance studio where they sometimes saw ballerinas practicing.
Their ebullience, and the way they eagerly described every single detail both delighted and dismayed Riley. They were treating her like a visitor to their lives. One who didn’t often stop by, and who may not return.
At the school and nursery, the staff behaved the same way, visibly surprised to see her and watching as she helped Cullen store things in his cubby, as though unsure she understood the routine. When she was about to leave him, to take Cassidy just down the hall to the nursery section for younger kids, Cullen looked up at her panicked.
“Momma” he said, eyes wide. “Wait. I want to show you something.”
I want to show you something. It was what he always said when she was leaving the house. Or when she and Shawn were dressed-up for some adult function that they were attending together and seemed poised to leave him at home.
“Okay, baby, what is it?” she asked.
Grabbing her hand, Cullen led her over to a wal
l plastered with various chicken-scratch pictures. He pointed one out that was somewhat less chicken-scratchy than the others. It was of a series of circles in different sizes and colors, some of them overlapping, others floating off on their own. Riley crouched so that it would be at eye-level and leaned in. The lines were smooth, the circles well-shaped.
“Interesting, isn’t it?”
Riley stood and smiled at Cullen’s teacher, a twenty-something blonde girl with wide, green eyes.
“Yes,” Riley said. “Very nice.”
“It’s more than nice. It’s actually very advanced for a kid his age,” she continued. “Children’s art at this stage is usually extremely literal. They draw animals, cars, people …” She pointed out some of the others. “But his is abstract. Might be something to be attentive to, fostering this creative spirit of his. You may have a little artist on your hands.”
She reached down and ruffled Cullen’s hair, and he beamed. For a moment, Riley felt an irrational stab of jealousy that this woman may know more about her son than she did.
“It’s beautiful, baby,” she said, kneeling and hugging Cullen. “Momma’s so proud of you.”
“Me too!” Cassidy whined from next to her.
“Yes, you too.” Riley pulled Cassidy in, so they could have a three-way hug.
“You’re coming to get us later too, Momma?” Cullen asked when she finally turned to leave with his sister.
“Yes. I’m coming back later to get you, too.”
Dropping Cassidy off, Riley felt no less out of the loop. There were a few nannies, but mostly there were mothers, some of them in yoga outfits and workout gear, many standing around socializing, making plans to get together. She wasn’t interested in ‘getting together’ with these women, not really.
Out on the sidewalk, she reached for her phone and dialed a number, praying that she would get an answer.
“Riley?”
“Lorna,” she said, exhaling in relief.
16
You’re really freaked out by this, aren’t you?”
“Nah,” Shawn said. “I’m cool. It’s just …”
“Hey. It happens.” Livia Kincaid shrugged. “And think of it this way, it was my last night working with you, so …”
He had woken up in the studio, shirtless and with his head pounding, his mouth papery and dry. It wasn’t the first time he had opened his eyes to find that he’d spent the night in a recording studio, with limited memory of what had transpired the night before. And it wasn’t even the first time it had happened with a woman next to him.
But it was the first time since he was married.
Shawn supposed he should have been relieved that his pants were still on, and that though his belt was loose, everything else was intact. And he should have taken solace in the fact that though Livia was there as well, she was fully-dressed and looked just a little disheveled, with no garments missing. At least none that he could see.
But how did you tell a woman that you didn’t remember whether you smashed? How did you tell her that you hoped you hadn’t? The answer was, you didn’t. So, instead, Shawn took her out to breakfast, stopping first in the studio bathroom to rinse his mouth of the sour taste of stale alcohol and the grassiness of weed that he couldn’t recall smoking.
There were a few spots downtown he knew were safe to take Livia Kincaid to, without it turning into a fuzzy photo on a gossip site online, so he called Dennis, and took her to the least public one, a diner where old Jewish couples went for their lox and bagels, and to talk about their grandchildren. No one cared who he was there, and if they knew, they didn’t show it.
He used to meet Riley here sometimes, back in the day, when she belonged to someone else. Sitting in an out-of-the-way booth, checking the time every five minutes, he would worry that she wouldn’t show. And when she did, it sometimes took him a minute to be able to even let her know how glad he was that she had. He was falling hard, and resenting every second of it, the powerlessness, and the constantly-on-edge-ness of it.
Now, while he and Livia sat together near the back, and his security guy hung around outside in case he was spotted, Shawn remembered the fight last night with Riley. Shit, all he could think about right now, even with a marching band doing circles inside his head, was the fight with Riley and the reason for that fight. It was like going back in time and calling up the same old cast of characters.
One time, when Brendan and Tracy were going through something—and it seemed like they were almost always going through something back then—Shawn had taken him out to drink. And once he had a little Grey Goose in him, Brendan had talked his damn head off about his theory of relationships.
The thing is, bruh, he’d said. When you in a couple, you basically only have two fights. The same two fights over and over, and over again. You might think it’s about the fact that you didn’t put the cap on the toothpaste, or forgot to compliment her mother’s cooking, but nah. It ain’t about that.
It’s one of your two fights, disguised as something else. And you just keep having the same ones …. The tricky part is, you just gotta figure out what the fuck those two fights are.
Brendan might’ve been drunk that night, but he was no dummy.
Shawn knew what his and Riley’s two fights were about: his fear of losing her, and her fear of losing herself. That, and the persistent need she had to prove to herself that it was possible to be both privileged and have a sense of purpose.
And he didn’t give a crap what she said, he’d been doing a lot better with his shit than she had with hers. Until last night.
“Are yous ready to order?”
The waitress wore an old-fashioned gingham uniform, complete with a hair net which only added to the surreality of his situation. It looked like she had been wearing it for the past thirty years, and if its threadbare and washed-out appearance was any indication, she probably had been. Not to mention how the buttons at her chest and stomach were strained to their limits and hanging on for dear life.
“Coffee for me,” Shawn said. “And toast with butter.”
“And water,” Livia Kincaid added. “Bring him plenty of water.”
Then she glanced down at the menu and ordered up a full breakfast for herself—eggs and turkey bacon, home fries and toast. She seemed almost exhilarated. It made him think about another woman, the one he knew he had slept with, not too long into his marriage, the one who had almost ruined his life.
She had been exultant after he’d fucked her.
And he had been sick to his stomach. He felt the same roiling disgust now, thinking about what he might have done. He wasn’t going to be able to sit here and not know. He wasn’t going to be able to walk out afterward, still not knowing.
Once the waitress left them, he leaned back and looked Livia Kincaid in the eye, but she was avoiding it.
Screw this. Sometimes it was better to just cut to the chase. It might hurt her feelings that he didn’t remember, but better to hurt her than his wife, better her than his marriage.
“So, what happened last night?”
“You don’t remember any of it?” Livia looked amused.
“Some.”
“You remember texting me? Telling me like you did the night before that you were going to the studio and then inviting me?”
He nodded.
He’d done that while sitting in a yellow cab, seething, wishing he hadn’t walked out. Wanting to go back and fight it out some more. Livia Kincaid had come to mind as something he could check off his list.
“Well, by the time I got there you were drinking and smoking and …” She broke off and shook her head. “It was like something out of a nineties Wu Tang Clan music video.”
Despite himself, Shawn smiled.
“You took off your shirt, and were literally beating your chest, hollering about how you were going to revolutionize hip hop. And you actually recorded some pretty good stuff, I think. Do you remember that at least?”
“Little bit.�
�� He’d still been pissed, so that made its way into the pace and tenor of his delivery. If he tried to recreate it, he probably couldn’t.
“After that, there was more drinking … more smoking ...”
Shawn forced himself not to hurry her along.
“At some point, most of the guys left. And then … everyone left. Except for, you know … you and me.”
“Get your shit together, Riley. Honestly.”
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, momentarily stunned by Lorna’s obvious exasperation. It wasn’t as though her mother was never impatient. In fact, she very often was. And of all the things likely to make her impatient dithering was the likeliest.
“What do you mean? I’m just sharing with you that …”
“No, you’re not. You’re whining. And Lord knows, with a teenager in my house every other weekend, I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
Lorna, only one year married, had stepdaughters, one of whom—Piper—was notoriously high-strung. Though it was obvious Piper and Lorna were crazy about each other, their strong wills made for some very interesting battles, many of which Riley suspected, Lorna lost. Not that she would ever admit it. Lorna Terry, once the queen bee in almost every hive had met her match in a fifteen-year-old.
“Why would you not tell him Brian came to see you? And to spend two weeks bemoaning I don’t even know what … Riley, you have the life you chose. And even more than that, you have the luxury, the freedom to make the life you want.
“Money isn’t everything, but it gives you choices. For god’s sake, make the ones you truly want and stop with all the damn … complaining.”
There were times when Riley celebrated the fact that she had a mother who was plainspoken. But this was not one of those times.
On the other end of the line, Lorna sighed.
“Look. Shawn’s … tantrum will blow over. But what won’t, unless you pull yourself together is this tedious ambivalence about being wealthy. My god, you could set up a foundation, give money to lots of people, instead of just your ex-boyfriend’s pet project out of your savings account or whatever asinine thing it is you plan to do.”
Four: Stories of Marriage Page 13
