by M A Gelsey
“He reminds me of . . . someone I know,” Edgar Prime muttered.
“Is it serious? she asked.
“Serious?” he said, looking at her with genuine confusion. “Oh! No, no, it’s not — we haven’t — nothing’s happened yet. Or maybe it never will, I dunno.” Edgar Prime stared down at his feet trying to get a grip. Dr. Midas’s research fellow was the last person he wanted to discuss his feelings for Hugo with. He didn’t want Dr. Midas to find out and somehow interfere.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.” It was as though Patrice had read his mind. “He looks a bit like my boyfriend too. The flight attendant, I mean.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Edgar Prime repeated stupidly. He didn’t know why he hadn’t expected that. Patrice was very smart and very pretty — of course she was bound to have someone. She laughed at his question.
“Don’t look so flabbergasted,” she said. “I don’t live at the lab, you know.”
“Oh, I didn’t think you did,” he said unconvincingly.
“It’s okay. I should take that as a compliment. I obviously come across as dedicated to my job.”
“How long have you been with your boyfriend?” Edgar Prime asked.
“Five years. We’ve lived together for four. He’s been proposing a lot lately,” Patrice commented. Edgar Prime couldn’t tell if she was happy about this or not.
“Congratulations,” he said hesitantly.
Patrice laughed again. “We’re not engaged. I don’t believe in marriage, Wilbur just thinks if he keeps asking maybe I’ll change my mind.”
“Wilbur?” he said, raising both eyebrows.
“His mother was a massive fan of Charlotte’s Web.” Patrice rolled her eyes. “It’s partly for her sake he wants us to get married. She’s not religious or anything, just a sucker for old fashioned romance.”
Edgar Prime wasn’t sure what to say to this apart from, “Hmm.” Other passengers filed past them towards coach, and the cabin was filled with overlapping conversations.
“And you don’t think you’d ever marry him? You know, to make her happy?”
“No,” said Patrice simply. “If I ever get married, I’d want it to be for me. Besides, what difference will a piece of paper make? If Wilbur and I are meant to last, we will. Marriage certificate or no.”
“That’s . . . an interesting perspective.”
“You want to get married?”
“I dunno,” said Edgar Prime. “I’ve never really thought about it.” This was the truth. He was far more concerned with his immediate situation than he was with what might happen a decade or more into the future.
Across the aisle, Dr. Midas and the silver fox were laughing together, their faces closer than necessary, given the wide seats of first class.
“Wanna make a bet on how long it takes for the two of them to disappear into the bathroom together?” Patrice muttered so quietly Edgar Prime could barely hear her. Now it was his turn to laugh, because he had been thinking along those lines too. Patrice grinned at him but Dr. Midas was oblivious to them both, focusing all his attention on his new companion.
“Five hours in,” Edgar Prime said finally. “By then everyone will be too zoned out to notice.”
“I’d say no more than three,” Patrice said. “But probably less than two. After they clear away the food would be my guess.”
Patrice won the bet. Across the aisle, Dr. Midas and his companion flirted through a meal of endive pear gorgonzola salad, creamy mushroom pasta and quite a bit of red wine. They even shared the chocolate mousse dessert. Once the dishes had been cleared away, they barely waited fifteen minutes. Dr. Midas got up first, walking discretely behind the curtain to the restroom. A moment later, his companion followed, something that Elliott the flight attendant seemed to notice but did not comment on.
Edgar Prime and Patrice laughed together, Patrice joking that he should have been able to predict Dr. Midas’s actions better than she because of their identical DNA. Twenty minutes later when they made their staggered return to their seats with matching satisfied expressions on their faces, Edgar Prime thought for the first time that maybe he ought to observe Dr. Midas in these situations more closely. He had never bothered to hide his many dalliances from Edgar Prime, no doubt assuming they’d be as identical in this respect as they were in appearance and intellect. But Edgar Prime was still a virgin at almost nineteen, and still felt awkward and fluttery whenever Hugo was around. He didn’t know the first thing about how to go about turning his fantasies into reality the way Dr. Midas seemed to do with such ease.
It was far from the first time Edgar Prime felt envious of Dr. Midas, but for once he wondered whether maybe this was something he too could learn. After all, if Dr. Midas could do it, logic dictated that so too could Edgar Prime. One final glance at the pair across the aisle allowed this notion to further crystallize, and Edgar Prime lay back and closed his eyes thinking of the many things he’d like to do to Hugo once he solved the mystery of how to make the first move.
24: ANNABEL
It was overcast and breezy. Annabel sat at a spindly outdoor cafe table in town, staring across the street at the park while she waited for Ms. Durant. She had arrived first despite taking the long but more picturesque route into town, walking around the bay across rocky beaches with dry seaweed that crunched beneath her feet. After about thirty minutes of that she’d cut through the tall grass that grew beyond the sand and found the narrow, curved footpath leading into town. She could have been driven, of course, but she preferred the solitude and the freedom of her walk.
She spotted Ms. Durant hurrying up the sidewalk, handbag swinging back and forth with each step.
“Annabel, darling,” said Ms. Durant when she reached her. “Have you been waiting long? I always underestimate how long it’ll take me to do this walk.”
“No problem,” Annabel said. “I just got here.” Ms. Durant settled into the seat opposite to catch her breath. After a few moments a waiter came to take their orders: a jasmine tea for Annabel, and an espresso and soda water for Ms. Durant. As always, Ms. Durant began by asking Annabel if she was happy in her married life.
“I’m not sure,” Annabel confided. “I think maybe it would be different if I had something to do during the day.”
“Oh hush,” Ms. Durant chided her. “Be grateful that your husband can provide for you. Many aren’t so lucky.”
“I am grateful,” Annabel protested. “But I’d just like to feel like I’m contributing somehow. I’ve been thinking of getting a job.”
“What kind of a job?” Ms. Durant asked. She had a skeptical look on her face, and Annabel scowled.
“I don’t know,” Annabel said. She wasn’t sure what she was really qualified for — she had a high school diploma but nothing else.
“That’s not a very good place to start, is it?” Ms. Durant said.
“I suppose not.” Their drinks arrived and Ms. Durant took a delicate sip of her espresso.
“Hmm,” she said, pursing her lips. “Not up to their usual standard. Certainly doesn’t hold a candle to the espresso I had in Italy.”
“When have you been to Italy?” Annabel asked. Her jasmine tea was too hot to drink, but Annabel inhaled the delicate floral scent of the steam rising from the cup while she waited for it to cool.
“I studied there for a year in college,” Ms. Durant said. “In Rome.”
“You never told me that!” Annabel’s tone was almost accusatory.
“You never asked,” Ms. Durant replied, taking another sip of the espresso. “This is growing on me, I think.”
“That’s not fair,” Annabel chided. “I didn’t know enough to know I should ask about that. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Ms. Durant said. “I was only teasing. But there is a lot you don’t know about me.”
“What else?” Annabel asked.
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, young lady,” said Ms. Durant primly. “Some things woul
d be inappropriate for a caretaker to share with her ward.”
“But I’m an adult now. Married and everything,” Annabel said, even though she did not really feel like an adult.
“That is true,” Ms. Durant conceded. “But you’re still quite young. I would not want to shock you.”
“Shock me?” Now Annabel was really interested. “I bet you couldn’t.”
“Bet I could.”
“You’ll have to tell me so we can figure out who wins the bet,” Annabel said.
Ms. Durant considered her for a moment before answering. Then she leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial voice. “I hitchhiked a few times when I was in my twenties. Also — I used to smoke.”
“What?!” Annabel said. “You were a smoker who hitchhiked?” Annabel couldn’t even picture a young Ms. Durant, much less one with a cigarette in her mouth and her thumb out to signal she needed a ride.
Ms. Durant shrugged. “Everybody makes bad decisions when they’re young.”
“What else?” Annabel asked.
“Nothing abnormal,” Ms. Durant replied. “Occasionally drinking too much, staying up all night. The sorts of things you do for no reason other than to prove you can.”
“I’ve never done any of that,” Annabel said in a small voice.
“Be grateful for it,” Ms. Durant said. “You’ve been spared the need to experience that all firsthand. All it’ll get you is a hangover.”
“But maybe —”
“Not buts,” Ms. Durant said firmly. “I only told you this because as you said you’re a married woman now, and I thought you were mature enough to hear about my youthful mistakes without wanting to emulate them.”
“Have you ever been in love?” Annabel asked. A faint frown line appeared between Ms. Durant’s eyes, and she did not answer immediately. She sipped her espresso, looking as though she was lost in thought. Annabel waited.
“I have,” Ms. Durant said finally. “Many years ago. It didn’t work out.”
“Why not? Who was he?” Annabel asked. She wondered what it was like, having never experienced it herself.
“Someone I went to school with,” Ms. Durant said. “We were both young and stupid. Then after we broke up, he met someone else. For a long time I hoped he’d come back to me, but it wasn’t to be.”
“That’s so sad,” Annabel said.
“It was hard,” Ms. Durant admitted. “But I’m grateful I had the good times, even though the end was painful. After a while, I moved on.”
“Has there been anyone else?” Annabel asked.
“There have been a few over the years,” Ms. Durant said. “But none of them lasted.”
“Oh,” Annabel said. She wanted to ask if Ms. Durant was lonely, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.
“Don’t worry about me, my dear,” Ms. Durant said, correctly interpreting the look on Annabel’s face. “I’ve had plenty of joy in my life, and anyway I’m not dead yet.”
That made Annabel smile.
“And what about Rex? You knew him when you were both young. Was he very different?”
Ms. Durant took a long while to answer, draining the last of her espresso then taking a sip of her soda water.
“Flat,” she said, making a disappointed face as she put the glass back down. Annabel waited, watching her expectantly. “In many ways he was just the same,” said Ms. Durant. “He loved you for one thing. And he still does.” There was a pause during which the word you hung between them, unacknowledged by either for its inaccuracy.
“But was he — more fun back then?” Annabel asked in a tentative voice. She wished Ms. Durant could tell her something that would make the stranger who was her husband seem more lovable to her. Is it possible to make yourself love someone?
Ms. Durant turned the question back on Annabel. “He’s not fun now?”
“It’s — of course he is,” Annabel lied. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Ms. Durant the truth of their relationship. Ms. Durant continued to scrutinize Annabel for another moment before she nodded, apparently satisfied.
“Good,” she said. “You’re very fortunate, Annabel. Do you know how many other women would kill to be in your place?”
“I am grateful.” Annabel had lost count of how many times the word “grateful” had come up in this conversation. She drank the last of her tea quickly, then made her excuses.
“I’m sorry. I really should be getting back. Rex wants to have lunch with me.” This wasn’t the case; in fact Rex had told her he was likely going to be working until dinner. But as much as Annabel had previously craved company, now all she wanted was solitude.
“Of course. Please give him my regards.” Both women stood up and gathered their things.
“I will.” Annabel laid some bills on the table. Ms. Durant hugged Annabel briefly, then they parted ways. Annabel made her way slowly back to the trail that would lead her the long way home around the bay. Once Ms. Durant was out of sight, Annabel considered circling back to wander for a while. If she was lucky, maybe she would run into the shirtless gardener, although she didn’t have the faintest idea what she’d do if she got her wish. All of her fantasies about him conveniently skipped over the initial contact and started mid-tryst. Annabel couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty for having them. It wasn’t as though she expected them to ever become a reality.
She reached the trail that led back to the house without seeing many people — it was still the off-season for the New England beach town — and she began trudging through the grass, taking care to avoid any poison ivy. The walk back seemed to take no time at all. Annabel ate lunch alone when she returned, then spent the rest of the afternoon laying on the balcony with a book. She was rereading Sense and Sensibility in the hope that she’d learn something worthwhile about love and duty. She found herself more moved by the characters than ever before, particularly the fact that marriage was the only solution they had to remedy their unfortunate circumstances.
Inside she could hear the sound of a Roomba vacuum slowly making its way over all the wooden floors of the house while Mrs. Lennox prepared dinner. The aroma drifting out the wide kitchen windows suggested paella, one of Annabel’s favorites.
Rex made his appearance just as Marianne was cast aside by Willoughby. They sat down to dinner, and Rex asked about her morning with Ms. Durant. Annabel told him it was enjoyable but did not elaborate. Rex didn’t seem to mind. After a few minutes of silence, Annabel took a deep breath and decided to broach the subject of her possible employment.
“I was thinking,” she began in a tentative voice. “ I might try to find a job. At least part time, so I’ll have something to do during the day.”
Rex looked up from the mussel he’d been removing from its shell. For a second he looked surprised, then he burst out laughing. Annabel shifted uncomfortably in her seat — this wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting from him.
Through his laughter Rex said, “But why?” as though it was the most hilariously preposterous suggestion he’d ever heard.
“I don’t know,” Annabel said stiffly. “I just thought it would be good for me to contribute.”
“Oh my darling, there’s no need for that!” Rex exclaimed, his mirth still evident in every line of his face. “We’ve absolutely no need for any additional income. You’re already contributing more than enough.”
“I just thought —” she began.
“— it would be fun?” Rex finished for her shrewdly. He still looked amused. “Trust me, a single day working in some boring shop will cure you of that notion. It’s a great privilege not to have to work. Most women appreciate having that sort of security from their husbands.”
“I do appreciate it,” Annabel said. “It was just an idea.”
“Tell you what,” Rex said. “Instead of getting some silly little sales job or whatever you were thinking about, why don’t you enroll in online university? You’ve always been interested in art history, haven’t you? Might give us
some new things to talk about.”
Annabel considered the suggestion. She had never expressed any interest in art history before, but she assumed that he must be remembering something the original Annabel had liked. Annabel wasn’t even bothered by his confusion — instead she felt excited for the first time in ages. Something new.
“I’ll enroll tomorrow,” she said. Rex smiled and lifted his wine glass to toast her decision.
25: JAVI
To Javi’s pleasant surprise, neither of his parents brought up Imogen Shaw during the next couple of days. He had been dreading that painfully awkward conversation from the moment she’d said she called them. His dread was compounded by the fact that she had somehow become his new go-to masturbation fantasy. Try as he might, Javi couldn’t figure out what it was about her that he found so arousing — sure, she was pretty but not exceptionally so. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that after their meeting he’d been dreaming of her — not just sexually but in all sorts of ways. She seemed to make at least a cameo appearance in just about every dream he could remember, no matter how much he tried to fight it. Then he’d wake up sweating profusely, usually with a rock-hard boner.
At breakfast on Thursday morning, Javi found himself once again dwelling on thoughts of Imogen. Irritated, he pushed them away while picking at his avocado toast, trying to focus instead on the study date he had that afternoon with Stella.
“Did you send Stanford your deposit yet?” his mother asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee. Javi grunted noncommittally. She sat down across from him at the kitchen table and fixed him with a penetrating stare.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he mumbled. Javi still hadn’t talked to his parents about how he’d rather not follow their dead son’s dream of attending Stanford, and that he’d prefer to choose his own school.
“Why not?” came his father’s voice from the foot of the stairs. His father strode through the living room into the open plan kitchen where he poured his coffee and sat down next to Javi.
