Babyland (23 page)
Authors: Holly Chamberlin
52
Betrayal
“I
'm not sure why we have to do this,” I said.
'm not sure why we have to do this,” I said.
Ross was leaning languidly in the doorway to my bedroom; I was finishing dressing. Getting ready to leave the house had become a chore since my body started exploding. I looked again at my reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the closet door. Was there really a tummy bulge or was I imagining it?
“Because,” he said, “we're all going to be related in a few months. We're going to be family. And with the baby coming, it's very important the grandparents get to know each other better.”
I wasn't at all convinced it was important for my parents to know Ross's parents any better than they did. To date they'd met only once, right after Ross and I got engaged. Mr. and Mrs. Davis had hosted a small party at their homeâMrs. Davis had referred to it as an “elite gathering”âand in spite of the champagne toast and shrimp wrapped in bacon, the evening was less than successful. Some might even have called it a disaster. When Mrs. Davis proudly showed Ross's baby pictures, my father yawned loudly in her face. When Mr. Davis gallantly complimented my mother's dress, she told him it was about to go into the garbage. (“Mom,” I said later, “you implied that Ross's parents aren't good enough for one of your new dresses.” My mother replied, “Whatever. I can't be responsible for how people interpret everything I say. You don't want the dress, do you? If not, it's in the trash.”)
“Are you almost done?” Ross's voice broke through my unpleasant memories. “We'll be late if we don't leave in the next five minutes. And you know my father hates people to be late.”
Four minutes later we were in the backseat of Ross's company car, being driven to the new and well-reviewed Cashmere.
On the way I told Ross about Alexandra and Luke.
Alexandra hadn't asked me to keep it a secret. But Ross was my fiancé, and there's an unwritten rule that between a husband and wife there should be full disclosure.
Still, I'd kept things from Ross in the past. So, why be open now? Because for the past few days I'd been feeling guilty. Guilty about having accepted those flowers from Jack; guilty about not having told Ross where they'd come from. Guilty about thinking Jack might be in love with me; guilty about my own disturbing feelings for him, about what could be called my “crush,” even though I knew the “crush” was all just some crazy, pregnancy-related hormonal thing, not my fault, out of my control. Some crazy hormonal thing and, very likely, cold feet. Maybe, I realized, maybe that was why I found myself thinking about Jack when I should have been thinking about Ross. Cold feet. It was normal to feel scared as the wedding approached; it was normal to consider, for one last time, all the possibilities you were rejecting by choosing just one man, just one life.
Just one man. And if that one man were Jack Coltraneâwhat a ridiculous notionâwhat would I be choosing? Someone who charted his own course. Someone who took chances. Someone who made me feel.
Someone risky.
Cold feet. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that I'd never once done anything that could truly be considered cheating; I'd never betrayed Ross by as much as a kiss on the cheek. Ross, as far as I knew, was completely oblivious to the absurd thoughts running through my head. And, I vowed, I would do anything to keep him in the dark because none of it mattered in the end. Nothing, I reminded myself, that I was feeling in those days was real. Nothing.
Still, for all the stupid stuff in my head I felt I owed Ross something, some gesture of solidarity. So, I told him about Alexandra and Luke.
Really, how had I expected him to react?
“That woman is a loser, Anna,” he said, contempt dripping from every word. “You should spend less time with her and more time withâWell, frankly, I don't think any of your friends are up to par, but I suppose Tracy is the least objectionable.”
There were so many things I wanted to say, so many, but I couldn't even open my mouth. I tried; I did. But I felt as though I had been heavily drugged into submission. It's like in my dreams, I thought, as I stared out at the darkening city. I'm being choked.
And maybe I deserved to be. I'd just betrayed my dearest friend. I betrayed Ross every time I listened to Alexandra trash his character. I betrayed Ross again every time I thought about Jack. What was wrong with me? Was I loyal to no one? Trustworthy Anna Traulsen could no longer be trusted.
We arrived at the restaurant, exactly on time. The Davises were already there, at a table in the bar. My parents, as usual, were late. When they made their entrance any shred of hope I'd had for a successful evening died an ugly death.
My mother was wearing what amounted to a cobalt blue running outfit, although she probably had bought it at a suburban store that featured “leisurewear” and “athletic chic” for the never-been-to-a-gym, over fifty-five set. Mrs. Davis, in her proper skirt suit, looked infinitely lovely compared to my mother, but somehow, amazingly, she seemed the one making the faux pas. My mother has that kind of power, an unshakeable self-confidence that bullies those around her into automatic self-doubt and timidity.
And my father, admittedly never the most elegant of conversationalists, was inordinately silent. I'd seen it before; undoubtedly he was furious with my motherâhad she nagged him mercilessly on the drive into the city?âand was inflicting his bad mood on all of us.
It was an excruciating hour and a half. I tried, however subtly, to hurry things along; thankfully, and without consultation, Mrs. Davis joined me. We were partners in discomfort, and silently I forgave her for any minor crimes she'd committed against me. I was mad at Ross, annoyed with my parents' lack of social grace, dismayed by Mr. Davis's boorish recitation of his latest financial achievements.
Finally, the dinner plates were cleared. “Would you care to see the dessert menu?” the unsuspecting waiter asked.
As if we'd rehearsed, Mrs. Davis and I replied in unison. “No, thank you,” we said.
“I'm afraid I have a bit of a headache,” Mrs. Davis added, looking fixedly at her water glass.
“I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit tired,” I said, looking fixedly at my fiancé. “I think we should go home.”
My parents made no move to pay for dinner.
53
Making Sense of It
A
few days after she'd broken the big news, Alexandra persuaded me to take a stroll through the Public Garden.
few days after she'd broken the big news, Alexandra persuaded me to take a stroll through the Public Garden.
“Exercise is good for pregnant women,” she said as we walked past the equestrian statue of George Washington on the Arlington Street side of the park.
“Exercise is good for every woman. I guess I should think about getting some.”
“We are nearing forty,” Alexandra pointed out. “We're losing bone and muscle mass as we speak.”
“Gee, thanks for the upbeat reminder,” I said wryly.
“Oh, Anna, don't be glum. It's such a beautiful day. A walk will be good for the soul.”
Well, I thought, my soul could use some soothing. I couldn't forget the contempt in Ross's voice when I'd told him about Alexandra and Luke. From now on, I vowed, glancing at my friend's dramatic profile, my friends' lives are their own. I will not practice full disclosure with my husband. At least, not with the husband I've chosen.
“How are things with Luke?” I asked.
“Good. There's some strain,” Alexandra admitted. “It's odd being familiar strangers.”
“I imagine so.”
“It's so odd to know nothing about his life for the past eight years. I mean, I love Luke and yet in a daily, mundane sort of way, he's a stranger. I know nothing about him anymore.”
“You know he wants you,” I said. “And that he needs you.”
“Yes,” Alexandra said. “I should be content with that but I'm not. I want it to be like old times, when I knew everything. I knew what brand of toothpaste he used. I knew how he took his coffee. I knew that when he was in the car alone he liked to listen to NPR. I knew everything.”
Not everything, I thought. Not how he acted alone with his wife. Not where his comb rested on their bathroom sink. Not the color of the bathrobe she bought him or the way he looked at her while she was sleeping. Not what he felt the first time he saw her holding their firstborn child. Not those intimacies.
I said nothing, just nodded encouragingly. The sun was warm; the gardens were alive with color; the sound of a child's laughter reached my ears. My soul, however, didn't feel particularly soothed.
“Now,” Alexandra went on, more to herself than to me, “I know nothing. I know nothing about what for the past eight years made him happy or sad. Are his parents still alive? What books did he read? What HBO series was he addicted to? Where was he on September 11th, 2001, when he heard about the attack on the World Trade Center? I know nothing.”
Alexandra's words made me think. I knew virtually everything about the daily Ross. I'd been with him almost every day for the past year. And yet, what did I really know about him, beyond the habits and behavioral traits? What had I really learned about him during our time together? Why hadn't I asked some important questions?
“But you'll learn,” I said. “You'll ask questions.”
Alexandra gave a small smile. It looked pained.
“Oh, sure,” she said. “But it's odd to know so very little about the life of someone you love so much. It's not like we were writing letters or e-mailing or talking on the phone. It all justâstopped. And I never knew what he was thinking about me. I never knew if he regretted ever having met me. I suspected he might. I doubted his love even then.”
I don't know what made me say what I said then. “Maybe,” I said, “maybe you didn't doubt his love as much as think you weren't worthy of it.”
Alexandra paused over this. “Astute,” she said finally. “You're right. I guess I couldn't imagine love that big.”
“Though you felt love that big for him?”
Alexandra shook her head. “Inconsistent, aren't I?”
“Human.”
We walked along without talking for a while. I looked for mothers with their children. And I wondered what their husbands were doing after hours.
“It's like he was a prisoner of war,” Alexandra said suddenly, “or missing in action, and I was his lover waiting alone at home, waiting for some news. Except that I knew Luke was alive, and I wasn't really waiting, was I?”
I didn't know the answer to that question. I said, “You were living your life. You had your career and your friends andâ”
Alexandra interrupted. “I think maybe I was waiting. After my divorce, anyway. Though I never would have admitted it, not even to myself.”
“Maybe,” I said, “you were in a state of renunciation. Or of resignation.”
“Resignation masking an unconscious state of anticipation. Expectation.” Alexandra laughed. “Boy, life is weird.”
“Alexandra,” I said gingerly. “What if it doesn't work out?”
“It will. We'll make sure of that.”
“Butâ”
“No buts. I can't stand to think about another end. We've had our end. Now it's time for our beginning.”
After a moment I said, “I'm happy for you, Alexandra. Really. But this is taking some getting used to.”
“I am so hungry,” Alexandra said suddenly. “My appetite has almost doubled since Luke came back. Let's get lunch.”
“I guess I could eat something,” I said unenthusiastically.
“Still battling nausea?”
“No, not really,” I said. “I just feel a little off.”
Alexandra didn't press the matter. “Look at us, Anna,” she said musingly. “What incredibly divergent paths our romantic lives have taken.”
“You've had adventures. You've taken chances. I've kept to the straight and narrow.”
Alexandra gave me a close look. “I'm beginning to think,” she said, “that the straight and narrow is kept to by very few people. I'm beginning to think that maybe the straight and narrow doesn't even exist.”
I felt uncomfortable under Alexandra's scrutiny. “Are you saying life might surprise me yet?”
“I'm saying that you might surprise yourself yet. Far stranger things have happened, Anna.”
We walked across the Commons to a small comfort food place called Pasha. I had little appetite but ordered a tuna salad sandwich.
“I'll have the cheeseburger and fries,” Alexandra told the waitress. “And do you have real Coke, not diet?”
“Your appetite has improved,” I commented when the waitress had gone off with our order.
Alexandra grinned. “I know. And I'm not even worried about gaining weight. How bizarre is that? Oh, and Anna, I need to ask you a favor.”
“Sure,” I said. “Anything.”
“Would you not tell anyone about Luke and me? I had to tell you, you're my closest friend, but I want to keep Luke to myself for a while. I want to keep us private.”
“Of course,” I assured her, hoping my crime wasn't stamped across my face. “Your secret's safe with me.”
“I'm not ashamed,” she explained. “And I don't see a reason why when I do introduce my friends to Luke I have to reveal the whole tragic story.”
“I understand,” I said, but I wondered about the shame factor.
Our lunch came, and Alexandra tucked in like the proverbial truck driver. I took one bite and chewed unenthusiastically.
“So,” I said, “if it's okay to ask, what really happened with Luke and his wife?”
“What happened is that his wife decided she didn't want to be married any longer.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, according to Luke it was out of the blue. Right after dinner one night. He went out back to turn off the sprinklers and she followed him. Told him right there on the lawn that she wanted him to move out.”
“Oh,” I said. “What reason did she give for wanting a divorce?” Please, I prayed, don't let there be accusations of spousal abuse.
“She said she was leaving on grounds of incompatibility. I'm not even sure she needs a reason in the state of Massachusetts. I don't remember; I've blocked out most of my own legal experience. Anyway, I suspect her decision wasn't made on the spur of the moment. Can you imagine making such a monumental decision in the snap of a finger?”
“Not really,” I said. My personality precluded the possibility of spontaneous decision making, even regarding something as insignificant as choosing a breakfast cereal. “But what about the children?” I asked. “Didn't Luke stay in the marriage for the sake of the children?”
“He did indeed. For the sake of the family unit.”
“So,” I asked, tentatively, “isn't he still trying to keep the family unit in place?”
Alexandra's mouth tightened just a bit. “Of course. He asked her if she'd properly considered how a divorce would affect the kids. And she said something like, Now that the kids are on their way to college and not lunatic drug fiends and basically well adjusted, I don't see a problem with leaving.”
“Maybe she was just beating him to the punch,” I conjectured.
“No. When Luke made the decision to stay in the marriage, it was for good. Not just until the kids were on their own.”
“Ironic, isn't it?”
“That's one word for it.”
Disturbing is another, I thought. There I was, on the cusp of married life, and suddenly I was spending an awful lot of time talking about infidelity and the dissolution of an almost twenty-year marriage.
“Do you think his wife ever knew about you?” I asked. And I wondered, Would it be better to know that your husband is having an affair? Or would it be better to live in ignorance? If you know about a problem you have the opportunity to fix it, or at least to try. But if you don't know about a problem, does the problem even exist?
Alexandra sighed. “I don't know. I've never understood how a person could not know she's being cheated on. Even if there's no damning evidence lying around, there's got to be less tangible evidence. Right?”
“Right,” I said. But I didn't really know. I'd never been cheated on. Had I?
“Some people just don't want to see the truth,” Alexandra went on. “As long as the wheels of the marriage are turning they can accept a few suspicious creaks and groans. And some people just can't see the truth because they're so wrapped up in their own version of reality. I suppose I could ask Luke if his wife ever confronted him about having an affair. I could ask him if he ever confessed.”
“Confessing at this point would just open a huge, messy can of worms,” I said. “And it would probably make a divorce a lot more costly for him. Besides, what purpose would that information serve now? What would either of them gain? Unless he told her in anger, like a slap in the face, punishment for her crime. You're leaving me? Fine. Well, I had an affair. So there.”
Alexandra put down the fork with which she was spearing the last of her fries. “I don't think he would do something so unkind.”
“Unless she knew all along,” I mused. “Maybe she's punishing him now by walking out.”
“This conversation has taken a horrid turn.”
“I'm sorry,” I said. “My point is that confessions are highly overrated.”
Alexandra looked at me closely. “Is lying a better alternative?”
“Kinder, sometimes,” I said. “Don't you think? Especially if a mistake was made only once. I know, it's pick-and-choose morality. I just think that sometimes confessions make the confessor feel noble or forgiven but leave the confessee feeling devastated. People should think carefully before they reveal their sins.”
“I see you've thought carefully about this topic.”
I laughed. “And yet I've never had something awful to reveal. Not that I'm perfect. But seriously, I guess I just fear being the confessee.”
“What you don't know won't hurt you?”
“Ignorance is bliss. I know,” I said. “How ridiculous.”
“Well, there's definitely something to be said for self-restraint,” Alexandra admitted.
“For knowing when to keep your mouth shut.”
Alexandra raised her glass to mine. “For sticking a sock in it.”
“For stuffing the pain way down into your gut!”
“For stoicism!”
For not acting on your impulses, I added to myself. For doing without what you want. For doing without what you need.
“Did you ever try to contact Luke?” I asked then. “I mean, after your divorce.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“You have enormous self-discipline.”
“It had nothing to do with discipline,” she said. “It had to do with kindness. I didn't think Luke needed my poking into his life again. I'd already done enough damage, unintentionally, of course. Besides, I was afraid. I knew I couldn't handle his anger or disappointment. It was bad enough that I imagined it.”
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