being gone is making me nuts.”
“He gets embarrassed, doesn’t know how to return to the party. I mean, that’s what Weinstein said. So how are you doing?” She gave me her most supportive expression. “Talk to me.”
“Well, it’s hard.” Dixie cup, Dixie cup. “Two kids, two schedules, Wynn applying to middle school, Maya gets frustrated that the older kids can do more so I’ve had to meet with her teachers, and this new job—”
“Think who you’re talking to,” she abruptly cut me off. “I mean, at least you have a community.” She pulled a baggie of acupuncture herbs out of her canvas tote, which she yanked open, causing a puff of brown dust to settle on the counter. “We didn’t have blogs or meet-ups. Being a single mother was embarrassing. We had failed.”
“No, I know.” I stepped back. “I’m hardly a single mother, not even close.” I poured the boiling water over the brown powder, which instantly gave off the scent of monkey.
“Our generation got turfed out of our apartments, our social standing. We didn’t know to lawyer-up yet. We didn’t know to fight. I looked at the divorces in Blake’s class as he hit high school—those women came out swinging. You want to fuck the girl at the Porsche showroom? It’s gonna cost you, buddy. Not that I’m carrying regret. Regret’s cancer. No.” She shimmied her shoulders and dropped her head back to exhale a yogic breath.
“I don’t . . . this is not that,” I said, feeling, as I frequently did with Val, like I had to apologize on behalf of the 1980s.
“Now that I’m here we’ll talk. He’ll take his mom for a cannoli from Roccos and get it all out in the open.” She tilted her head conspiratorially. “What do you want me to ask?”
I hated having to depend on Val as my go-between. Her opinions were strong but quixotic, and inconsistencies were embraced with equal fervor. She could tell Blake to cut the shit—or that sabbaticals are a vital part of the life journey. And she’d consider both pieces of advice helpful.
But I didn’t want to be like that parable where the guy’s lost at sea and God sends help via dolphins and driftwood, but the guy drowns because he’s so fixated on getting a rescue ship. We just needed out of the water. Were the means that important?
“Just find out when he’s coming home,” I asked what I vowed I wouldn’t.
“Rory, just trust. Trust he will return when he is meant to return. So kids,” she called, turning her back to me, “do you love the honey? I know the beekeeper personally. Great guy.”
But, with far more skill than I had shown, Blake evaded Val all weekend, so I was teetering from tedium to full-on despair by the time she left Sunday morning to catch the ferry to the starting line. Then, because the universe decided I was never going to be allowed to stew in my pajamas like a normal wife in crisis, I received an unexpected call to bring the kids to a Marathon viewing brunch at Kathryn’s. Much frantic lint-rolling ensued. “Of course I’ll meet you there!” Claire said over the phone. “Don’t be nervous.”
“Kathryn is Editor in Chief. While friendly, she does not invite the likes of me to her home.” Which meant that metaphorically I was either about to be hit with a headwind, or a tailwind, and there was no way to tell which.
On the eighteenth floor we were greeted by a server offering champagne.
“Do you have chocolate milk?” Maya inquired as Claire helped her off with her coat.
“Can you imagine?” I asked Claire, having been unable to let go of it all weekend. “Your kid not talking for a month ? And she takes him to see the guy down the hall—who grows his own pot?”
“The seventies.” Claire shuddered. “I’m amazed he didn’t advise her to roll Blake in a rug and rebirth him.”
“Rory.” Kathryn emerged from the cluster of guests. There had to be at least a hundred people there.
“Your home is gorgeous,” I said as she kissed
“He gets embarrassed, doesn’t know how to return to the party. I mean, that’s what Weinstein said. So how are you doing?” She gave me her most supportive expression. “Talk to me.”
“Well, it’s hard.” Dixie cup, Dixie cup. “Two kids, two schedules, Wynn applying to middle school, Maya gets frustrated that the older kids can do more so I’ve had to meet with her teachers, and this new job—”
“Think who you’re talking to,” she abruptly cut me off. “I mean, at least you have a community.” She pulled a baggie of acupuncture herbs out of her canvas tote, which she yanked open, causing a puff of brown dust to settle on the counter. “We didn’t have blogs or meet-ups. Being a single mother was embarrassing. We had failed.”
“No, I know.” I stepped back. “I’m hardly a single mother, not even close.” I poured the boiling water over the brown powder, which instantly gave off the scent of monkey.
“Our generation got turfed out of our apartments, our social standing. We didn’t know to lawyer-up yet. We didn’t know to fight. I looked at the divorces in Blake’s class as he hit high school—those women came out swinging. You want to fuck the girl at the Porsche showroom? It’s gonna cost you, buddy. Not that I’m carrying regret. Regret’s cancer. No.” She shimmied her shoulders and dropped her head back to exhale a yogic breath.
“I don’t . . . this is not that,” I said, feeling, as I frequently did with Val, like I had to apologize on behalf of the 1980s.
“Now that I’m here we’ll talk. He’ll take his mom for a cannoli from Roccos and get it all out in the open.” She tilted her head conspiratorially. “What do you want me to ask?”
I hated having to depend on Val as my go-between. Her opinions were strong but quixotic, and inconsistencies were embraced with equal fervor. She could tell Blake to cut the shit—or that sabbaticals are a vital part of the life journey. And she’d consider both pieces of advice helpful.
But I didn’t want to be like that parable where the guy’s lost at sea and God sends help via dolphins and driftwood, but the guy drowns because he’s so fixated on getting a rescue ship. We just needed out of the water. Were the means that important?
“Just find out when he’s coming home,” I asked what I vowed I wouldn’t.
“Rory, just trust. Trust he will return when he is meant to return. So kids,” she called, turning her back to me, “do you love the honey? I know the beekeeper personally. Great guy.”
But, with far more skill than I had shown, Blake evaded Val all weekend, so I was teetering from tedium to full-on despair by the time she left Sunday morning to catch the ferry to the starting line. Then, because the universe decided I was never going to be allowed to stew in my pajamas like a normal wife in crisis, I received an unexpected call to bring the kids to a Marathon viewing brunch at Kathryn’s. Much frantic lint-rolling ensued. “Of course I’ll meet you there!” Claire said over the phone. “Don’t be nervous.”
“Kathryn is Editor in Chief. While friendly, she does not invite the likes of me to her home.” Which meant that metaphorically I was either about to be hit with a headwind, or a tailwind, and there was no way to tell which.
On the eighteenth floor we were greeted by a server offering champagne.
“Do you have chocolate milk?” Maya inquired as Claire helped her off with her coat.
“Can you imagine?” I asked Claire, having been unable to let go of it all weekend. “Your kid not talking for a month ? And she takes him to see the guy down the hall—who grows his own pot?”
“The seventies.” Claire shuddered. “I’m amazed he didn’t advise her to roll Blake in a rug and rebirth him.”
“Rory.” Kathryn emerged from the cluster of guests. There had to be at least a hundred people there.
“Your home is gorgeous,” I said as she kissed
Similar Books
