Wife 22 (31 page)

I am a very bad person. Helen of Troy is a very put-together person. Even though I stole her boyfriend, she went on to have a fine life. A better life, perhaps, than mine.

I slide off the bed and walk to the top of the stairs.

“William!” I shout. I feel a pressing need to talk to him. I don’t know about what. I just want to hear his voice.

No answer.

“William?”

Jampo comes tearing up the stairs.

“Your name is not William,” I say, and he cocks his head forlornly.

I think about the way William reached out for my hand when we were in the woods, right after Peter saw the deer. I think about Peter’s accident and how that unlikely event—its marshmallow roasting sticks and pus and ER confessions of sexual identity—have bonded us all together. I think about Zoe looking at me with kindness and worrying I might be getting sick and I know what I have to do. The past twenty-four hours have just solidified it. I log on to Lucy’s Facebook page before I lose my nerve and send a message to Researcher 101.

As soon as I press Send, I feel a rush of sweet relief, not unlike the relief I used to feel on a Monday when I entered “eggs” on my Weight Watchers Plan Manager.

The next day I decide to unplug. I’m scared to see Researcher 101’s reply (or worse, his silence) and I don’t want to spend the day obsessively checking my Facebook messages, so I shut off my phone and computer and leave them in my office. It’s not easy. My fingers involuntarily tap and circle all day as if browsing an invisible page. And even though I don’t have my phone, I react as if I do. I’m in a state of hypervigilance—waiting to be summoned by a bell that will not be ringing.

I try and embed myself in the day. I run with Caroline; Peter and I bake blueberry muffins; I take Zoe to Goodwill; but even though my body is there, my brain is not. I’m no better than Helen. I, too, treat my
life as something to be mined and then packaged up for public consumption. Every post, every upload, every
Like
, every
Interest
, every
Comment
is a performance. But what happens to the performer when she’s playing to an empty stage? And when did the real world become so empty? When everybody abandoned it for the Internet?

My digital diet lasts until after dinner, when I can’t bear it any longer and I break my fast. By the time I log on to Lucy Pevensie’s Facebook page, I’m breathless.

Relief floods through me again, but there’s nothing sweet about it this time. It’s relief of the desperate, addictive, I-may-never-have-an-opportunity-like-this-again sort, and it hits me like I’ve mainlined a drug. Before I can stop myself, God help me, I click
Yes
.

“I
’m coming over there right now,” says Nedra.

“I’m in the middle of coloring my hair—you can’t,” I say, looking into the bathroom mirror with dismay. “Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.”

I place the phone on the counter and start scrubbing my forehead with a dry washcloth. “I’ve got dye all over my face and it’s not coming off!” I cry.

“Are you using soap and water?”

“Of course I am,” I say, squirting the washcloth with three pumps of liquid soap and then running it under the tap.

“Alice. This is crazy. I’m begging you, don’t go meet him,” says Nedra.

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, really? Okay. Let’s see—your needs weren’t being met. Could you be any less original, Alice?”

“Researcher 101 sees me for who I really am,” I say. A woman in her underwear with dye dripping down her temples. “And he’s a mystery. And I feel like if I don’t do this now, there’ll never be another chance.” I throw the washcloth in the sink and check the time. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Nedra pauses. “That’s what they all say. Researcher 101 is an invention, you know that, don’t you? You’ve invented him. You think you know him, but you don’t. It’s a one-way relationship. You’ve revealed
everything to him, all your secrets, your confessions, your hopes and your dreams, and he hasn’t told you anything about himself,” says Nedra.

“That’s not true,” I say, combing my hair. “He’s told me things.”

“What, that he likes piña coladas? What kind of a man likes piña coladas?”

“He told me he can’t stop thinking about me,” I say softly.

“Oh, Alice. And you believed him? William is real.
William
. Okay, you’ve grown apart. Okay, you’re going through a dry spell, but you have a marriage worth saving. I’ve heard every iteration of this story a thousand times, from every angle, from every perspective—an affair is never worth it. Go to counseling. Do everything you can to fix this.”

“Jesus, Nedra, I’m just meeting him for coffee.” I peer in the mirror. Is my part
supposed
to be orange?

“If you agree to meet him for coffee, you are crossing a threshold, and you know it.”

I open the cupboard under the sink and rummage around for the hair dryer. “I thought you’d support me. Out of all the people in the world, I thought you’d at least try and understand what I’m going through. I didn’t go looking for this. It came looking for me. Literally. The invitation showed up in my Spam folder. It just happened.”

“Bloody hell, Alice, it didn’t just happen. You were complicit in making it happen.”

I find the hair dryer, but the cord is hopelessly tangled. Can’t anything be easy? Suddenly I feel so tired. “I’m lonely. I’ve been lonely for a long time. Isn’t that worth something? Don’t I deserve to be happy?” I whisper.

“Of course you do. But that’s no reason to abandon your life.”

“I’m not abandoning it. I’m just meeting him for coffee.”

“Yes, but what do you want out of this?
Why
are you meeting him for coffee?”

Why indeed, when I look like this? There are circles the color of, yes, thistles, under my eyes. With concealer, maybe I could lighten them to lavender. “I don’t know, exactly,” I admit.

I can hear Nedra breathing. “I have no idea who you are anymore,” she says.

“How can you say that? I’m the same person I’ve always been. Maybe
you’ve
changed.”

“Well, I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Meaning what?” I ask.

“Like mother, like daughter.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nedra.”

“If you had returned any of my last four phone calls you would.”

“I told you I was in the mountains. There was no cell reception.”

“Well, you may be interested to know Jude and I had a little heart-to-heart about Zoe.”

“Good. Did you tell him to move on? She’s not going to take him back.”

“She’d be lucky to get him back. He finally told me what really happened. I knew something didn’t feel right. It was Zoe who cheated on Jude.”

“No, Jude cheated on Zoe,” I say slowly.

“No, Jude
let
Zoe tell everybody he cheated on her in order to protect her reputation but she cheated on him, and despite her cheating ways, and for the life of me I don’t know why, he’s still madly in love with her, the little sap.”

Could this be true?

“Jude’s lying. Zoe would have told me,” I say, but I know in my heart it
is
true. It explains so much. Oh, Zoe.

“Your daughter has issues; lying is the least of them.”

“I know about my daughter’s issues. Don’t you dare throw information I’ve shared with you in confidence in my face.”

“Alice, you’ve been so busy carrying on with Researcher 101 that you have no idea what’s happening with your own daughter. She doesn’t have an eating disorder; she’s got a Twitter account. With over five hundred followers. Would you like to know her user name? It’s Ho-Girl.”

“
Ho-Girl?
”

“Short for Hostess Girl. She reviews bakery products, but her reviews can be interpreted in a few different ways, if you know what I mean. The point is your daughter is in trouble, but you haven’t noticed as you’ve been so busy living your double life. She’s obviously working something out.”

“Yes, whether she prefers Twinkies or fruit pies. Why do you always have to exaggerate? And why are you treating me this way? I’m your best friend, not your client. I expected to you to be on my side, not William’s.”

“I
am
on your side, Alice. This is me being on your side.
Don’t go meet him.
”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Fine. Don’t expect me to be waiting here when you come back. I can’t be your confidante. Not on this front. I won’t lie for you. For the record, I think you’re making a huge mistake.”

“Yes, you’ve made that very clear. I assume you’ll be finding a new maid of honor? One who isn’t such a whore?”

Nedra inhales sharply.

I fantasize about throwing the phone against the wall in lieu of hanging up, but I can’t afford to buy a new one, and I am
not
in some Nora Ephron movie (as much as I would like to be because if I were, I’d know no matter how horrible things got, there would be a happy ending on New Year’s Eve), so instead I stab Off on the phone with my finger, leaving a permanent smudge of Clairol Nice ’n Easy Medium Golden Brown on the screen.

“D
on’t do it,” says the best friend.

“I have to,” says the protagonist.

J
uly 28th is a perfect summer day. No humidity and a temp of 75. I spend an hour upstairs in my bedroom agonizing over what to wear to meet Researcher 101. A skirt and sandals? Too schoolgirlish. A sundress? Trying too hard. In the end I settle on jeans and a peasant shirt, but I put on some of the new makeup Nedra bought for me: mascara and a quick swipe of blush. This is the real me and it will have to do. If he doesn’t like it, tough. The conversation I had with Nedra has completely shaken me up. I almost want to disappoint 101. To turn him off, so I don’t have to make any decision and he can make it for me.

Downstairs, Caroline and William are making a salad. When I walk into the kitchen William looks up, startled. “You look nice,” he says. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Meeting Nedra for a cup of tea after dinner, so I’ll have to eat quickly.”

“Since when does Nedra drink tea in the evening?”

“She says she has something to talk to me about.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“You know Nedra.”

I’m stunned by my ability to lie so effortlessly.

The doorbell rings and I look at my watch. 6:00.

“Are the kids expecting anybody?”

William shrugs.

I walk to the door in my espadrilles, taking the opportunity to practice a sexier gait. I put a little sway into it, dip my head to the side coquettishly. I swivel around to make sure William hasn’t seen me. He’s standing in front of a cupboard, studying its contents. I open the front door.

“Alice,” cries Bunny. “It’s been so long!”

The next few hours pass like this.

6:01:
I try and wipe the stunned look off my face. We’ve gotten the dates messed up. We thought Bunny and Jack were arriving tomorrow night, but here they are, a day early, standing on the doorstep.

6:03:
Jampo comes racing to the door, barking furiously.

6:04:
Jampo bites Bunny on the leg, drawing blood. Bunny cries out in pain.

6:05:
Hearing the scream, William, Caroline, Zoe, and Peter run into the hallway.

6:07:
Triage in the kitchen in the form of me babbling on endlessly. It’s just a nip, not a bite. Where are the Band-Aids? Do we have Neosporin? That’s not Neosporin, it’s Krazy Glue.

6:09:
William grits his teeth as he cleans Bunny’s wound.

6:10:
I check the time.

6:15:
William asks who would like a drink.

6:17:
I open a bottle of pinot noir and pour the adults a glass.

6:19:
I drain my glass and pour another glug.

6:20:
William suggests I slow down.

6:30:
The buzzer goes off and William takes the macaroni and cheese out of the oven.

6:31:
Everybody exclaims how good it smells and how they can’t wait to eat it.

6:35:
The pros and cons of using Gruyère over the more traditional cheddar when making homemade macaroni and cheese are discussed and parsed.

6:40:
I tell Bunny and Jack how thrilled I am to have them come stay with us.

6:45:
Bunny inquires as to whether I’m feeling well. I say I’m feeling fine, why does she ask? She says something about the beads of sweat that are popping out on my forehead.

6:48:
Bunny asks Caroline how her job search is going.

6:49:
Caroline tells her “great!”; she’s been appointed the new CEO of Google.

6:51:
I tell everybody that I’m very, very sorry but I have a previous engagement that I can’t miss and I can’t call to cancel because Nedra dropped her cellphone in the toilet yesterday and therefore I have no way to reach her.