Bittersweet (3 page)

“I don't know.” Gail looked unhappy as they started walking again. “Lately, I think about it all the time, about why I'm here and what I'm doing. Maybe it's change of life or something. Or maybe it's simply the fact that I'm afraid I'll never be in love again, or look across a room at a man who makes my heart leap right out of my chest looking at him. Maybe that's what's driving me crazy, knowing that for the rest of my life Jeff and I are going to look at each other, and think
okay, he's not great, but this is what I got stuck with.” It was a depressing way to sum up twenty-two years of marriage, and India felt sorry for her.

“It's better than that, and you know it.” At least she hoped so, for Gail's sake. It would be terrible if it wasn't.

“Not much. It's okay. Most of all, it's boring. He's boring. I'm boring. Our life is boring. And ten years from now I'll be nearly sixty and it'll be even more boring. And then what?”

“You'll feel better when you go to Europe this summer,” India said kindly, as Gail shrugged a shoulder in answer.

“Maybe. I doubt it. We've been there before. Jeff will spend the entire time bitching about how badly they drive in Italy, hating whatever car we rent, and complaining about the smell of the canal in the summer in Venice. He's hardly a romantic figure, India, let's be honest.” India knew that Gail had married him twenty-two years before because she was pregnant, and then lost the baby after three months, and spent another seven years after that trying to get pregnant, while fighting her way to the top in her law firm. India's life had been a lot simpler than Gail's had been. And her decision to give up her career had been less agonizing for her. Gail was still asking herself if she'd done the right thing nine years after retiring when the twins were born. She had thought that she'd been ready to do it, and it was obvious now that she wasn't. “Maybe having lunch with other men, and having an ‘indiscretion’ with them now and then, is my way of compensating for
what Jeff will never give me, for what he isn't, and probably never was.” India couldn't help wondering if her affairs only made her more dissatisfied with the life she was living. Maybe she was looking for something that didn't exist, or wasn't out there, not for them at least. Maybe Gail was simply unwilling to admit that, for them, that part of their lives was over. Doug didn't come home from the office with roses in his arms for her either. But India didn't expect that from him. She accepted, and liked, what they had grown into. As he did.

“Maybe none of us will ever be madly in love again, maybe that's just the bottom line here,” India said practically, but Gail looked outraged.

“Bullshit! If I thought that, I'd die. Why shouldn't we be?” Gail looked incensed. “We have a right to that at any age. Everyone does. That's why Rosalie left Dan Lewison. She's in love with Harold Lieberman, which is why Dan isn't going to get her back. Harold wants to marry Rosalie. He's crazy about her.”

For an instant, India looked startled. “Is that why he left his wife?” Gail nodded. “I really am out of it, aren't I? How did I miss that one?”

“Because you're so good and pure and such a perfect wife,” Gail teased. She and India had been friends for a long time, and were each the kind of friend the other could rely on. They provided each other with total acceptance, and India never criticized her for the men she slept with, although she didn't approve or fully understand why she did it. The only explanation was that Gail had a kind of emptiness that nothing seemed to fill, and hadn't in all the years that India had known her.

“Is that what you want, though? To leave Jeff for someone else's husband? What would be different?”

“Probably nothing,” Gail admitted. “That's why I've never done it. Besides, I guess I love Jeff. We're friends. He just doesn't provide much excitement.”

“Maybe that's better,” India said thoughtfully, mulling over what Gail had said to her. “I had enough excitement in the old days. I don't need that anymore,” India said firmly, as though trying to convince herself more than her friend, but for once Gail was willing to accept what she said at face value.

“If that's true, you're very lucky.”

“We both are,” India affirmed to her, wishing she could make her feel better. She still didn't think that lunch with Dan Lewison, and men like him, was a solution. Where did that lead? To a motel between Westport and Greenwich? So what? India couldn't even imagine sleeping with someone else. After seventeen years with Doug, she didn't want anyone else. She loved the life that she and Doug shared with their children.

“I still think you're wasting your talent,” Gail prodded her, knowing full well it was the only chink in India's armor, the only subject on which India occasionally dared to ask herself pointed questions. “You should go back to work one of these days.” Gail had always said that India's talent was so enormous that it was a crime to waste it. But India always insisted she could go back to it later, if she wanted. For now, she didn't have the time or the inclination to do more than the occasional story. She was too busy with her kids, and didn't want to rock the boat with Doug. “Besides,” she teased Gail, “if I go back to work, you get to go out to lunch with
Doug. Do you think I'm that stupid?” They both laughed at the suggestion, as Gail shook her head, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“You have nothing to fear. Doug's the only man I know who's even more boring than my husband.”

“I'll accept that as a compliment on his behalf,” India said, still laughing. He certainly wasn't exciting, or even colorful, but he was a good husband, and good father. That was all she needed. He was solid, decent, loyal, and a good provider. And besides, no matter how boring Gail thought he was, India loved him. She didn't have the lust that Gail had for intrigue and romance. She had given all that up years before, and before Gail could say anything else, the whistle blew and the soccer game ended, and within seconds, Sam and Gail's twin sons had come thundering over to them.

“Great game!” India said, smiling broadly at Sam, relieved in some way to be out of the conversation. Gail always made her feel as though she had to defend herself, and her marriage.

“Mom, we lost!” Sam looked at her with disdain, and then put his arms around her and hugged her just a little too tight, as he dodged the camera swinging from her shoulder.

“Did you have fun?” India asked, kissing the top of his head. He still had that wonderful little-boy smell of fresh air and soap and sunshine.

“Yeah, it was okay. I scored two goals.”

“Then it was a good game.” They began walking to the car with Gail and her boys, who were clamoring to go out for ice cream, and Sam wanted to join them. “We can't. We have to pick up Aimee and Jason.” Sam
groaned at the prospect, and India waved at Gail as they got into their van, and India slid behind the wheel of her station wagon. It had been an interesting conversation. Gail certainly hadn't lost her touch at cross-examination.

And as India started the car, she glanced at her son in the rearview mirror. He looked tired, but happy. There was dirt all over his face, and his blond hair looked as though he'd combed it with an eggbeater, and just looking at him told her once again why she wasn't climbing through bushes in Ethiopia or Kenya. She didn't need more than that dirt-smeared face to explain it. So what if her life was boring?

They picked up Aimee and Jason at school, and headed home. Jessica had just walked in, there were books all over the kitchen table, and the dog was going crazy wagging his tail and barking. It was life as she knew it, as she had chosen to live it. And the thought of living it with anyone but Doug depressed her. This was exactly what she wanted. And if it wasn't enough for Gail, then she was sorry for her. In the end, they all had to do what worked best for them. And this was the life India had chosen. Her camera could wait another five or ten years, but even then she knew she wouldn't leave Doug to go trekking halfway around the world to find adventure. You couldn't have both. She had figured that out years before. She had made a choice, and she still thought it was a good one. And she knew that Doug appreciated what she was doing.

“What's for dinner?” Jason asked, shouting over the frantic barking of the dog and the clamoring of his siblings. He was on the track team at school, and starving.

“Paper napkins and ice cream, if you guys don't get out of the kitchen and give me five minutes' peace,” India shouted over the din, as he grabbed an apple and a bag of potato chips and headed to his room to do his homework. He was a good kid, a sweet boy. He worked hard at school, got good grades, did well in sports, looked just like Doug, and had never given them any trouble. He had started discovering girls the year before, but his greatest foray into that realm had been a series of timid phone calls. He was far easier to deal with than his fourteen-year-old sister, Jessica, who India always said was going to be a labor lawyer. She was the family spokesperson for the downtrodden, and rarely hesitated to lock horns with her mother. In fact, she loved it. “Out!” India shooed them all out from underfoot, put the dog outside, and opened the refrigerator with a pensive expression. They'd already had hamburgers twice this week, and meat loaf once. Even she had to admit that she was lacking inspiration. By this point in the school year, she couldn't think up any more creative dinners. It was time for barbecues and hot dogs and ribs, and time on the beach on the Cape. She settled on two frozen chickens, and stuck them in the microwave to defrost them, as she pulled out a dozen ears of corn and began to clean them.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, thinking about what Gail had said that afternoon, sifting it as she did sometimes, trying to decide for herself if she had any regrets about her lost career. But she was still convinced all these years later that she had made the right decision. Besides, it was a moot point anyway, she told her-
self, there was no way she could have continued traveling around the world as a journalist, or even working locally, and still have done the right thing for her children. She owed this to them. And if Gail found her boring as a result, so be it. At least Doug didn't. She smiled, thinking of him, as she put the corn in a pot of water and set it on the stove, and then took the chickens out of the microwave, put butter and spices on them, and put them in the oven. All she had to do now was put some rice on the stove, make a salad, and presto magic, dinner. She had gotten good at it over the years. Not fine cuisine, but fast and simple and healthy. She didn't have time to make them gourmet meals with everything else she did. They were lucky she didn't take them to the drive-thru at McDonald's.

She was just putting dinner on the table when Doug walked in, looking slightly harried. Barring a crisis at the office, he usually came home promptly at seven. Door to door, it was a twelve-hour day for him, or slightly longer, but he was a good sport about the commute, and he kissed the air somewhere near her head, as he set down his briefcase and helped himself to a Coke from the refrigerator, and then looked over and smiled at her. She was happy to see him.

“How was your day?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel. There were wisps of wheat-colored hair framing her face, and she never thought much about what she looked like. She was lucky, she didn't have to. She had clean, healthy, classic looks, and the braid she wore suited her. Her skin was good, and she looked about thirty-five instead of forty-three, with a long, slim
figure that looked well in shirts and turtlenecks and jeans, which was the uniform she wore daily.

Doug set down the Coke and loosened his tie as he answered. “Not bad. Nothing exciting. I had a meeting with a new client.” His business life had been uneventful for the most part, and when he had problems, he shared them with her. “What did you do today?”

“Sam had soccer, and I took some pictures for the team. Nothing terrific.” As she listened to herself speak, she thought of Gail, and how dull she accused their lives of being. They were. But what more could she expect? Bringing up four kids in Connecticut was hardly glamorous, or fraught with excitement. And India couldn't see how Gail's illicit activities could change that. She was kidding herself if she thought that made a difference, or improved things.

“How about dinner at Ma Petite Amie tomorrow night?” Doug offered as she called the kids in to dinner.

“I'd love it,” she smiled, and within the next millisecond chaos erupted in the kitchen. But they always enjoyed their meals together. The children talked about their day, their friends, their activities, while complaining intermittently about teachers and the amount of homework they'd been given. And Aimee blew the whistle on the news that a new boy had called Jessica three times that afternoon, and he sounded really
old
, like maybe even a senior, and Jessica looked daggers at her. And for most of the meal, Jason provided them with entertainment. He was the family clown, and made editorial comments on everything. Aimee helped her clean up afterward, and Sam went to bed early, exhausted
by his soccer game and the two goals he'd scored. Doug was reading some papers from the office by the time India finally joined him in their bedroom.

“The natives seem to be keeping you busier than usual tonight,” he commented, glancing up from the report he was reading.

There was a staid, solid quality that India had loved about him right from the beginning. He was tall and lean and lanky, with athletic good looks, and a boyish face. At forty-five, he was still very handsome, and looked like a college football hero. He had dark hair and brown eyes, and was given to tweeds and gray suits for work, and corduroy pants and Shetland sweaters on weekends. And in a quiet, wholesome way, India had always found him very attractive, even if Gail did think he was boring. And in many ways, he was the ideal husband for her. He was solid and reliable and unflappable, generally, and fairly reasonable in the demands he made of her.

She sat down in a big, comfortable chair across from him, and tucked her legs under her, trying to remember, just for an instant, the boy she had met in the Peace Corps. He was not so very different from the man she sat across from now, but there had been a glimmer of mischief in his eyes then that had enchanted her at the time, when she was young and filled with dreams of daring and glory. He was no longer mischievous, but he was decent and reliable, and someone she knew she could count on. Much as she had loved him, she didn't want a man like her father, who was never there, and risked and eventually lost his life in the pursuit of his
wild, romantic notions. War had been romance to him. Doug was far more sensible than that, and she liked knowing she could count on him to be there for her.