How Could She Page 19

  “Seventy-two. I overheard him call her ‘luscious.’”

  “That’s horrible. He could get fired.”

  “And I could get fucked. You’re only as good as your adviser’s reputation.”

  Rachel’s stomach lurched. It had been over a month since she had lost her own job, and she’d heard too many reports through the Cassette grapevine to bother looking for any sort of serious employment herself. All anyone had to do was Google her to see she was the mother of a young child and had written books with such impressive titles as The Girl from Freak Street and Angie Stevens, 32A. In the eyes of employers, she might as well be a registered sex offender, but one with work-life boundaries, which was worse. “You’re not actually worried about losing your job, are you?” Rachel asked.

  Matt gave a chagrined shake of the head. “No, but I should be looking around. Thank God she hasn’t touched my research.”

  “I don’t want that woman anywhere near your data.”

  Matt gave a crinkle-eyed smile. “Hey, I should probably tell you about this other thing that happened.”

  Rachel fixed her husband with a stern look. “What thing?”

  “Nothing like that. Phillip is really into my last paper, and he wants me to lead a weekend intensive for his group . . . in Toronto.” Her husband’s former mentor, Phillip Lippman, had left his post at Columbia for a swankier department chairmanship that demanded zero teaching at the University of Toronto. “He said we can all come up as the university’s guests.”

  Rachel let off a choke-laugh. “He’s not trying to entice you up there, is he?”

  “Babe, I think I can handle a weekend without signing on any dotted lines. And you’ll come and enjoy a few nights in a hotel. We can leave Cleo with my parents if you like.”

  “But can’t it be a city that isn’t Toronto?” She gave him a quarter smile. “There are so many places we haven’t been to yet.”

  “Don’t think of it as a place, then. You can just lie in bed and watch movies.”

  Rachel suddenly saw the trio of waiters headed her way with a treat. The flame looked slightly ridiculous atop the dessert—birthday candles were the culinary equivalent of a feather boa. “Matcha cake?” she exclaimed when they placed the dish before her. “They serve this here?”

  “Today they do,” Matt said.

  Rachel gazed up at her husband. So maybe she didn’t want to devour him the way she had the last time they were here, but she wanted to keep him, wanted to take care of him. Marriage had turned out to be an ocean of terrifying and wonderful feelings. She’d only been in lakes before. Lakes and puddles.

  “Make a wish,” Matt told her, and she obliged.

  They passed the next three hours doing very little, as exotic an activity as Matt could think of. It was a beautiful day, with a generous sun and a hint of green-apple scent in the air. After visiting a couple of galleries and the tiny bookshop that Rachel loved, they went up to the High Line, where they joined the stream of tourists walking hand in hand past the wildflowers and cordoned-off patches of grass. When they’d reached the southern end of the path, Matt glanced at his watch and pulled Rachel toward the stairway.

  “Where are we going?” She was giggling with exhilaration as they clopped down to the street. “Do I need to change?” Her hair was a mess, and she could make out the smell of sweat rising off her sailor-striped dress.

  “No, you’re perfect,” he promised.

  * * *

  • • •

  Surprise!” the room chorused.

  Rachel tried to feign disbelief as she and Matt walked into Jeremy’s living room. A bunch of her mom friends had made it. So had Cassie Burkheim, as well as Alexandra Lustig, her college roommate with whom she was on the phoniest of terms after a massive falling-out they’d had over a guy in their early twenties. She spotted Sunny and Jesse over by the kitchen island, eating crudité kabobs.

  “I can’t believe you’re all here!” Rachel offered the room, manufacturing the biggest smile she could. She accepted a drink from Jeremy and embarked on the process of dutifully kissing everybody hello. She was still buzzed on her and Matt’s blissfully unproductive afternoon and wished she could be alone with him on this rare Cleo-free evening, not surrounded by people who would expect her to string words together in interesting combinations.

  Rachel was in the middle of greeting Alexandra and also Claire, from her mothers’ group, when Sunny joined them. Sunny was struggling to finish chewing something and pointed at her mouth. Geraldine darted over to them. “Happy birthday!” she said, taking Rachel in for a hug. Her hair was damp, and she smelled amazing, like Snapple iced tea mixed with cloves. “I’m so sorry I can’t stay for dinner.”

  “That’s okay,” Rachel said, vaguely startled. “I didn’t even know there was dinner until just now.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a dinner,” Sunny said. “I overheard Jesse and Jeremy discuss the pizza order.”

  “Well, that makes me feel better. I had pizza for lunch,” Geraldine said in a skittish tone. She was eager to leave. Rachel stood motionless, the tension between Geraldine and herself palpable. She would have preferred it if they were in a fight.

  “Let me introduce everybody to everybody before Geraldine disappears,” Rachel said.

  “I love that name,” Alexandra said to Sunny. “And your dress.” Rachel looked at Sunny’s outfit—a boxy short-sleeved shirt and trousers—and realized Alexandra had been addressing Geraldine, who had on a smocklike garment with flared side pockets.

  “It’s great,” Rachel agreed. The fabric’s bold purple-and-yellow print reminded her of an expensive tablecloth. “Geraldine lives here with Jeremy,” Rachel said to her friends, by way of explanation.

  “That’s almost over,” Geraldine said. “I’m moving to the Lower East Side.”

  “You are?” Rachel could feel her eyes grow.

  Geraldine nodded in a way that was livelier and more self-possessed than Rachel remembered her being capable of. “I’m actually headed there now. I need to meet the super. His name is Baz.” She laughed.

  “Stay for a few more minutes?” Sunny said.

  “Yeah, don’t go so fast,” Rachel added. “How has the rest of your summer been?”

  “It’s been fun. I’ve been working on that podcast I told you about, which is finally coming togeth—”

  “I just listened to it the other day,” Rachel said. “You’re practically the star of the show.”

  “I’m the tragicomic relief.” Geraldine cocked her head.

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Rachel said. “That bit about not recognizing your father at the airport when he came up to you just about killed me.” She watched Geraldine lower her eyelids. “Sorry, I’m not trying to upset you.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Geraldine wagged her head. “It’s just weird to think about people I know listening, is all.”

  “How could we not?” Rachel said. “It’s fantastic, totally addictive. And I get to keep up with you! You were out in Nantucket, right?” she asked Geraldine, innocently enough.

  “I didn’t talk about that, did I?”

  Rachel felt her misstep. “I saw your Instagram.”

  Geraldine’s lips curled in a sphinxlike smile. Rachel shot Sunny a desperate glance. Their Peter suspicion had just been confirmed. But Sunny maintained a blank expression while Geraldine was saying something about a Malia Obama sighting. God, Sunny was good at pretending.

  “Were you with Peter?” Rachel’s question cut Geraldine’s soliloquy short.

  Geraldine looked startled. “Yeah—I mean, I wasn’t with him. We’re not back together or anything.”

  “How’s he doing?” Sunny said, her voice as level as if she were asking after a family pet. “I haven’t seen him in so long.” Rachel watched in horror as the two chatted about Peter’s funny way of doing every
thing at the last minute and his new environmental foundation.

  Geraldine sighed. “Okay, I really should get going,” she said.

  “Thanks for coming—or staying around to say hi,” Rachel said lamely. If Geraldine wanted to pull away, what could she do?

  “I brought you that salty caramel ice cream you like, so don’t let Jeremy forget to put it out,” Geraldine said.

  Rachel shook her head as she watched Geraldine scurry out the door. “What the fuck?”

  “She seems to be doing great,” Sunny replied.

  “Did we not just have the same conversation?” Rachel asked with blunt force. “She just said she’s back with Peter, basically.”

  “Did she?” Sunny said. “It’s what she wants. It’s all she’s ever wanted, isn’t it?” Sunny dug her hands into her pockets and let off a barely detectable sigh. “I don’t think we’re giving Geraldine the credit she deserves. She’s all grown up. And she knows what Peter is all about.”

  “So do you,” Rachel said, shutting Sunny down. Within moments Sunny had shouldered her way across the room, where she and Jesse were now laughing about something on his phone.

  Rachel glided a few steps over to Claire, Cassie, and Alexandra. They were talking about one of Alexandra’s clients, something to do with taxi medallions. Geraldine’s perfume lingered in the air. It had taken a turn for the less sweet. Rachel detected fig, maybe a bit of black pepper. She was determined to figure out what brand it was and hoped it wouldn’t be weird if she bought a bottle for herself.

  24

  What’s up with this bowl of old grapes?” Nick called from across the house. Last Sunny had seen him, he’d been seated in an armchair they usually reserved for movie watching. He’d been working something out on a legal pad.

  “I don’t know what’s up with it,” Sunny shot back. “Maybe it’s going to check out that new AcroYoga studio later on.”

  “I always said you should get into cartoons,” Nick called out.

  Sunny finished tidying up the kitchen and gathered her phone, water bottle, and keys and tossed them into her bucket bag. “Okay, I’m going.” She came over to kiss Nick good-bye. He still hadn’t budged. “Good luck, with whatever that is.” She gestured at his tornado of scribbles.

  “And to you.” Nick looked up at Sunny with incredulous eyes, the way he used to when they were falling for each other. He reached out to graze her knee with his hand. “You look beautiful, standing in front of the window like that.”

  Sunny glanced down. “Can you see through my dress?”

  “No.” Nick gave a heavy-lidded smile. “When will you be back?”

  “Not too late.” She made it as far as the doorway, then turned around and ran up the staircase. In her studio she found a small rectangle of paper and a silver Sharpie. She dashed off a picture of a man and a woman hugging and wrote “I love you” underneath. The message was lame, counterproductively so. She was trying to cover her steps, not underscore the lack of feeling she had for her husband. Only after adding a bunny did she feel satisfied enough to take the note into the master bedroom and tuck it under Nick’s pillow. She was just going to be gone for the day, but Nick always napped after lunch when he was in the country. Her Jesse obsession had a strange effect on their marriage: It made her want to take better care of Nick.

  “Bye!” she called out. “I’m really going.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Sunny was relieved not to see anybody she knew on the bus and curled into her seat with her hand gripped around her phone. She examined her to-do list, a mix of shows and books she’d heard about and tasks she needed to take care of. Among the latter was write to Peter. He’d emailed again, and she’d been putting off responding.

  Dear Sunny, I’m organizing a fund-raiser concert at the Tarragon in early October. You’re welcome to come. I was hoping to use one of your Lake Ontario images for the invitation. There’s something else I’d like to run by you, on the phone. Are you up for a call? Anytime this week should work. xP

  The email had come in four days ago, and Sunny knew she should just address it before it blew up.

  Hi, Peter! Sorry for the delay, things have been slightly nuttier than ever. I’m flattered you asked, and you’re welcome to use my work. I’ve been out of the city, but I’ll send you some high-res options when I’m back at my desk next week. Is that enough time? xxxS

  Sunny reread her composition, feeling hamstrung about how to address the important part. His request for a call had to be about Geraldine, and she didn’t see why she had to become involved. I can ring you tonight, she added. Peter was a stubborn guy, and if he was determined not to leave Geraldine alone, there was nothing Sunny could do about it. Honestly, the only reason Sunny would say anything at all would be to appease Rachel, who was beginning to drive Sunny crazy with all her inquiries. Rachel’s obsession with keeping Geraldine away from Peter was getting weird. It wasn’t as if Rachel and Geraldine were terribly close these days. Why did she have to make Sunny feel as though she were eternally in trouble? Sunny looked out the window and saw the blocky towers of LeFrak City. The realization that the jitney was already in the city filled her with a tingly energy. She pulled her knees into her chest and twisted her hair around her fingers.

  Half an hour later, she showed up on the block where she was supposed to be meeting her former Cassette editor. Miriam had reached out about her new start-up and wanted to see if Sunny might be interested in coming on board in some capacity. Miriam was already waiting outside the Le Pain Quotidien in Chelsea, waving at Sunny with a doggish enthusiasm. She had on a horseshoe-print wrap dress that belonged inside an office. Her only concession to her unemployed status was a pair of clogs.

  “Liberation suits you,” Sunny lied.

  “Do you want to go inside? Or we could sit in the park?” Miriam said.

  “Do you mind if we go in?” Sunny said. “It’s so hot.”

  The notion of taking a business meeting on a park bench depressed her. Besides, she liked having the emergency exit of a waiter to signal to for a check. If this meeting could last only five minutes, that would be perfect. Sunny had booked a seat on the 4:40 bus back.

  Their waiter was an older man who appeared overwhelmed by his job. They told him what they wanted, then spent the next fifteen minutes talking about the perils of online shopping and Ceri’s Facebook suicide and all the money Ffife was pouring into its new podcasting arm and Sunny’s rediscovery of Elizabeth Bishop— everything but Miriam’s new project. This was part of the game, pretending to be close friends who would be having this coffee in the middle of the workweek even if Miriam didn’t have commissioning power.

  “So before I forget to tell you, it’s a newsletter,” Miriam said when their avocado toasts arrived.

  “What is?” Sunny feigned confusion.

  “The thing I’m working on.” Miriam salted her food. “It’s going to be smart writing for feminists who aren’t, you know, babies. And it’s not about babies either. It’s about style and life—but not lifestyle, because that is so tired. Just substantial, honest takes on the things smart women like us care about. What publication can you think of that does that?” Sunny was rendered silent. “I’m thinking of calling it The Moment,” Miriam went on. “It’s a play on the word that everyone in magazines uses when something is cool.”

  “Like roller-skating is having a moment or boleros are having a moment?” Sunny said.

  “Exactly. And it’s also a euphemism.”

  “For hot flashes?” Sunny was joking, but Miriam simply nodded. “Don’t people hit menopause in their late forties?” Sunny asked.

  “Perimenopause starts about ten years before.” Miriam pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It’s not a menopause magazine. Think of it more like something for all the women who are exiting their fertility windows.”

  Sunny coul
d feel the sweat collecting under her arms. She willed herself to calm down. Work is work. Connections are connections. “Who’s backing it?”

  “It’s not like that,” Miriam answered. “It’s going to be a grassroots effort—all you need is an email account to blast these things off. But if I have the right names involved, I think it can attract attention and go places. Think of all the companies who’d kill to spend ad dollars to reach women like you and me. Well . . . women like you.”

  Sunny balled up her napkin under the table and glanced around the room until she spotted their waiter. He was far away, crouched over a computer in a posture that suggested lower back pain. Sunny wondered what he used to do for a living.

  “So?” Miriam said brightly. “Would you be up for contributing?”

  “Sure!” Sunny bluffed. “I’ll think of something that will be good.”

  “Honestly, you can draw a turd on a napkin. I really don’t care.” Miriam’s eyes registered Sunny’s offense. “I mean, it can be anything so long as it’s coming from you.”

  Sunny caught the waiter’s eye and found slight relief in the knowledge that she would never have to see Miriam again.

  Mtg done. See you soon, was all she texted Jesse from the cab, imagining Nick reading over her shoulder. Her texts came up on her iPad, and Jesse was mindful of this, too.

  She wasn’t even sure she wanted to be near him. Making out was the last thing she felt like doing. Jesse was thirty-four, and though they’d never talked about it, she was certain that postadolescent, nowhere-near-menopausal nymphs littered his romantic past—maybe even his present.

  Kk, he wrote back. Will show u the bindings.

  What were they going to do when their project wrapped up and they had no excuse to see each other? Come up with some other pseudocollaboration? Maybe she could do an apprenticeship in the workshop, then turn it into a comic. Sunny fiddled with her seat belt and gazed out the window.