The Engagements

by J. Courtney Sullivan

  She nodded without responding, afraid of what she might promise if she spoke.

  “I would move to Paris if you wanted,” he said. “But not like this. Not while you’re married to another man, and we have to spend our lives sneaking around.”

  Delphine thought of Henri for the first time all weekend. Henri alone at the country house, where he had never been alone before. He had probably spent the weekend reading quietly and listening to music, and worrying about his strange wife, who had seemed a bit odd all week. He wouldn’t have eaten much without her there to remind him. In his bachelor days, he had lived on soup from a jar.

  “Are you even in love with your husband anymore?” P.J. said. “Sorry. That’s not a fair question.”

  “I never was in love with him, not like this. But it’s not just about being in love.”

  She saw a glimmer of hope in him then, though he did not say a word.

  There was a Metro strike on Monday. She thought of him as she did the morning’s paperwork and showed a young boy and his mother a collection of relatively inexpensive African instruments—a balafon. A double clarinet from Egypt. At noon, P.J. called to say that he would take a taxi over. She closed the shop for lunch, and they took a long walk around Montmarte while Henri gave a lecture at the Sorbonne. She showed him the apartment building she had grown up in, on a narrow street that, while modest, stood only two blocks from a grand neighborhood full of voies privées.

  “We lived on the fifth floor,” she said. “No elevator. Here in Paris, you have rich people and poor all living together in one building. The poorer you are, the smaller the apartment, and the higher up.”

  He laughed.

  When she showed him the brick house that she had lived in until she moved in with Henri, he gasped.

  “Beautiful,” he said. He took a photograph. “How did your father afford it?”

  “The landlady was fond of him. He gave piano lessons to her and all her friends. And he played for her whenever she wanted.”

  “That must have annoyed him.”

  “I think he thought it was a worthwhile trade,” she said.

  “I’d have to say he was right about that.”

  She felt proud of the house, and pleased that he recognized it for the jewel it was.

  She took his arm and they wound their way down to the boulevard de Clichy, with its rows of seedy sex shops. Here and there, you’d see a natural foods store or a boutique mixed in, sure signs that the gentrification of Montmartre was now complete.

  “This used to be much more a quartier populaire. A transvestite prostitute lived on our corner when I was very small,” she said. “My father said this was a good sign, because it meant someone was keeping an eye out, on everything that happened.”

  She would have never mentioned this to Henri, but she knew P.J. would be amused, and indeed he replied, “Wow. Sure beats the neighborhood watch.”

  He paused, then said, “This is my favorite part of Paris, hands down.”

  On Tuesday, they made love in his hotel room while she claimed to be at a doctor’s appointment. He would leave on Saturday night, and the knowledge of this fact saturated the air around them. On Wednesday, she couldn’t get away. She thought of him constantly, his lips and his hands and every word they had exchanged in the last week.

  She did not mention his offer until Thursday.

  “You know that if I went away with you, I’d be giving up everything.

  My whole life.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Isn’t that a lot of pressure for a man your age?”

  “You’re the only woman for me,” he said. “I know it.”

  “But what if that changes?”

  “It won’t.”

  “And what about poor Henri? How would I ever tell him?”

  “I thought all French people had affairs and their spouses never minded,” he said.

  “You have seen too many movies. And besides, this isn’t just an affair.”

  She began to cry. When he asked her why, she said she did not know, but the truth was, she had fallen in love, that was clear to her now. And she had just realized that she might consider leaving.

  Delphine wished she had even one good friend to call and ask for advice. But she had lost touch with the few girlfriends she had from university after they got married and had children. When she met Henri, she was alone in the world, and every acquaintance she had made since knew her husband at least as well as they knew her. She wanted to talk to her father, even considered visiting his grave, but what would be the use? Any answers he could give were long in the past. Delphine would have to decide for herself.

  On Friday, she stayed home from work again, to think. She paced the streets of Paris, trying to be her own sensible mother, weighing all the possibilities. She could take this chance and risk everything—her marriage, her business, the only city she had ever called home. Or she could let P.J. fly away tomorrow, and return to her normal life, as dull as dishwater.

  They closed the shop each August. A week from now they would leave for three weeks in the country. The house would be as still as ever. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to bear her thoughts.

  If she thought about it in practical terms, she simply could not abandon her husband. Besides that, it was too big a gamble to take, turning her life upside down for a man she had known for two weeks. But if she thought of herself as one speck of stardust among billions of others, when she considered that life was incredibly short and that none of this would mean anything in a hundred years’ time, she could convince herself to try—why not? Her own mother had left her, and she had survived. Henri would recover.

  At home, she brewed a tisane of tilleul and lavender, which her father had used to calm her when she got upset as a child. But she needed something stronger now, and so she switched to Henri’s scotch.

  By the time he arrived back from work, her suitcase was packed and she was shivering. Delphine had fixed him a glass of scotch, which she handed to him as he stood in the living room, sorting through the mail. She needed to say it straightaway, before she lost her nerve. She had considered not mentioning P.J., just telling Henri she needed time apart. But when she opened her mouth, the truth spilled out: “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said. “And since there is no easy way, I will just put it plainly—I’m in love with someone else. L’Américain. The Rogue. I’ve been spending time with him, and he wants me to go to New York. I’ve told him yes. Maybe it’s all a mistake, but I won’t know until I try. I have to try.”

  Henri looked confused for a moment, as if he had walked into the wrong apartment, but then his face crumpled. He sank into the chair behind him, like his legs could no longer be relied upon to hold him up.

  “I knew something had changed,” he said. “I thought you were pregnant.”

  With that, his head dropped into his hands, and Delphine at last felt the weight of her crime.

  “Forgive me,” she whispered foolishly. “Please.”

  A dreadful hour followed, perhaps the worst of her life. Henri did not ask any questions. He did not beg her to reconsider. He just sat in his chair as she cried. Finally, Delphine kissed the top of his head and walked out the door.

  As soon as the fresh air hit her face she was full of joy. She did a little turn in the street and smiled at an old man passing by. She had never before felt two such strong, divergent emotions at once. This must be selfishness at its most unforgivable, and also its most delicious. At the brasserie, P.J. waited for her. When she greeted him, he picked her up and swung her in the air.

  “We’re really doing this,” he said.

  “Yes!”

  He placed her back on her feet and then, for an instant, she thought he was falling down. But no—he was bending onto one knee.

  He pulled a ring from his shirt pocket.

  “It was my mother’s,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

  She whispered yes, and they embraced. When he slippe
d the ring onto her finger, it clinked against her plain gold band, a reminder that this was slightly absurd: How could she stand here, promising to marry him, when she was married already?

  Delphine pushed the thought away. “Do you just happen to bring your mother’s engagement ring everywhere you go, in case you feel the urge to propose?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “I called a friend in New York and had him send it last weekend.”

  “Last weekend? But I hadn’t agreed to come with you last weekend.”

  He grinned. “I had high hopes.”

  Flying to JFK the next night, she felt full of something wild and thrilling. I am marrying this handsome, vibrant man, she thought, staring at him. I am starting a whole new life. She felt eager to tell someone the news, someone who loved her and would be happy. Strangely, she thought of Henri.

  Eventually, she would have to ask him for a divorce. That would devastate him, she knew. She worried about how dark he could get. He was incapable of helping himself out of it. She had the urge to wrap her arms around him, to comfort him. But that wasn’t hers to do any longer.

  2012

  After leaving Toby and Jeff behind at the inn, Kate wished she had some other errand to run, something to keep her mind off the ring. As it was, there was nothing to do but go home and keep looking.

  Back at the house, her brother-in-law Josh stood in the yard throwing a football around with his boys.

  “Well?” he said. “How did they take it?”

  “I didn’t tell them yet,” she said, a bit annoyed by his curiosity.

  Through the screen door, she could hear the sound of Dan singing Marvin Gaye while he washed the breakfast dishes. Her own father had been a great cook when they were growing up. His job had the most flexibility, so he was home with the girls more often than their mother and usually made dinner. Kate did all the cooking in their household now, and Dan took care of the cleaning. They were trying to have an egalitarian partnership, though parenting had made her realize how hard that truly was. When he dressed Ava, Dan might put her in two different colored socks. When he washed her hair, he used about fourteen times more shampoo than seemed necessary.

  Still, she could not imagine parenting without him. Kate had a couple of friends in Brooklyn who had decided to have kids on their own, without a mate—one through adoption, the other sperm donation. She herself could never have done it.

  She entered the kitchen.

  “So?” he said, looking hopeful.

  “I didn’t tell them.”

  “Okay. Well, that’s good. Gives us more time.”

  She shrugged. “I just don’t understand how the ring could be there one minute, and the next it’s gone. You don’t think I subconsciously hid it, do you?”

  Dan laughed. “Uhh, no. Did you?”

  “No! But you know how I feel about diamonds.”

  “Yeah, and for good reason.”

  “Thank you.” She lowered her voice. “Do you think one of the kids could have taken it?”

  “Olivia?” he said.

  “That’s what I was thinking. How are we gonna handle that?”

  “If she has it, she’ll probably become riddled with guilt at some point and hand it over.”

  “Hope so. Hey, guess how much their rings cost.”

  He shrugged.

  “Fourteen thousand apiece.”

  The look on his face made her more terrified than she had previously let herself be.

  “Holy shit. We gotta find that thing.”

  “I know.”

  Suddenly every napkin and shoelace and jar of Play-Doh seemed like its only purpose might be to obscure the ring. Kate opened the junk drawer, and pulled out old screwdrivers and stamps, a box of paper clips, a few alphabet magnets that had traveled from the fridge.

  “You think it’s in there?” Dan said skeptically.

  “I don’t know.”

  He poured a cup of coffee. “Here, drink this,” he said, kissing her neck as he handed it to her.

  “You seem downright chipper compared to the guy I woke up with this morning,” she said.

  “Well, I’m happy for them,” Dan said. “I was just thinking that marriage equality may well be the one bright spot in what’s otherwise been a terrible millennium so far.”

  “Yeah, I suppose when the last decade’s been marked by terrorism, genocide, a depression, a tsunami, hurricanes, earthquakes, war, and torture, marriage does look good in comparison.”

  “You forgot to mention the demise of the record store.”

  “Oh yeah, that too.”

  “Not like the nineties were so great, though,” he said. “Rodney King, Columbine, Waco. The Oklahoma City bombing. O. J. Simpson.”

  “Yes. And all of those seem practically quaint compared to this last decade.”

  “True. Hey, never let it be said that we’re not one cheery couple.”

  She grinned. “Two rays of sunshine.”

  The day’s mail sat on the table. She sifted through it—a cell phone bill, a birthday party invitation from one of Ava’s playground friends, and a few junk flyers addressed to Mrs. Daniel Westley. The fact that they weren’t married never stopped anyone from calling her by Dan’s last name, or referring to him as her husband. For the most part, she didn’t really mind.

  The first time Ava got sick as a baby, Kate rushed her to the emergency room in Brooklyn. After she filled out the requisite forms, the woman behind the desk said coldly, “Can I ask what relation you are to the child?”

  “I’m her mother.”

  “She has two last names,” the woman said. “Our system can’t process that, you’re going to have to pick one.” As if it were 1952. As if scores of married women didn’t keep their maiden names all the time, and hyphenate their children’s.

  It pissed her off most of all because things like that weren’t supposed to happen in Brooklyn. She might have expected it in the town where May lived, a place where everyone prided themselves on the sheer throwback of it all; where a little girl whose parents had never married would probably get mocked, and all the women took their husbands’ names, like the feminist movement had never happened. It was just easier that way, friends told her. They wanted to be family units, and in a family unit everyone was called the same thing.

  She could admit that words were tricky, but that didn’t mean you should dismantle your whole belief system to keep things simple. It was awkward when people struggled to figure out how they ought to refer to Dan. If forced, she’d call him her partner, but to most strangers the word conveyed that she was either a lesbian or a lawyer. She tried not to call him anything—just “Dan.”

  She wandered into the living room. May sat on the couch between Ava and Olivia. The girls were watching an episode of Barney on TV. May had her laptop turned on, but she was gazing out the window, possibly asleep with her eyes open. She liked to say that she hadn’t slept through the night for the past decade, ever since Leo was born colicky and screaming.

  Olivia and Ava each wore a pink plastic tiara with a medallion in the center that featured a different Disney princess. Olivia had a pink tutu on over her pajamas, and Ava wore a pink feather boa draped across her shoulders and hard plastic pink high heels on her bare feet. The shoes in particular, and all that pink in general, made Kate uneasy. She had never seen any of this stuff before. May must have brought it along. No doubt, after they left, Ava would start asking for her own cotton-candy-colored, gender-normative crap.

  Kate wanted this day to be over. She wanted her family to go home and stay there, and just leave the three of them in peace.

  “Hi,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “I just saw on Facebook that my friend Rachel is pregnant again,” May said.

  “Oh.”

  “I swear to God, if she names that baby Amelia, I’ll slit her throat.”

  Kate glanced at Ava. Her sister’s choice of words seemed a tad violent for Saturday morning public television time. But Ava’s a
ttention was on the screen.

  “What do you care?” Kate asked. “You’re not having any more. Are you?”

  “Maybe. Two girls and two boys would be nice.”

  She knew that it was now fashionable for couples on the Upper East Side to have four, five, six kids. A way of saying, Look how freaking rich we are! We can afford to raise this many children at once in the most expensive city on earth. Now apparently the trend had made its way to Jersey.

  “Any updates on the ring?” May said.

  Kate shook her head.

  “Girls, listen to me,” May’s voice grew stern. “If either of you has that ring, you’d better tell us right now, or else.”

  Ava looked terrified—they never talked to her like that. (Or did she look guilty? Kate considered this.)

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Olivia said dramatically.

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Ava repeated. She cast an adoring glance at her cousin, who at the age of five qualified as an older woman, wise in the ways of the world.

  On the television screen, Barney and his odd child friends were starting to sing a song about family. She hated the kids on Barney; they seemed like miniature cult members, their words overly cheerful and without affect.

  How many in your family? Barney asked his audience, in the exaggerated, enthusiastic tone of a born-again Christian.

  “How many?” May asked Olivia, sounding bored.

  “Five!” Olivia said. “Ava. How many in your family?”

  “Five!” Ava shouted.

  Olivia crumpled her face in disappointment. “No. Three, dummy.”

  “Olivia!” May snapped. “Language. That’s strike one.”

  On the screen, a kid in overalls climbed onto a picnic table and declared with effervescence, There’s a girl I know who lives with her mom, her dad lives far away. Although she sees her parents just one at a time, they both love her every day!

  “Why does she see her parents one at a time?” Olivia asked. Then, answering her own question, “They’re divorced like Grandma and Grandpa.”