Commencement (29 page)

“Heya,” Doug said. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hi,” she said, rising to hug him. “This is a surprise.”

“Not a bad one, I hope,” he said. “I was picking up diapers for the baby at the Rite Aid down the road, and I thought I’d drive by and see if y’all were home and needed anything.”

“That’s sweet of you, thanks,” she said.

They sat down side by side on the porch steps. He asked after her mother, and Bree gave him the update. They talked about Doug’s parents, and his brother who was in rehab for cocaine addiction, though most people outside the family thought he had gone to fantasy baseball camp. Then there was an uncomfortable moment in which neither of them knew what to say.

“Wow,” she finally said with a laugh. “Look at you.”

“Look
at you
,” he said. “You’re like a totally different person.”

“How so?” she said, though of course she knew.

“Well let’s see,” he said with a grin. “When you left here nine years ago, you were a good Southern girl who wore her homecoming-queen crown around the house for fun. You were obsessed with makeup and magazines. Not to mention, you were engaged.”

“To you, as I recall,” she said.

Was she actually flirting with her high school boyfriend?

“That’s right,” he said. “You broke my heart, lady.”

“I broke
your
heart?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he said. “I could tell as soon as you got to Smith that
I’d lost you to that coven of gals you lived with. You still talk to them?”

She smiled. “Yes. They’re my best friends.”

“Anyway,” he said. “Not that it matters to you one bit anymore, but I wanted to say that I’m sorry for what I did. Really sorry, Bree. I panicked and I felt like things with us weren’t what I thought they’d be, and I just reached for something—”

“Uncomplicated,” she said, thinking of that stupid kiss with Chris from the office.

“Right,” he said.

She waved this away with her hand. “Really, truly, it’s okay,” she said. “We were just kids.”

She found with surprise and relief that she meant it: She wasn’t angry with him. All of that seemed like a million years ago now. It amazed her how you could long for a certain conversation, an apology, and then, by the time you got it, feel like you didn’t need it anymore.

“Speaking of kids,” she said, “I cannot believe you’re a dad.”

“Me neither,” Doug said. “I know everyone says this, but in my case it’s the truth—I have the awesomest kids ever.”

“The
awesomest?”
Bree laughed.

“All right, Miss Smith Stanford. Whatever the word is. Kids are amazing. The first few months, they’re just like these loaves of bread that shit. You’re wondering what the hell you got yourself into. But then, they turn into people. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Loaves of bread that shit,” Bree repeated. “What a beautiful thought.”

He gave her a playful shove. “Get outta here, you know what I mean.”

“Honestly, I think you’re remarkable,” she said. “Lara and I wanted to get a puppy last year, but ultimately decided we weren’t ready for the commitment.”

“That your lady friend?” he asked.

Bree nodded. “Yeah. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it all over town.”

“I may have heard a thing or two,” he said. “There might have been some mention of how I turned you gay. I can’t really remember.”

She grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

Doug winked. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Well, don’t you want to ask me about her?” she said.

Doug shook his head. “It sure was weird to hear you say it earlier, though.
My girlfriend
. Wow. I thought Carolyn’s head might pop off. Anyway, back to the baby thing. I think we’re just different sorts of people, me and you. You’re a planner. Everything has to be perfectly aligned before you make a move, or you’re afraid the whole damn world will come crashing down. For me, it’s more like, ‘We’re having a baby. Now what?’”

Bree laughed. “I envy you that.”

“Maybe it makes things easier,” he said with a shrug. “Not so much analysis.”

“I think you’re right,” she said. “Three-quarters of my adult life has been spent analyzing. It gets exhausting.”

She wondered what might have happened if she had simply demanded that her parents try to adjust to her life.
You should have fought us
, her mother had said. What if she had insisted on bringing Lara home at the holidays, on making her a part of the family? Would it have worked? She should have let Lara come along this time. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she could fly out tomorrow. Roger would pick her up at the airport, show her around town.

Even as she pictured it, Bree knew it wouldn’t happen. She still didn’t have the guts to take the risk.

“So is Carolyn a planner?” she asked.

“She’s a cruise director without a boat,” Doug said. “She keeps our house running like a military barracks. With love, of course.” He smiled.

“Well, of course,” Bree said. “Does she stay home with the kids?”

He nodded. “She’s great at it.”

“What did she want to be, you know, before she had them?” Bree asked.

Doug shrugged. “A mom?” he said.

He gazed out over the yard. “I drive by here sometimes when I get stressed. Not in a creepy way. I just like to remember how easy it
was for us back in high school, how much fun we had. And I think about these big dreams we always talked about. You made them come true for yourself, Bree. I’m proud of you.”

“No matter what you choose, you have to give something else up,” she said. “You have a wife, kids, a house, a goddamn Volvo. I can’t tell you how far I am from all of that.”

“Speaking of my goddamn Volvo, I should get going,” Doug said. “Carolyn might think I’ve joined a biker gang or something.”

Bree laughed. “Before you go, can I ask you a question?” she said.

“Ask me anything,” he said.

“Would you let your son play with Barbies?”

“Hell no,” he said without even thinking. “Would you give your cat a big ol’ bone to chew on?”

“That’s what I thought,” Bree said.

He kissed her on the cheek, and they said good-bye, and she thought of how she would probably never see him again, not unless they ran into each other somewhere in town.

After he drove off, Bree went to her childhood bedroom, still decorated with pink ballet slippers and rosy chiffon curtains. She crawled under her comforter and called Lara. The phone in their apartment rang four times, then five, and Bree wondered if maybe she had gone out with friends.

But then she heard Lara’s voice at the end of the line.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said.

“Hi,” Lara said. “How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s stable, which is good.”

“Oh, thank God. Give her my best. Or don’t, if that’s easier,” Lara said. “I was really worried. I wish you had called me sooner.” The edge in her voice surprised Bree.

“It’s been mayhem here,” Bree said. “Oh my God, guess who I ran into. Doug Anderson! I saw him at the hospital with his wife and kids, and then he stopped by tonight.”

“He stopped by?” Lara asked. “Huh.” She paused for a moment. “Do you want me to call work for you, or anything? Or I can still come out there if you want.”

“No, no,” Bree said. “You really don’t have to. I don’t want to trouble you, babe.”

“Whatever,” Lara said.

“Are you mad at me?” Bree asked, indignant. She knew things had been rough between them, and maybe she was largely to blame. But her mother had just had a heart attack, for God’s sake. She didn’t need this now.

“I just don’t know what I mean to you,” Lara said.

“What are you talking about?” Bree said.

“Ever since we left Smith, I’ve been waiting for you to come around and be open about us to the people in your life. I kept thinking that if I just stayed patient, you’d get comfortable eventually. But I know now that’s never going to happen.”

“That is so unfair,” Bree said. “Why are you mentioning this now, of all times?”

She could hear Lara starting to cry. “I know it’s a terrible time, with your mom being in the hospital. And I would give anything for it not to be this way. But I can’t do this anymore.”

“Baby!” Bree said. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Lara said. “This isn’t getting better. I just feel like it’s over. Really over, you know? Your mother has a heart attack and you don’t want me to be with you? You don’t even call me, but you have time to hang out with your former fiancé? That’s not the kind of relationship I want.”

Bree felt panicked. “Oh come on, my former fiancé? We were just kids. And it’s not like we went out for burgers and beers! He just came by the house for a minute.”

Lara was silent.

“After eight years, you’re just going to call it quits like that?” Bree said. “And right when I need you most?”

“I love you,” Lara said. “I think you’re probably the love of my life. But let’s face it. I’m not the love of yours.”

She hung up. Bree tried to call her right back, but Lara just let the phone ring and ring. When she arrived home a week later, Lara had moved out.

C
elia was certain that Manhattan in summertime was the closest approximation to hell on earth. The air grew thick and heavy with heat, the streets reeked of garbage, air conditioners dripped their murky water onto her cheeks, and her hair became an untamable disaster.

It was July, the middle of her fifth New York summer. This one was particularly excruciating because Kayla, her office mate and friend of four years, had gotten engaged over Memorial Day weekend. Overnight, their discussion topics had gone from gossip and politics to centerpieces and flower girls and the virtues of the Kleinfeld bridal superstore over the snooty Vera Wang boutique on Madison Avenue.

Celia felt proud that the city hadn’t changed her much. Her New York friends did things that she and the Smithies had never done, like snort cocaine, talk seriously about dieting, give the evil eye to people who brought children into restaurants, follow the lives of celebrities with genuine interest, and buy single items of clothing that cost more than a week’s pay. She now added “get frenzied about weddings” to the list.

After a week of Kayla’s wedding talk, Celia called Sally to thank her for not being a bridezilla.

“Oh
really?”
Sally said playfully. “I thought you all thought I was kind of a bridezilla.”

“Well, we did,” Celia said. “But that’s because we hadn’t seen the alternative yet.”

One afternoon, Celia and Kayla ate lunch at the crowded sandwich place downstairs from their office. Behind the counter, fat men in white T-shirts made Philly cheese steaks and chicken parm subs, while sweat dripped down their doughy faces. Young guys in suits dabbed at their foreheads with cheap paper napkins, and women gave up the ghost and tied their hair back in high ponytails. Kayla didn’t seem to notice a bit of it. Her face was radiant and dry; her blonde bob fell neatly against her shoulders, causing Celia to wonder whether engagement was so powerful that it even affected sweat glands.

“By the way,” Kayla said. “I went to a Mets game with Marc and his boys from the firm last night. There was this one really cute guy. I was thinking maybe we could go on a double date sometime.”

Celia shrugged, trying to banish the thought that no one had gone on a double date since 1953.

“Sure,” she said. “Set it up.”

“I know this probably sounds selfish, but I want you to have a great date for my wedding,” Kayla said.

She was right, Celia thought. It sounded totally selfish, and stupid as well.

“And who knows,” Kayla went on. “Maybe you and this guy will hit it off and end up married.”

“I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever get married,” Celia said, mostly as a means of changing the subject.

Kayla edited the memoirs of retired right-wing senators and pundits, but she was a die-hard liberal who had majored in political science at Williams and hoped to work on truly important books someday. Celia wanted to ask her what she thought of Nancy Pelosi’s latest speech, one of her first since becoming Speaker of the House, but Kayla went on.

“Oh sweetie!” she said. “Of course you’ll get married. Girls like us always get married. You’ll find someone, I promise.”

Celia took in a long, deep breath. “I don’t mean that I won’t find anyone,” she said. “I mean, maybe I don’t want to get married.”

Kayla’s eyes grew wide for a moment, and then she broke into a smile. “We all have those moments of doubt before we meet the right guy,” she said. “You’ll see.”

Celia didn’t say so, but she was thinking of how her mother’s friends kept getting left by their husbands for much younger women.

“Are you ever afraid Daddy would do that?” Celia had once asked her mother.

“God no,” her mother said. “Because he knows I’d shoot him.”

Marriage wasn’t security, as Celia had always thought. Nor did it necessarily mean happiness. When her mother and aunts visited New York, they’d ooh and ahh over her studio apartment, and the envy in their eyes looked exactly the same as the way her single friends looked when they saw some girl with a giant engagement ring registering for china at Bloomingdale’s.

She had met plenty of women in Manhattan who freely admitted that they were only working as a way to pass the time until they got married. It seemed like something from a bad black-and-white movie, something from a million years ago. And yet, there they’d be—at parties and friends’ birthday dinners and in the bathroom line at bars. They were usually tiny and pretty, and almost all of them worked in marketing, so that Celia began to think “marketing” was actually just code for single and seriously looking.

“My job’s just not the be-all end-all,” they’d say. Or “There’s not really anything I want to do as much as I want a family.”

Celia remembered a phone conversation she had had with April a few months before Sally’s wedding.

“These fucking women really piss me off,” April said. “Because instead of being elated by the thought of making their own happiness and chasing some crazy dream, all they want to do is narrow their options and do something safe.”