Happily Ever After: A Novel (12 page)

Chapter 21

A
idan rushes to Lily and sweeps her into his arms. It would be a very romantic scene, if not for Lily’s reaction. She pushes him away. It’s unambiguous. Aidan catches himself just before he tumbles to the ground.

“You owe me an explanation,” she hisses at him. “How did I end up in the Ramble? I mean, I agree to meet for one lousy little drink and—
bam
—here I am in the goddamn woods! I woke up in the grass. In the dark. I was
complimented
on my cross-dressing skills. I was asked to
do
things.”

She pokes Aidan in the chest, emphasizing each word, but I’m pretty sure it’s not necessary. He gets it. He’s crestfallen at her reaction.

“Why don’t we give these two a minute?” I suggest to my shocked daughter. Adults don’t behave like this in public. “Let’s go and look at the tulips. I think I saw a ruffled Black Parrot over there. Those are really rare.” Besides, there is a strange ringing in my ears, as if proximity to Lily is creating some sort of interference with my brain waves.

As we walk toward a bed of bedraggled tulips, Allison looks puzzled. “Are they boyfriend and girlfriend?” she asks.

“Aidan and Lily?” How do you properly explain lust to an eleven-year-old? The answer is you cannot. It is meaningless until you have the proper hormones coursing through your veins to experience it firsthand, and then it is all consuming. I expect this to happen to Allison any minute now. I live in fear.

“They like each other,” I say.

“Do they play golf?” she asks.

“Golf?”

“Like Jane’s mother and that man.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I hate Jane’s mother. Can’t she just be subtle about her desperation like the rest of us?

“No,” I say. “I don’t think they golf.”

This makes Allison happy. Maybe she has a chance with the young stud mommy brought home from the hospital after all. She smiles.

Lily and Aidan appear in my peripheral vision. I expect them to be wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing deeply and meaningfully into each other’s eyes, but I see daylight between them. Aidan walks with his hands stuffed in his pockets, head bent, and Lily looks so tense I wonder if it’s safe for us to be around her. She marches up to me while Aidan lags behind.

“So,” she says, giving me the full frontal scowl. “I hear you’re responsible for this mess I’m in. I only hope you know how to fix it.”

Everyone stares at me, including my daughter. This is the part where I tell them what happens next.

“What?” I say, not because I didn’t hear her demand an explanation but rather because I’d like a few more moments before she rips my head off. Lily is supposed to be sweet and innocent. I’d envisioned her starting her day with sun salutations and a few strategic namastes. But her transition from there to here has left her ferocious.

“This situation,” she says, taking a step forward, “is unacceptable.”

I take a step back.

“Aidan?” I say.

“I tried to explain to her what’s going on,” he says. “But she’s really mad.”

Allison is all ears. Whatever is happening, it is way more exciting than a nature walk. I pull out my phone and hand it to her.

“Call Daddy,” I instruct. “Tell him we’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

I turn back to Lily.

“Listen,” I say quietly. “I don’t know how to get you guys back because I didn’t bring you here in the first place. So it’s going to take some . . . exploration.”

“Might I suggest you hurry up then?” she says.

I would love to hurry. I would hurry like mad if I only knew where I was hurrying to.

“Hey,” Aidan says, tentatively resting an arm on Lily’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

They make a stunning couple, the kind you expect to see on a Hollywood red carpet. But she’s having none of it. She makes a face as if he smells bad and shoves his hand away. Two quick steps to the right and she’s put enough space between them to make her point. Aidan sags. He bet his life, literally, on her feeling about him the way he does about her, and from the looks of it, it’s a bet he might not win.

“No,” Lily says. “I don’t think it will be okay.”

Just as I’m about to try and talk her out of her bad attitude, I get the sense we are being watched. The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up despite the oppressive heat, and suddenly the handful of joggers and walkers passing by all appear suspicious. They can’t possibly be wearing sunglasses and baseball caps to cut the hideous late morning glare, can they? It must be something more insidious. Like they want to kill us.

On another path, off to our east, is a woman in a hat that is much too big and sunglasses that conceal ninety percent of her face. She wears skinny jeans and a flowing floral blouse. Her four-inch platform cork sandals are not something I would put on to go for a walk in the urban woods.

Is this Clarissa? Is she here to watch the fireworks as she said she intended to? Being this is the first time I’ve encountered an actual wicked witch, I have no idea what to expect. Will she pull out a magic wand and turn me into a newt? Will she offer me a poisoned apple or a deal where I get to keep my life but she takes my voice . . . or my shoes or something? Perhaps I’ll get lucky and the sultry air will clog up her magical powers, rendering her impotent.

Only one way to find out.

“I dropped something back there,” I say to my people. “Give me a second.”

I creep around on my very flat shoes and approach from behind. The woman is tall, especially with the heels, and thin, but she doesn’t come by the thin naturally. It’s gym thin. Cougar thin. Gorgeous twenty-something trainer thin.

I’m right behind her now. With one swift move, I knock the floppy hat off her head and jump back.

“Oh,” she shrieks. She turns toward me. I’m prepared for anything. Except for this.

“Belinda?”
I gasp. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Chapter 22

A
t least Belinda has the good sense to look mortified.

“Well?” I demand. As she bends to retrieve the hat, her sunglasses slide off her nose. They are so huge you could deconstruct them and build a nice sunroom. It occurs to me she is in disguise.

“Well, it’s a little complicated,” she stammers, “and hard to explain.” I hope so. It better be. “I don’t know where to start.” She kneads the hat with anxious hands, rolling its brim and squeezing. It will never be the same.

“The beginning,” I suggest. I’m an odd combination of confused and relieved. While Belinda is great at starting rumors and can very easily ruin me that way, at least she is not going to cast a spell where I end up with a pig’s tail and donkey ears. But that’s the best part of this situation. “Go ahead. Start talking.”

Belinda gestures toward Aidan, who is peering in our direction. I wave to him. He waves back, confused.

“Him,” she says.

“What about him?”

“Last night,” she says.

“What about last night?”

“At the fund-raiser,” she says. “You walk in with this . . . god. Just like that. Out of nowhere. You. And then he kissed you. He kissed you and it looked like a movie scene. Except for your dress. That would never show up in a movie. But the kiss. That might.”

I’m amazed at how comfortable some people are insulting others right to their faces.

“I still don’t know how that has anything to do with anything,” I say. Belinda looks like she’s about to cry.

“I work out,” she says with great distress. “I don’t eat carbs or white sugar or . . . anything really. I deprive myself. It’s
painful.
And then that beautiful man with the incredible body and thick head of hair, he kisses
you
! How can that be? It’s
not
fair.”

Belinda is the loneliest person I have ever met.

“I haven’t been kissed like that in so long I can’t even remember the last time,” she adds with a sniffle.

“You should probably at least eat some whole grains,” I say. “Maybe that would help you be more rational?”

She scowls. “I try, Sadie,” she says. “I date. I go out with men. I want to like them. I want them to like me, but there’s no magic. I never get that kiss. How did you do it?”

I invented the guy. I somehow had him transferred to my reality. I found him in Target. I sprang him from the hospital. I took him to the fund-raiser. We had cocktails. He kissed me. Easy.

Unprepared for this conversation, I offer her the same advice I give Allison from time to time.

“Be yourself, Belinda,” I say. “Nobody is going to like you if you’re pretending to be someone else.”

I can hear you snorting with laughter. Who am I to tell another person to practice being genuine and love will follow? I, with the secret identity and the career none shall mention in polite company. I’m the worst kind of fraud. But you know how it goes, do as I say, not as I do.

Standing right in front of me in tippy heels, Belinda melts, and not from the heat. She’s heartbroken over my kiss. Plus she’s probably still hours away from her daily meal of a lettuce sandwich, hold the bread. Guilt, unbidden, arrives at my doorstep. Be nice, Sadie. You can do it.

“Guess what, Belinda?” I say. “You see that knockout redhead over there in the orange dress?” They watch us. I wave. Allison whispers something to Aidan. “
She’s
the girlfriend.” Or was. Things are a bit dicey right now. It could go either way.

“She’s so . . . young,” Belinda says, but with a look of relief. I’m not making it with the stud-muffin while she sits on the sidelines. Or runs in place on the treadmill.

“Yes, she is,” I say.

“I haven’t had sex in two years,” she says, looking bewildered, as if she can’t believe she’s actually speaking about herself. A blast of superheated air blows by, and she picks her hat up off the ground and clamps it onto her head. “Not since the divorce. Not once. I think I want to, but I can’t seem to find a partner.” She starts to cry. Hot tears roll down her cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

My heart does a leap of joy. I’m not happy because of Belinda’s forced celibacy, possibly the one topic on which we can relate, but because if she hasn’t had sex in two years, she did not end up fucking Jason in the front seat of his new red sports car in the parking lot of the Lake House Restaurant last night. I know it shouldn’t matter, our relationship has boundaries, but still, I feel better.

“But you date,” I say, because I need to say something and I want her to stop crying. “What about that guy from last night?”

“Jason Blair?”

Yes.

“He’s nice,” she says with a shrug. “But he doesn’t, you know, totally do it for me. He needs to go to the gym more.”

Belinda is the anti-me, and her not liking Jason and not sleeping with Jason is further evidence that Jason is an all-around good guy.

“So let me get this straight,” I say. “You followed me to see if Aidan and I were together?”

She looks down at her feet.

“Belinda,” I say.

“I know,” she says. “I’m sorry. But you’re not, right? Together? He’s with the redhead.”

Her eyes plead, but I refuse to prop her up further. Screw the guilt.

“Go home,” I say. “Please.”

Belinda’s husband, Mark, left her for a woman young enough to be her own daughter. One night she showed up at my house long after Allison had gone to bed. She’d been crying, rivers of dried mascara caking her cheeks. I invited her in because I did not see I had any other choice. I sat her at my kitchen table. I made her decaffeinated green tea. I waited for her to tell me why she was there.

“I didn’t know,” she said finally. “Have you ever heard those stories about couples who are so attuned to each other that if one dies, the other knows it instantly, even before being told?”

I had not heard of such a thing, but I said yes anyway. This was going to be a monologue. My job was to sip tea and offer affirmations at the correct intervals. If she started crying again, I’d hand her a box of Kleenex.

“Well, Mark was fucking that model for almost six months and I had no idea,” she continued. “He had an apartment in New York that I didn’t know about! Couldn’t the universe have given me a sign? I’m a good person. If it was more blow jobs he wanted, I could have done that.”

She started to cry. I handed her the tissues.

“I’m sorry, Sadie,” she whimpered. “I know you had a gay husband, so you probably can’t understand any of what I’m saying.”

I moved the tissue box just beyond her reach. I took her half-full mug of tea, got up, and placed it in the sink. I stretched. I yawned. I congratulated myself for not telling her to go fuck herself.

“I’m really tired, Belinda,” I said. “Thanks for stopping by. I hope you feel better. I really do.”

Belinda pushed back from the table slowly. It was a turning point for us. We were not going to be friends. The underwear model was not the great leveler she could have been. Belinda still found me inferior. So inferior, in fact, that she had to follow me to Central Park to make sure I wasn’t sleeping with a younger, good-looking man because her ego, or what was left of it, simply could not absorb that blow. Had she arrived to find me groping Aidan in the shadows of the Ramble, she would have died on the spot.

To the west, the sky grows dark, as if a thunderstorm might soon release us from the heat. Allison stands between Aidan and Lily, acting as a human barrier, totally unaware. Lily’s arms are crossed against her chest, a look as dark as the incoming storm on her face. Aidan seems confused, tired. None of this makes sense. Mopping my forehead with a stale tissue excavated from my giant purse, I return to the fold.

“Time to head to Daddy’s, okay?” I say.

Allison nods, peering around me. “Was that Mrs. Connors you were talking to over there?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say with too much enthusiasm. “Isn’t that funny? She was here to see those rare tulips, too. What a coincidence, right? We probably should have carpooled. Great! Okay, troops, to the car!”

Each step is a trial. My hair is plastered to the back of my neck. In the field to our right, visitors lie very still, hoping to catch a breeze. My mind registers that there are a lot of people for this time of day and in this heat.

I feel her before I see her. She’s a shocking cold streak, an unexpected chill. Standing in the middle of the field, she wears all black, her dark hair flowing around her like a wedding veil gone Goth. She is still some distance away, but our eyes find each other despite the crowd and I feel immediately nauseous. It’s the very same sensation I experienced in my kitchen just yesterday morning, back when my life did not resemble a freak show. I grab Aidan by the arm, sinking my short nails deep into his skin. Just to make sure he’s paying proper attention.

“Hey, that hurts,” he says. “What are you doing?”

I point. Aidan looks, blinks, looks again.

“Oh shit,” he says.

Yes. That sums it up rather eloquently.