The Smart One (48 page)

Katherine had come to see it with her, had looked around and then at Claire. “You could find a much bigger place by me,” she said. But Claire took it and Katherine just shrugged. “It’s your overpriced apartment,” she said.

The night Claire moved in, she had a few friends over and they sat on the floor and drank wine out of plastic cups. They ordered Thai food and ate it out of the containers, passing around spring rolls and noodles. After dinner, they left to go to a bar, since they were all feeling a little cramped by then. Claire was almost hyper that night, was excited at every suggestion someone made, could barely keep from skipping to the bar.

“You look like you just moved to New York for the first time,” Katherine told her. “You’re acting like a tourist or something.”

Claire knew it was true. She was so happy to be back in New York that sometimes she’d be walking down the street and she’d get a rise in her chest and a giddiness that bubbled out of her throat. It made her smile at strangers. She couldn’t help it. These strange surges of happiness seemed to come out of nowhere. Even if she’d wanted to stop herself from bouncing up and down and smiling, she didn’t think she’d have been able to.

It was strange. Claire was back in New York, working for a nonprofit, just like she had been a year ago. It was almost like she was right back where she’d started, but it didn’t feel that way at all.

There were things that Claire didn’t even know she’d missed until
she moved back. At home, everything was done for her—grocery shopping, laundry, dusting, cleaning the bathroom. Now, she was responsible for all of it again. The first time she went to the grocery store after moving into the apartment, she had the best time. She bought a random assortment of things—sugar, cereal, Diet Coke, yogurt, cheese, crackers. There was nothing in all of it that could make a meal, but it didn’t matter. She was only a little embarrassed at how free she felt, how grateful she was to throw whatever she wanted into her cart.

Weezy came to visit, carrying a potted plant and a new afghan that she’d made. “Oh,” she said when she stepped into the apartment.

“I know, it’s small,” Claire said. “But I love it.”

“It’s adorable,” Weezy said. She set the plant on the kitchen counter and arranged the afghan on the back of the new couch.

“It looks perfect,” Claire said.

Claire and Weezy walked around the neighborhood, and then on the Promenade. Weezy kept looking over her shoulder, like she thought someone was following them. She’d never been a fan of any of the places that Claire lived in New York, and this one was no different. Claire tried to ignore it.

They talked mostly about Nina and Max and Cleo, but also about Martha’s new condo. They’d never really addressed the fighting that took place during Claire’s year at home, the accusations that she’d made. Weezy had tried to bring it up before she’d moved out, saying, “You have such a support system that we don’t have to worry about you as much,” and she had looked like she was going to cry and so Claire just said, “It’s fine, Mom, it’s fine.” Claire had apologized for her behavior, and then really wanted to drop it. There was no use in talking about it, in making everyone uncomfortable. It was just the way it was.

Now Weezy was talking about the shore again, telling Claire that they’d pay for her train ticket, that the whole family was going to be there, that Martha really missed her and would love it if she came.

“Of course I’ll come,” Claire said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Oh good,” Weezy said.

It was so much easier to be gracious with distance.

THE END OF AUGUST WAS COOLER
than normal, and everyone seemed to shift with the weather. Usually when they were at the shore, it felt like they were waiting for summer to end, dreading the return to fall. This year, it felt like summer was already over. There wasn’t the same sense of longing in any of them.

They didn’t spend much time at the beach. It was hard to take Nina down there and everyone seemed just as happy sitting out on the deck in the morning and going for walks in the afternoon. Their days revolved around Nina, and they could spend hours watching her, talking about how much she ate or what she was wearing or how funny and cute she was. Nina was a topic they all agreed on, and Claire couldn’t remember what they’d talked about before her.

One afternoon, they had Nina set up in the middle of the room, lying on her back on a blanket, a mobile set up above her. She was looking intently at a stuffed corn on the cob, frowning at it, like she didn’t like the way it was smiling at her. She sized it up for a while, then wound up her arm and swatted it. She looked pleased when it went flying, and waited for it to settle down, then gave it another whack with her arm.

“I wonder what the corn said to piss her off,” Max said.

“She’s so focused,” Claire said.

“Oh, she is so smart,” Weezy said. Everyone laughed a little, but Weezy just shook her head. “She’s one smart cookie, I’m telling you.”

Claire woke up one morning before anyone else and went down to the kitchen to find Cleo and Nina. She started a pot of coffee and then took Nina from Cleo. Nina had a habit of curling up when anyone tried to put her over their shoulder.

“She’s like a roly-poly bug,” Claire said.

“That’s what Max called her,” Cleo said. “It took me a while to figure out what he was talking about. We used to call them pill bugs.”

“Max loved poking them with sticks and watching them curl. It used to make him laugh so hard when he was little.”

“That’s what he told me. I can imagine it.”

“So, how’s it been going?” Claire asked.

“Okay,” she said. “I mean, it’s good. Just overwhelming, you know? I keep thinking that this baby’s parents will be by soon to pick her up and take care of her, and then I remember that it’s me. I’m the parent. Is that crazy?”

“I’m sure it’s normal.”

Cleo nodded. “It’s not that I want someone to take her, I just sometimes forget that I’m the one in charge of her. That she’s really mine. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“I promise. But don’t worry, I think it’s normal. Once, right after Lainie had Jack, we were out at the bar and she all of a sudden looked shocked and said, ‘I just forgot I had a baby. Just for a second.’ ”

Cleo laughed. “Thanks,” she said. “That makes me feel better.”

It was strange watching Max with Nina. He picked her up with so much ease, changed her diaper and fed her with authority. He burped her with a great amount of confidence, patting her back hard, then smiling when he was successful, always laughing when she burped especially loud, saying, “That’s my girl.”

It was the first time ever that Max couldn’t and wouldn’t ask for Claire’s advice. What did she know about babies that could help him? It was so bizarre and a little sad to watch Max going ahead of her, to picture herself having a baby someday and asking Max for tips. But most of the time, she was just impressed with him, how unafraid he was of Nina, how in control he seemed when he held her with one arm or buttoned her into a new outfit.

Martha kept saying, “Thank God for this vacation,” and shaking her head. Her new patient was apparently difficult and Martha loved to talk about her. “She’s running me ragged,” she said. “She’s sort of a wretched old woman. Last week she told me that I should dress for my body type. Can you imagine?”

Claire found herself actually laughing at Martha’s stories. Now that they weren’t living under the same roof, and Martha was no longer pushing for sisters couple therapy, Claire found her kind of amusing. She even managed not to get annoyed when Martha talked to her about the benefits of owning her own place. “You really should make that a goal,” she told Claire. “What you’re paying in rent, just throwing that
money away month after month.” She shuddered, like the thought was repulsive.

“I’ll think about that,” Claire said.

Maybe it was because of the weather, or maybe it was because she’d just had a baby, but Cleo didn’t wear a bikini once. Whatever the reason, Claire was grateful.

THE LAST NIGHT THAT EVERYONE
was at the house, they barbecued and ate outside. Claire and Weezy had marinated cubes of chicken and beef, and skewered them with red, green, and yellow peppers, mushrooms, and onions.

It was a nice night and everyone was laughing a lot. They were sharing Nina like a toy, passing her around nicely, even if they were all a little reluctant to let her go. Claire noticed the way that everyone leaned down to smell Nina’s head before they had to hand her off to the next person, how they breathed in deeply, like teenagers sniffing glue to get high.

Nina fell asleep while Claire was holding her, and she didn’t make a move to pass her to anyone else. She wasn’t trying to be a baby hog, but Nina was her goddaughter and they were all leaving tomorrow, so it seemed only fair. Nina snuffled in her sleep, like a tiny little pig. She was a beautiful baby, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone.

Everyone talked late into the night, like they didn’t want to go to bed and admit that it was the end of vacation. Claire was a little sad to leave, but also excited to get back to her new apartment, to spend time there. The apartment was new enough that it didn’t quite feel like hers yet. She still had the sense when she opened the door that she was walking into an unfamiliar place. It didn’t bother her, though. She knew that would change soon enough. She knew that one day, she’d walk in and it would be like she belonged there. All of the dust and dirt would be what she created, the smell would be her own. And she would be able to walk barefoot everywhere without thinking that someone else’s foot germs were there. It would be like no one else had ever lived there before, like no one else would be there after; it would feel like home.

Maureen went into the house and came out carrying a new bottle
of wine. “Just one more splash for everyone,” she said. “It’s our last night here, we can’t go to bed early.”

They all obeyed, holding out their glasses like children, while Maureen stood in the middle of the circle, turning and pouring. Claire wrapped the blanket a little bit more up around Nina’s face, even though it wasn’t cold out. Will was talking about his new teaching schedule, listing all of the things he had to do to get ready as soon as they got back.

It was quiet for a few moments, and Claire could tell that everyone was getting sleepy. But then Martha started talking about her job again, explaining how her patient sometimes tried to sneak away from her in the store. And they all turned to her to listen, gave her full attention, and watched her as she said, “I have to chase her down, scream her name in the supermarket like a crazy person.” Martha looked pleased as everyone laughed, then looked down at her lap for a moment and twisted her hands around, like a middle school girl, embarrassed by the attention. They were all silent for a few seconds, waiting. And then she recovered and went on.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For my husband, Tim Hartz, who lets me take over the dining room table with piles of papers for weeks at a time and talk about my characters over dinner—when I come out of my writing haze, I’m so happy that you’re the one there to greet me. Thanks for everything, friend. I think marrying you was a good decision.

My agent, Sam Hiyate, always, always believes in my writing and in me, which means more than I can ever say.

As far as editors go, Jenny Jackson is the very best. She is thoughtful and wise in her edits, so fun to gossip with, and always starts e-mails to me by saying, “this is a no-pressure e-mail.” For all of these reasons (and because she makes my books better), I am delighted to know her.

I am a lucky writer to have such a great family. My parents, Pat and Jack Close, are the best cheerleaders ever. They are willing to attend multiple readings, assure me things will work out if I get nervous (Mom), and try to sell my book to strangers (that’s you, Dad). Thanks, you guys.

Kevin Close, Chris and Susan Close, and Carol and Scott Hartz are a constant support and eager readers. I couldn’t ask for more.

My adorable and brilliant niece, Ava Close, responded to the cover art for this book by saying, “Ooooh, Santa.” Ava, I am always happy to have your honest feedback.

Wrigley Close-Hartz keeps me company while I write and also makes sure that I get outside at least once a day, by demanding his walk.

I AM ALSO GRATEFUL TO:

All of my students at George Washington University, who remind me of why I wanted to be a writer in the first place.

Tom Mallon, who was kind enough to give me a job teaching creative writing at GW.

My virtual coworkers—all of the people who make my days a little less lonely, by chatting over e-mail, answering writing questions, reading drafts, and always offering encouragement: Megan Angelo, Jessica Liebman, Martha Leonard, Lee Goldberg, Courtney Sullivan, and Molly Erman.

Moriah Cleveland is forever willing to talk to me about imaginary people as though they were real. There is no first reader/e-mail companion that I would rather have. You are invaluable.

My friends are constantly telling me funny things, and sometimes I have to steal bits of their dialogue and stories for my writing. Thank you, and I’m sorry, but if you guys weren’t so funny I wouldn’t have to do it—Becky Schillo, Margaret Hoerster, Mairead Garry, Erin Claydon, Erin Bradley, Mary Colleen Bragiel, and Hilary Murdock.