by Jill Kargman
“Eden.” Wes smiled, approaching her. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No, you’re not at all.” He looked the same. A bit older, but the same. His eyes seemed bluer.
“I’m so glad you’re still in glasses,” Eden said. “Everyone’s succumbing to lasers. I miss specs.”
“Gosh, I barely recognize myself without them! If I took them off, my whole head would probably roll onto the floor.”
Eden laughed. “Well, I like them.”
“It’s so nice to see you,” he started with a genuine, friendly smile.
“You, too. You look exactly the same. Time is not only your friend but your close buddy, I see,” Eden said.
Wes smiled. “Can you believe we are turning forty?”
“It’s all I think about,” Eden confessed, looking at her lap. “I’m afraid for a single woman it can be a bit of an emotional reckoning.” A fleeting guilty thought of Chase crossed her mind.
“No, it can’t be for you. You’ve always had the world on a string,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I did, didn’t I?” she said, almost zoned out. “Somewhere along the way, I don’t quite know when, but . . . the string snapped. The world kind of rolled away from me.”
“Are you okay?” he asked genuinely as he picked up on the ever-so-slight signals of sadness behind her beautiful eyes. She appreciated his concern but naturally he felt distant; it had been a long time, and the chasm of their years apart rivaled the San Andreas. He seemed happy, relaxed. She knew he detected her sore muscles, laden with baggage.
“Yeah, sure. I’m fine. I mean, everything’s fine. It’s just, the past few years have been very tumultuous,” Eden said.
“I’m sorry. My mother told me about your breakup, your son moving away.”
“It’s been hard. But I really knew I had to leave, you know. I’m getting my sea legs back; it’s probably good for me.” Eden looked at her lap and was dying to change the subject. “So meanwhile you’re doing great, congrats on your new firm! How is it coming? I hear you’re swamped, which I guess is a good thing?”
“It is a great thing,” Wes said humbly. “I can’t believe it. I am pinching myself, really. Even though I usually am there until midnight.”
“You work till midnight?”
“Pretty much every night these days, just until we get all these plans approved. But every project is a passion project now. I’m really immersed in my clients. Actually, I’m working with Max Hadley, our old landlord, remember him?”
“Sure! Max, you used to take him on architecture tours.”
“He inherited an old turn-of-the-century building that was used as a storage facility,” Wes said, leaning in excitedly. His eyes blazed. “It’s just incredible—we discovered these old moldings and seven-wood intarsia inlays; it was amazing.”
“Wow, where?” Eden asked.
“Lower East Side, near an old synagogue. The work in this two-block radius is extraordinary. It’s like this abandoned pocket of hidden gems. I felt like a dorkier Indiana Jones exploring the space.”
Eden laughed. Wes was always self-deprecating, even way back when. But through the lens of his success and still-good looks, he had the aura of a player in Judd Apatow’s entourage, gorgeous in a deliciously nerdy way.
“Anyway, so Max hired me to come in as a partner on the project to convert it into really awesome apartments. Some guy on Top Chef already signed for one.”
“Ooooh, I love that show.”
“You do?” Wes sounded surprised. “I’ve never seen it. I don’t really do reality.”
“I’ve only seen a little. But Allison knows who every random contestant on every Survivor island or Bachelor mansion is.”
“How is Allison?” he asked, his face brightening.
“Great!” Eden nodded. “Married, three kids. A five-year-old girl and boy-girl twins who are three.”
“Oh, that is so great. I always really liked her. I’m glad you guys are still—”
“Thick as thieves.” Eden smiled.
“Yup.”
“She always loved you, too. In fact . . . she kind of calmed my nerves about seeing you.”
“Nerves? Why?”
“I know, it’s silly,” she admitted. “It’s just been so long . . .”
“I know, so much time has gone by, it’s nuts.”
“So, Wes, it’s so cool what you’ve accomplished in that time. I mean, could you have ever imagined? Way back then in that little walk-up where you’d play chess with Max, did you ever think that he would come to your own firm twenty years later as a client? You as his designer and partner?”
“Life is weird.” Wes smiled, shaking his head. “It’s a strange road.”
“It sure is,” Eden concurred, choking on wistfulness. “I mean . . . look at your parents.”
“Yeah, talk about twists and turns. My mom went from single and pregnant to married mother of four. I got a dad overnight. It’s so funny, there’s so much you can’t predict. I never thought I’d live abroad. Then I thought I’d never leave London. I never thought we’d be here talking.”
Eden and Wes talked for an hour, about his life in London, his travels to every continent, finding inspiration for his work, and about what he wanted to be doing. He was so much more assured, more open than he used to be. He was still the same humble Wes, but his shyness had been exchanged for a grown-up, down-to-earth humor, dry at times, and lighthearted. He remained un-jaded, somehow youthful, though even at twenty he had always been an old soul, appreciating a lofty archway over a lap dance, coffee over a brewski.
As Wes spoke and asked Eden questions about Cole and the trips she had taken with Otto, his kindness wasn’t even remotely laced with nostalgia. He seemed interested to know what she had been up to, but he was emotionally detached. She could tell he was happy to see her, but it felt like reuniting with a much-loved cousin you used to spend every Thanksgiving with, or a close camp friend, an old roommate. He seemed 100 percent content with how his life had turned out. It was strange that Eden, always the dumper, not the dumpee, appeared far more tortured in his presence. Would he still laugh at her goofy dancing? Would he recognize the map of her moles that dotted her back?
Eden was trying to mask any sign of pain or regret. She sat up straight and tried to seem composed, listening to his description of a hotel he renovated in Italy, which she tried to imagine, lakeside and gleaming. After a while, Wes’s comfortable, easy vibe made her feel more and more relaxed, so that little by little she started to feel more like her old self again.
“I’m really glad we’re here,” Eden said. “It’s so nice to see you.”
“Are you kidding? It’s my pleasure. I was so happy when you rang—” He caught himself. “Shit, that was a Brit holdover,” he said as he laughed at himself, putting his forehead in his hand. “I hate when expats come home spewing stuff about a flat to let or taking the lift.”
“Don’t worry; I know you’re so not that guy.”
“Sometimes you just get so used to something it becomes ingrained.” He smiled, then looked at his watch. “Oh shoot, I have to run—”
“Time flies,” Eden said, marveling almost ninety minutes had passed. Shit, that sounded so stupid.
“I already took care of the drinks when I arrived so we’re all set,” he said, standing up.
“Oh, wow, thank you so much—you didn’t have to—”
“No, it was really nice to see you,” he said sincerely. “I’m so sorry, I just had this plan scheduled beforehand.”
“Client dinner?”
“No, a date, actually,” he said casually, as if it were a haircut or shoeshine.
Eden felt a zap like a spark on a cold metal banister. “Oh, great—”
“It’s a friend of a friend; she just finished architecture school. I haven’t met her yet, actually.”
“Ah, blind date,” she said, forcing a smile. Just finished school, eh? By Eden’s calculations, that put said date at about twent
y-six. Not that she was one to talk, with Chase coming over the following night.
“Yup. Who knows, right?” He shrugged with a grin.
“You never know,” Eden said, not wanting to say farewell.
Wes leaned in to give her a warm hug good-bye. “It was great to see you.”
“Have fun,” she said, almost emotionally electrocuted by his arm around her. “Stay in touch.”
Wes flashed her a big, kind smile with a wave and turned to walk away. Eden watched after him as he exited without looking back.
63
Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.
—Truman Capote
Eden arrived home to find a shocking delivery. Flowers. Held not by the guy from L’Olivier but by Otto.
“What are you doing here?”
“I fucked up. Royally,” he said, walking up to her.
“Otto, what’s going on?”
Eden took out her keys and walked upstairs, her ex following her.
“Come back,” he pleaded. “Mary is gone. Everyone’s gone. I’ll change. . . .”
“Please. If a woman got even one tenth of a penny every time a guy said those words, we would be ruling the world right now,” she replied coolly.
“Eden, I’m sorry. I screwed up.” He walked over to her and looked into her eyes. “Since you cut me out, I can’t paint. I did a new series of sketches of some still lifes, and Lyle, who is usually up my butt, said he hated them. He said in this economy they wouldn’t sell; people want ‘iconic’ investments. . . .” He rolled his eyes and mocked his gallerist with melodramatic finger quotes.
“Oh, so you’re here because I’m better for business?” Eden laughed. “Otto . . .”
“No. I’m here because I miss you.”
“Yeah, more like you miss sold-out shows.”
“That’s not true. I miss us.”
“I told you already,” Eden said, looking him in the eyes. “It’s too late.”
“So that’s it? Even my apology isn’t good enough? That fucking loser boy toy you’ve been screwing doing it for you, eh?” Just when she was feeling a flicker of guilt, a glimmer of how easy it could be to just go back downtown, back home, back to the father of her child, Otto reminded her exactly why she got the fuck out of there.
“Otto, calm down, please.”
“You know what you are? You’re a fucking whore. You were always a whore! Look how fast you ditched that poor schlepper you were with when I came along! You got what you wanted with me. Next you’re going to bleed this Lydon chump dry?”
His harsh words stung Eden’s soul like searing hot needles as she recoiled in horror.
“You were nothing when I found you and plucked you from the shadows of obscurity! You were a little trailer trash slut,” he screamed. She jerked back. “I fucking MADE YOU.”
Just when she was about to start crying from the verbal stab wounds, Eden took a deep breath. “YOU DIDN’T MAKE ME! And quite frankly, that poor schlepper is more of a man and more of an artist than you could ever be.” She started crying not from Otto’s harsh words against her but because of the thought of what she had done to Wes. “NOW GET OUT!”
He didn’t see it coming . . . neither had she. The two stared at each other, and Otto dropped the bouquet to the floor. He turned around quietly and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Panting, Eden staggered to the phone to call Allison, who talked her down.
“Good for you!” Allison cheered. “I’m so glad you told him off. Fuck him!”
“I mean, what a fraud he is! He claimed he wanted me back, that he missed us, but I know he doesn’t; it’s a power thing and he needs me to pose. Then when I say no, he goes from supposedly loving me to calling me a trailer trash whore.”
“Fuck him. He’s done. Move on.”
“I want to. I really do. I’m just so . . . spent. I’m exhausted by life.”
“You’re just in a rut! You’ll get out, Eden.”
“You remember when we used to play video games for, like, hours on end at the Gas ’n’ Sip?” Eden asked Allison in a dazed voice.
“Sure, I was the Kong goddess,” Allison bragged. “I had top scores one through seven at one point.”
“Well, you know when Ms. Pacman dies?”
“Yeah, she kind of fades back from most of the pie to just a pie slice and then there’s that fizzle squirt sound of doom?”
“Exactly.”
“Yeah, so?”
“That is what my heart feels like,” Eden said. “When Ms. Pacman bites it.”
“Because of Otto?”
“No. Because of Wes.”
“You said on my voice mail you had a great time with him.”
“I did. Too good a time.” Eden crawled under the covers.
“What happened?”
Thinking about him gave Eden goose bumps. “I have this really sinking feeling that I made the wrong choice when I left him. I mean, of course I’m glad because I had Cole. But seeing him tonight just felt like . . . home. I know, it sounds crazy.”
“What are you going to do?” Allison asked.
“What can I do? Nothing. He had a date afterward, some chick who just finished school for Christ’s sake.”
“So there were sparks?”
“No, it was worse than that. I saw him and I was obviously so attracted to him. He’s still gorgeous,” Eden said. “But it wasn’t like I wanted to club him on the head and drag him to a room upstairs and screw him.”
“So that’s good.”
“No, see . . .” Eden shook her head. “What I wanted was to tell him I was madly in love with him.”
“Oh, boy,” Allison said, sensing disaster. “So what are you going to do about Chase?”
Eden felt guilty about Chase, whom she genuinely cared for, but she had to face reality. “I adore him, I really do. It’s just that seeing Wes showed me that I should have that feeling, that uncorked mad kind of love. And even though it’s obviously too late to rekindle that with Wes, at least I know that it’s out there, that I’m capable of having that kind of affection again.”
“Poor Chase,” Allison said.
“He has a whole life ahead of him,” Eden said. “He will make some woman so happy. He’ll have children, he’ll have it all. . . .”
“And what about you?” Allison asked.
“Me? Who knows.” Eden shrugged. “For the first time in my life, I don’t have a clue what I want.”
64
No wise man ever wished to be younger.
—Chinese proverb
“Hurry,” Chase said eagerly as Eden quietly finished preparing dinner at the stove. “I have two very special things for you. I feel like it’s Christmas morning!”
“Hold on, I’m coming,” she said, plating the chicken française and haricots verts in mustard dressing. She lay the plates down on the trunk and noticed Chase had opened a bottle of Dom Perignon.
“Wow, that’s some nice stuff,” she noted.
“I stopped by Sherry-Lehmann on the way home. We have something to celebrate.”
“Oh?”
Chase tossed the ticket folio down next to her fork.
“What’s this?” Eden asked as Chase beamed, awaiting her reaction.
“It’s a voyage. For you and me. How does your birthday in India sound?”
“My birthday?”
“And if you don’t want to celebrate that, it’ll also be our eight-month anniversary.”
Eden was not into milestones. She loved them with Cole; his every birthday was a candle-blowing festival in the studio packed with kids and adults and friends and friends of friends. But as her own fortieth birthday loomed, she really didn’t care to mark any occasion, not the holidays—nothing that would officially seal her youth in the past.
But here Chase was, itinerary in hand.
“I spent the past two days at my company’s travel agency. We pored over all these brochures and Web sites, and the tra
vel agent said this is the most incredible trip: It starts in Goa in India, a beachfront resort where they filmed that movie The Beach or something. It’s totally unspoiled and there’s an out-of-the-way spa there. We can relax for a few days before touring the country with private guides at Oberoi resorts. We’ll be so far away. We can just enjoy each other, away from everything.”
“Chase,” Eden started carefully.
“Wait. There’s something else,” Chase said. “I want to tell you something.”
“What’s that?” she wondered.
“Before we go away together, before we see the whole world that’s out there, I want you to remember that this room, this apartment, is the only place I ever need to be.”
“I know,” Eden said, touching his chin as if he were a beloved nephew rather than her boyfriend. “That’s so sweet.”
“This is the place where I fell madly in love with you. And while I could do this on a mountaintop or in the clouds with sky-writing or even on our trip, with a thousand orchids . . .”
“Do what?” Eden said, stepping back.
“This.”
Chase knelt down before her. Like a little kid with a trick up his custom-tailored sleeve, he reached mischievously into his inside jacket pocket. He pulled out a small red leather box, unmistakably Cartier. With a huge beaming smile, he handed it to her.
“Oh my God.”
“Open it.”
Slowly Eden opened the red box, revealing a beautiful square solitaire diamond ring. But before she could even look up into Chase’s pleading eyes, one crystal thought appeared in her head, as clear as the flawless D stone that shone before her. A thought that brought her back to Wes. And made her heart shatter the way she had broken his so long ago.
65
One of the many things nobody ever tells you about middle age is that it’s such a nice change from being young.
