Wife 22 (34 page)

“Oh, this is ridiculous, Alice. Are you going to invite me in or not?”

I open the door wide and Nedra wheels her bike in.

“I didn’t know Brits perspired. Do you want a towel?”

Nedra props the bike against the wall, then rubs her sweaty face on the sleeve of my T-shirt. “No need, darling. Is William here?”

“What do you want with William?”

“It’s a business matter,” she says. “I have a proposition for him.”

“He’s in the kitchen.”

“Are we still not talking?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. You’ll let me know when we are?”

“Yes.”

“Via phone or text?”

“Smoke signals.”

“Have you spoken to Zoe about Ho-Girl?”

No, I haven’t spoken to Zoe yet and I feel terrible about that. But the truth is, Ho-Girl and Zoe’s betrayal of Jude are on the back burner as I try and make sense of what’s happening between Researcher 101 and me.

“You’re making too big a deal of it. We’re talking cupcakes, Nedra.”

“Don’t put it off, Alice. I really think there’s something there you should look at.”

“Nedra?” William calls from the kitchen. “Is that you?”

“Ta, darling. At least somebody in this house is happy to see me,” says Nedra, walking away, leaving me alone in the foyer.

I’m trying to distract myself from the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen by reading my Facebook feeds, when my computer makes a submarine sound. A Skype message flashes on my screen.

For some reason I find this solicitation touching and sad. Is there anyone in the world who is not looking for somebody who will love them with all their heart?

There’s a sudden rap on my door. William walks into my office. “So that was interesting. Nedra asked me to cook for her wedding.”

“Cook what?”

“Dinner. Appetizers. Dessert. The entire meal.”

“You’re kidding!”

“It’s a small crowd, only twenty-five or so people. I’ve asked Caroline to help me.”

“You want to do this?”

“I think it’ll be fun. Plus she’s paying me. Quite well, I might add.”

“You know Nedra and I aren’t speaking.”

“I gathered that. What are you not speaking about?”

“The maid-of-honor dress she wants me to wear. It’s horrible. Empire waist. Puffy sleeves. I’ll look like Queen Victoria.”

“She’s your best friend, Alice. You’re going to miss her wedding over a dress?”

I frown. He’s completely right, of course.

“Alice? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?” It’s so hard to keep this up. To continually hide my distracted state.

“You just seem—funny,” he says.

“Well, you seem funny, too.”

“Yup. Although I’m trying not to be.”

He looks at me a moment too long, and I turn away. “So have you thought about the menu?” I croak.

“Anything but oysters. That’s the only requirement. Nedra thinks they’re too obvious. Like roses or champagne on Valentine’s Day.”

“I love oysters.”

“I know you do.”

“I haven’t had them in a long time.”

William shakes his head. “I don’t know why you insist on keeping yourself from the things you love.”

A
fter William leaves, I go upstairs to my bedroom and shut the door. I set the timer on my phone for fifteen minutes. Then I let myself feel all the anticipation and heartbreak of the past few days. William’s comment about “missing us” ticker-tapes though my head, a constant loop. Ten minutes later, I’m sitting in the middle of the bed with a pile of used Kleenex in front of me, when I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. I can tell by the light tread that it’s Bunny. I try and compose myself, but it’s useless.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, opening the door.

“It’s fine. It’s really fine. I’m really very fine,” I say, the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Can I do anything?”

“No, don’t worry. It’s just—” I burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

Bunny enters the room, pulls out a starched hankie from her pants pocket, and hands it to me.

I stare at it blankly. “Oh, I couldn’t. It’s clean. I’m going to get it all dirty.”

“It’s a handkerchief. That’s what it’s for, Alice.”

“Really? That’s so nice,” I say, and then I start crying again, the full-blown ugly cry, hiccupping and gulping and trying to stop and not being able to.

Bunny sits beside me on the bed. “You’ve been holding that in a long time, haven’t you?”

“You don’t know how long!”

“Well, you just let it out now. I’ll stay here with you until you’re done.”

“It’s just that I don’t know if I’m a good person or a bad person.
I’m thinking right now I’m a bad person. A cold person. I can be very cold, you know.”

“Everybody can,” she says.

“Especially to my husband.”

“Ah—it’s easiest to be cold to those we love.”

“I know. But why?” I sob.

Bunny sits with me until I arrive at that exhausted, washed-out, clear place on the other side of shame, where the air smells of late summer, of chlorine with a rising note of back-to-school supplies, and I feel for the first time in a very long time—hope.

“Better?” asks Bunny.

I nod. “I’m ridiculous.”

“No,” she says. “Just a little lost, like all of us.”

“I’ve been writing, you know.”

“You have?”

“Yes. Little scenes. About my life. Me and William—when we first met. Dinner parties. Conversations. Nothing interesting. But it’s a start.”

“Wonderful! I’d love to look at what you’ve got.”

“You would?”

“Of course. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

“Really?”

“Oh, Alice. Why are you so surprised?”

I look at the handkerchief balled up in my hand. “I’ve ruined your hankie.”

“Pah. Give me that.”

“No! It’s disgusting.”

“Give it!” she orders.

I drop it into her waiting hand.

“Don’t you understand, Alice? Nothing you do can disgust me.”

“That’s what I say to my kids.”

“That’s what I say to my kids, too,” she says softly, stroking my hair.

I start to sob again. She presses the handkerchief back into my hand. “It appears I took this prematurely.”

I
find William out in the garage standing on a ladder, wearing, yes, his Carhartt pants.

“I heard there’s a great new Daniel Craig movie out. Want to go see it?” I ask.

“Hold on,” William mumbles and quickly finishes mounting a bracket on the wall. “I thought you hated Daniel Craig.”

“He’s growing on me.”

“Hand me that shelf,” says William. I give it to him and he slides the shelf into place. “Damn. It’s crooked. I should have used the level.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Sloppy,” he says. “Thought I could eyeball it.”

“It’s not that bad. Nobody’s going to see it.”

“That’s beside the point, Alice. Not a word, you,” says William to Jampo, who is sitting beside the ladder obediently. Jampo gives a mournful
errrr
, never taking his eyes off William.

“So you’re hanging out with Jampo?
Voluntarily
?”

“He followed me out here,” he says, climbing down the ladder.

Jampo sniffs his boots excitedly. William watches him with a half-smile. “He thinks I’m going to take him on a run.”

“You’ve been running with him?”

“Once in a while. Hey, do you know what ‘sexiled’ means?”

“ ‘Sexiled’? No. Why?”

“I overheard Zoe discussing it with one of her friends. They were talking about college. It’s a term for being kicked out of your room when your roommate wants to have sex.”

“Must they coin a word for everything? What happened to hanging a sock on the door?” I ask.

“It’s a different generation.”

“She’s going to be gone soon. A blink and she’ll be gone. Another blink and there goes Peter. Blink, blink. Our progeny—poof. Do you think she’s having sex?”

“Do I think she
had
sex? With Jude? Probably.”

“Really?”

“Alice, I know about Ho-Girl. Nedra told me.”

“Oh, God.
Ho-Girl
. I can’t believe I haven’t spoken to her about it. It’s just been—so crazy around here. With Bunny and Jack coming and everything,” I add.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did Nedra tell you she cheated on Jude, too, not the other way around?”

“Yes, she did. And you haven’t checked out her Twitter account?”

“I was kind of hoping it would just go away.”

William pulls out his phone. “Let’s get it over with. It can’t be that bad.” He goes to his Google browser and types in
Twitter Ho-Girl.
His scent washes over me—Tide detergent and oranges. I love his smell. I’ve missed it. I breathe it in quietly.

“There she is,” I whisper, leaning into him.