Heart of the Matter (27 page)

“I don’t know who just checked
you
out,” I say. “But I guarantee you, they’re not checking
me
out.”

“Yes they are,” she says. “And that girl outside was right... his friend
is
cute. Maybe even cuter than Jude. Think of a cross between Orlando Bloom and . . . Richard Gere.”

I turn and glance over my shoulder, more because I can’t conjure such a combination than because I want the eye candy, as Cate hisses, “I said,
‘Don’t
look now.’”

“Whatever, Cate,” I say, shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter . . .”

“It
could
matter.”

“For you maybe.”

“For you, too. Never hurts to flirt.”

“I’m the mother of two,” I say. “I have no game.”

“So? Did you somehow miss the expression ‘MILF’?” she says.

I give her a puzzled look as she tosses her hair over the other shoulder and says, “Mother I’d Like to Fuck?”

“Cate!” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t be so crass.”

“Since when did you turn into such a prude?”

“Since I gave birth. Twice,” I say, conscious of the fact that I become more uptight when I’m around Cate—while she diverges in a shallow, party-girl direction, neither of which reflects the real truth. It’s almost as if we hope our extremes will bring the other back to a place somewhere in the middle—where we both began, years ago. Then again, maybe we
have
become exaggerated versions of ourselves. Maybe it will only get worse over time, I think—a depressing thought, at least for me.

She shrugs and says, “So? You’re a mother of two? Does that mean you can’t have a little fun? That you have to sit around in the suburbs in pastel scrunchies and pleated mom jeans?”

“As opposed to plain-front mom jeans?” I deadpan—although, in truth, I have not fallen this far, not yet lapsing into mom-jean terrain. “You think that’s why Nick is cheating on me?”

She ignores this, just as she’s ignored my last five references to Nick and infidelity, and says, “Back to Jude. Please.”

“Didn’t he sleep with his nanny?”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t sleep with
his
nanny,” she says. “I’m pretty sure it was his
kids’
nanny. And, shit, Tess. That was a zillion years ago. You sure do hold a grudge . . . I guess you’re still miffed at Hugh Grant for the Divine Brown incident? And Rob Lowe for the sex tape?”

“I’m not miffed at any of them. I’m all about second chances. For anyone but Nick,” I say emphatically, thinking back to my discussion with Romy, April, and MC, finally feeling decisive on the topic. Hookers, love affairs—anything in between. All indefensible, all unforgivable. That is my final position, I silently decide.

She gives me an incredulous stare, steadfastly refusing to believe that Nick is capable of being anything other than a decent guy.

“C’mon. Please tell me you’ve rid yourself of this crazy notion?” she says, lowering her voice as our wine arrives.

“I don’t know,” I say, thinking of Nick’s elusiveness this afternoon. How he was unavailable virtually all day, even when I called him three times from the airport. I take my first swallow of wine, feeling an instant buzz—or at least a good feeling, enough to numb me as I utter my next statement. “He’s either up to no good or really out of it. Big-time disengaged. Something is up.”

Cate smirks, refusing to take the subject seriously. “Okay. If he
were
up to something—and I know he’s not. . . Would you go there?” she says, nodding toward the corner booth once again.

“Go where?” I ask.

“Would you get even? Take a lover? A revenge screw?”

I take a longer drink of wine and humor her. “Absolutely. Hell—I might even have a three-way,” I say, doing my best to shock her, which of course doesn’t work.

“Jude
and
his friend?” she asks, appearing intrigued by the notion—or perhaps visualizing such a tryst from her colorful past. Her still colorful present.

“Sure,” I say, playing along. “Or Jude and his nanny.”

Cate laughs and then flips over her menu, informing me that she already knows what she wants.

“What’s that?” I say, perusing my options.

“The frisée aux lardons salad, the chicken-liver mousse, and the steamed artichoke,” she rattles off, clearly a regular.

“And a little Mr. Law for dessert?” I ask.

“You got that right,” she says, grinning at me.

***

But moments after our entrees are cleared, just as we’re joined by Rachel and Dex for an after-dinner drink at the bar, Jude and his friend are joined by two blondes, both of whom appear to be models, hovering near six feet, crazy pretty with nary a line on their faces. Despite the fact that I know Cate was mostly kidding about Jude, I can tell she is also disappointed that her chances with him went from very slim to nil, and even more deflated by the fact that the girls must be a full decade younger than we are.

“That figures,” she says, as the canoodling commences.

“What’s going on?” Rachel asks.

“Jude Law,” I say. “In the corner.”

She turns ever so slightly to catch a glimpse as Dex does a rapid 180.

“Jeez. You two are clearly related,” Cate says with a fond smile. “Your sister got whiplash, too.”

Dex turns back around and drapes his arm around my shoulder, too confident to be shamed by Cate.

“So how was the show?” I ask, referring to the off-Broadway play they just went to see, one of the many things Dex gladly does with Rachel—either at her request or because he actually wants to, both scenarios filling me with envy.

“It was interesting,” Dex says. “But Rach fell asleep.”

“I did not!” she says, frowning at a loose button on her long, sheer black cardigan. “I just rested my eyes for a second.”

“While you snored and drooled,” Dex says, working his way into a space near the bar and ordering a vodka martini for Rachel and an Amstel Light for himself. Then he makes a face and says, “So Jude Law. Didn’t he sleep with the nanny?”

I laugh, proud of my brother’s tabloid knowledge, even prouder of his disapproval of such reindeer games, which, combined with my now strong buzz, prompts me to say, “Do you think Nick would ever do something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Dex says. “How hot are your babysitters?”

I force a smile, one that my brother must see through because he looks at me, confused, then shifts his gaze to Cate and says, “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Cate replies, reaching out to tap my thigh. “She’s just being a Paranoid Patty.”

Dex looks at me again, awaiting an explanation. I can feel Rachel’s eyes on me, too, as I hesitate and then say, “I just. . . have a bad feeling lately.”

“What do you mean?” Dex asks. “What kind of a bad feeling?”

I swallow and shrug, unable to reply for fear that I will start crying.

“She thinks Nick might be having an affair,” Cate says for me.

“Really?” he asks.

I nod, wishing that I had kept things lighthearted, thinking there is something so depressing about having this conversation, drunk, at a bar.

“Tell her it would
never
happen,” Cate continues with her usual verve and rah-rah conviction.

“I can’t see it,” Dex says more somberly while Rachel is tellingly silent.

“Are you really worried?” my brother says. “Or is this just one of your weird ‘what if questions?”

“I’m . . . moderately worried,” I say, hesitating, then deciding it’s too late to turn back now. I finish my wine, then confess all my fears, spewing a verbatim account of the mystery text and asking for his candid guy’s opinion. “Honestly. Doesn’t that sound . . . fishy?”

“Well. . . I’m not wild about the ‘thinking of you,’” Dex says, running his hand through his hair. “It definitely sounds like a girl . . . But it really isn’t all that damning. Is that all you have on him?”

“That and the fact that he just seems so distant lately . . .”

Rachel nods, a little too quickly for my comfort, as if to say she noticed the same behavior during their recent visit.

“You see it, don’t you?” I ask her.

“Well . . . I don’t know . . .” she waffles. “Not really . . .”

“C’mon, Rach,” I say, relinquishing my usual competitive feelings about our respective marriages. “Tell me. Did he seem odd when you were in town?”

“Not odd,” she says, exchanging a telling glance with Dex. Clearly they’ve discussed us. “He’s just . . . a little distracted, by nature . . . And I think he’s just really passionate about his work. Which is admirable. But I can see how that could become frustrating for you . . . None of that means he’s cheating, though . . . necessarily.” Her voice trails off, leaving me with a pit in my stomach.

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Dex says, as the bartender serves up their drinks and I order another. “Wouldn’t that be easier? Instead of speculating?”

“What?” I say. “Just bust out with, ‘Are you cheating on me?’”

Dex shrugs and says, “Why not? Rachel’s asked me that question before.”

She hits his shoulder and says, “I have
not.”

“Oh, right. That was
you
I had the affair with,” he says—which marks the very first time he’s openly admitted to their early circumstances. He taps her nose as she gives him a scornful look and begins to blush.

Meanwhile, Cate pretends that this is a shocking revelation. “You two had an affair?” she says, hungry for more scoop.

Dex nods nonchalantly and says, “Pretty much.”

“When you were engaged to that other girl?” Cate asks.

“Yep,” Dex says while Rachel squirms on her stool and says her husband’s name in quiet protest.

“Oh, come on, Rach. What’s the big deal?” Dex says. “That was years ago. We’re married with two kids. . . And we’re all friends again.”

Rachel stirs her drink as Cate’s eyes widen. “You’re still friends with what’s-her-name?”

“Darcy,” Rachel says, nodding. “Yeah . . . we’re friends again.”

“Good
friends?” Cate says, aghast, finally reaching her shocked threshold.

“I guess you could say that,” Rachel says with a sheepish look. “Pretty good friends. Yeah.”

“They talk every day,” Dex says matter-of-factly.

“Are you serious?” Cate says.

“Every
day,” Dex says. “Multiple times a day. They’re planning a vacation together—a cozy foursome . . . I get to go on a ski trip with my ex-fiancée.”

“Okay. So what’s my takeaway supposed to be here?” I ask wryly. “That if Nick is having an affair, perhaps I’ll have a new best friend? A travel companion?”

Rachel uncrosses her arms and slides an olive off her toothpick, popping it into her mouth. She chews and swallows, then says, “Yeah, Dex. What, exactly,
is
your point?”

“I dunno,” he says, shrugging. “I just thought we were making confessions here. Tess reads Nick’s texts. And I ... I cheated on my fiancée with you . . .”

Rachel clears her throat and says, “His point, I think, is that even good guys can cheat. . . But it only happens if they’re in the wrong relationship—and only for the right person. And because you and Nick have a great relationship, you really have nothing to worry about.”

Dex nods and says, “It might sound like an excuse . . . a justification. But I think it happens to people. But not if they’re happy. Not if their relationship is where it should be.”

I nod, reaching into my purse for my phone, hoping to see Nick’s name in my in-box, feeling relief when I see that he called me twice in the past hour, then slight guilt for talking about him, albeit with family and my best friend.

“Did he call?” Cate asks.

“Yeah. Twice,” I say, almost smiling.

“See? He’s getting a bad rap. He’s home, babysitting the kids, calling you multiple times—” Cate says.

I interrupt her and say, “It’s not
babysitting
when it’s with your own children.” Then, just as I’m about to put my phone away, I notice an e-mail from April, the subject line marked
urgent.
Although I feel certain that it’s anything
but
urgent, and that it is simply one of her usual e-mails, covering one of our everyday topics—the kids, cooking, tennis, retail decisions, neighborhood gossip—I still click on it and read.

“Shit,” I hear myself say aloud, shaking my head as I reread her sentences:
Call me ASAP. It’s about Nick.

“What?” Cate says.

Speechless, I hand her the phone, and she silently passes it along to Dex as Rachel reads it over his shoulder. They all fall silent, as I look away, my vision growing blurry and my head pounding, as if fast-forwarding directly to the hangover I’m sure to have tomorrow morning.

My husband is having an affair,
I think, feeling sure of it now. Someone has seen Nick with a woman. Someone knows something. And the information has worked its way to April, who feels that she has no choice but to tell me. There is no other explanation. Yet a small part of me still clings to the slimmest, fragile hope as I watch Rachel flounder about, grasping at the same slight possibility.

“It could be anything,” she says, her voice soft, worried.

“Like . . . what?” I say.

She gives me a blank stare as Cate tries another reassuring angle. “April is an alarmist. She loves drama. You’ve said so yourself... It might be circumstantial evidence. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Just call her,” Dex says, his eyes flashing, his jaw falling into an angry line as I fleetingly consider who would win in a fight—my husband or brother. “Or call Nick. Call someone, Tess.”

“Now?” I say, my heart starting to race, the room spinning.

“Yeah,” he says. “Right now.”

“At the bar?” Rachel says anxiously. “It’s too loud in here.”

“Way too loud,” Cate agrees, shooting Dex an uneasy look. They commence a discussion of my strategy, who I should call first, and where I should go to have the conversation that could potentially change my life—the ladies’ room, another bar, the street, Cate’s apartment. I shake my head and slip my phone back into my bag.

“What’re you doing?” Dex says.

“I don’t want to know,” I say, completely aware of how foolish I sound.