still, most definitely, there.
The bottom line, though, is that Jake just gave me butterflies, and they feel really, really good. I haven’t gotten that feeling from Darren in quite a while. It’s not that I don’t love him; it has nothing to do with that. It’s just that butterflies fade as a relationship deepens. But what replaces that new-relationship glow is arguably even better: the patina of contentment, of safety, of knowing that the person you love is truly there for you physically, emotionally, forever.
I spend the afternoon working on my piece for Nicole. I decided to make it about starting a mindful meditation practice. The boys play DS, build Lego ships, and play baseball outside. Darren works for a while, and, later, joins the boys for batting practice. If someone like Lorna were watching us through binoculars, and I wouldn’t put it past her, we’d look like the picture of family bliss. Just goes to show that you have no idea what’s really going on inside anyone’s marriage by appearances alone.
When I sit down at my makeup mirror to get ready for my date, I gasp in surprise. One of the boys has been playing at my vanity again and turned my mirror to the 10x magnification side. Once a woman hits thirty-five, it’s rarely a good idea for her to look at her face magnified 10x—there’s absolutely nothing to gain—unless she has to pluck her eyebrows or squeeze her blackheads. I could join the ranks of my peers booking Botox appointments, getting fillers injected into their frown lines, and opting for plastic surgery on their lips, chins, eyelids, eyebrows, and cheeks. But I don’t really mind how I look. At least not yet. At regular magnification. I won’t say I’ll never call a plastic surgeon, but I hope that when I do start minding how I look, I will be old and wise enough to feel like the wrinkles give me a sort of street cred, that I’ll not succumb to the trend of making fifty- and sixty-year-olds look like weird, molded twenty-year-olds. Or, for that matter, like the cast of The Hills .
I opt for a pair of flattering, dark-rinse jeans, an off-the-shoulder sheer black blouse with a black camisole underneath, and strappy black wedges. After going back and forth about it, I decide to wear the necklace Darren gave me for our ten-year anniversary: a sapphire heart rimmed in diamonds on a gold chain. I check myself out in the mirror. It had never crossed my mind before that Darren would consider a younger, sexier, skinnier version of me. But that’s all changed. I know he loves me for who I am right now, but I can’t help thinking that if my man strayed once, my man could stray again, and I may have to work a bit harder to keep that from happening. I wouldn’t be the first woman to do so.
chapter eleven
Darren takes me to Moderne Barn in Armonk. The restaurant has a great New York City vibe and it’s packed with a chic crowd. I love the decor of the dining room, which is lined with Roberto Dutesco’s stunning and evocative, oversize, black-and-white photographs of wild horses. I’m happy I decided to accept Darren’s invitation.
After we’re seated and order drinks, a scotch for Darren and a glass of chardonnay for me, I excuse myself to the ladies’ room.
“Hi, Grace,” a woman says as I open the door.
I turn to see Margaret White, the HR Director who had so unceremoniously canned me from the Westchester Weekly, applying lip gloss.
“Hi, Margaret, how are you?” I ask. She’s wearing a little, emphasis on little , black dress and black stilettos. She pulls them both off quite well. Her dark hair hangs pin-straight to her shoulders, and her legs are tanned and toned. She is as beautiful as I remember.
“I’ve been better,” she says with a small smile. “I worked for the Weekly for nine years. It’s hard being on the job market again.” She turns back to her reflection and continues with the lip gloss.
“I’m so sorry. I still can’t believe that Matthew sold
The bottom line, though, is that Jake just gave me butterflies, and they feel really, really good. I haven’t gotten that feeling from Darren in quite a while. It’s not that I don’t love him; it has nothing to do with that. It’s just that butterflies fade as a relationship deepens. But what replaces that new-relationship glow is arguably even better: the patina of contentment, of safety, of knowing that the person you love is truly there for you physically, emotionally, forever.
I spend the afternoon working on my piece for Nicole. I decided to make it about starting a mindful meditation practice. The boys play DS, build Lego ships, and play baseball outside. Darren works for a while, and, later, joins the boys for batting practice. If someone like Lorna were watching us through binoculars, and I wouldn’t put it past her, we’d look like the picture of family bliss. Just goes to show that you have no idea what’s really going on inside anyone’s marriage by appearances alone.
When I sit down at my makeup mirror to get ready for my date, I gasp in surprise. One of the boys has been playing at my vanity again and turned my mirror to the 10x magnification side. Once a woman hits thirty-five, it’s rarely a good idea for her to look at her face magnified 10x—there’s absolutely nothing to gain—unless she has to pluck her eyebrows or squeeze her blackheads. I could join the ranks of my peers booking Botox appointments, getting fillers injected into their frown lines, and opting for plastic surgery on their lips, chins, eyelids, eyebrows, and cheeks. But I don’t really mind how I look. At least not yet. At regular magnification. I won’t say I’ll never call a plastic surgeon, but I hope that when I do start minding how I look, I will be old and wise enough to feel like the wrinkles give me a sort of street cred, that I’ll not succumb to the trend of making fifty- and sixty-year-olds look like weird, molded twenty-year-olds. Or, for that matter, like the cast of The Hills .
I opt for a pair of flattering, dark-rinse jeans, an off-the-shoulder sheer black blouse with a black camisole underneath, and strappy black wedges. After going back and forth about it, I decide to wear the necklace Darren gave me for our ten-year anniversary: a sapphire heart rimmed in diamonds on a gold chain. I check myself out in the mirror. It had never crossed my mind before that Darren would consider a younger, sexier, skinnier version of me. But that’s all changed. I know he loves me for who I am right now, but I can’t help thinking that if my man strayed once, my man could stray again, and I may have to work a bit harder to keep that from happening. I wouldn’t be the first woman to do so.
chapter eleven
Darren takes me to Moderne Barn in Armonk. The restaurant has a great New York City vibe and it’s packed with a chic crowd. I love the decor of the dining room, which is lined with Roberto Dutesco’s stunning and evocative, oversize, black-and-white photographs of wild horses. I’m happy I decided to accept Darren’s invitation.
After we’re seated and order drinks, a scotch for Darren and a glass of chardonnay for me, I excuse myself to the ladies’ room.
“Hi, Grace,” a woman says as I open the door.
I turn to see Margaret White, the HR Director who had so unceremoniously canned me from the Westchester Weekly, applying lip gloss.
“Hi, Margaret, how are you?” I ask. She’s wearing a little, emphasis on little , black dress and black stilettos. She pulls them both off quite well. Her dark hair hangs pin-straight to her shoulders, and her legs are tanned and toned. She is as beautiful as I remember.
“I’ve been better,” she says with a small smile. “I worked for the Weekly for nine years. It’s hard being on the job market again.” She turns back to her reflection and continues with the lip gloss.
“I’m so sorry. I still can’t believe that Matthew sold
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