Dating Game (9 page)

Chapter 6

Paris and Wim flew to San Francisco
with all his bags and treasures and computer. Peter was flying out on his own later that night. And all the way out on the flight, as Wim watched the movie, and slept for a while, Paris worried about what it would be like seeing Peter again. After twenty-four years of marriage, he almost felt like a stranger to her now. And the worst of it was that she was aching to see him again, almost like a drug she needed to survive. After three months, and all he had done in leaving her, she was still in love with him, and hoping that some miracle would occur and he'd come back. The only person she'd been able to admit that to was Anne Smythe, who told her it wasn't unusual to feel that way, and that one day, she'd be able to let go, and ready to move on, but apparently not yet.

The flight took just over five hours, and they took a cab to the Ritz-Carlton, where Paris had reserved two rooms, for Wim and herself. And she took Wim out to dinner in Chinatown that night. They had a nice time together, as they always did, and when they got back to the hotel, they called Meg. Paris was flying down to see her in two days, after she got Wim settled in his dorm. She assumed it would take two days, and she was in no rush to leave him there. What she really dreaded now was going home.

She had rented a small van to take his belongings across the bridge to the university, and the following morning they left the hotel by ten, and followed all the instructions they'd been given to sign in. And as soon as they got there, Wim took control. He gave his mother the slip of paper with his dorm address, told her he'd meet her there in two hours, and set off on foot. It took her a full half-hour just to find the address. The UC Berkeley campus was huge. She walked around for a little while, and then sat on a rock in the sunshine outside the dorm, waiting for him. It was pleasant just sitting there. The weather was warm, the sun was hot, and it was at least fifteen degrees warmer than it had been in San Francisco an hour before. And as she sat there, enjoying the sun on her face, she saw a familiar figure in the distance, a slow rolling gait she had seen a million times before, and would have recognized with her eyes closed, just from the pounding of her heart. It was Peter, walking straight toward her with a determined look, and he stopped a few feet away from her.

“Hello, Paris,” he said coolly, as though they'd scarcely met before. None of their time or history together showed in his eyes or on his face. He had braced himself for that. And so had she. “Where's Wim?”

“Signing up for classes, and getting his dorm room key. He should be here in another hour.” He nodded, looking uncertain about what to do, wait with her, or leave and come back. But he had nothing else to do either, and the campus was so overwhelming in its enormity, it was a little daunting to wander off. Like her, he preferred to stay and wait, although he felt awkward being with her. He hadn't been looking forward to the trip either, and had steeled himself for it, for Wim's sake.

They sat in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. He tried to keep his mind on Rachel. She kept remembering the things she had discussed with Anne Smythe about seeing him again. And in the end, it was Peter who spoke first.

“You look well,” he said formally, without commenting on the fact that she looked beautiful, but very thin.

“Thank you. So do you.” She didn't ask how Rachel was, or how he liked living in New York, presumably with her. Paris had suspected for months that the hotel room he was keeping was only a front, for the chil-dren's sake, and the proprieties prior to the divorce. She didn't ask him if he was happy to be nearly divorced. The divorce was going to be final between Thanksgiving and Christmas, which would add a new dimension to the holidays for her this year. “It was nice of you to come out,” she said politely, feeling an ache in her heart just being this close to him, and having to engage in small talk with him, which seemed so absurd. “It means a lot to Wim.”

“I thought it might, that's why I came. I hope you don't mind that I'm here.” She looked up at him, and he was more handsome than ever. She had to brace herself just to look at him. It was still nearly impossible to believe how totally and suddenly and irreversibly he had rejected her. It was the single greatest blow of her life. She couldn't even imagine recovering from it, or daring to care about someone again. All she could imagine was loving him, and hurting like this, for the rest of her life.

“I think we both have to get used to doing things like this,” she said practically, trying to sound healthier than she felt. “There are going to be a lot of events that are important to the kids, and we've got to be able to manage it for them.” Although this was in very close quarters, and over several days, which made it harder for her, particularly on unfamiliar turf. She couldn't go home to safe, familiar surroundings afterward to lick her wounds. All she could do was go back to a hotel, which wasn't the same. He nodded, in silent agreement with her, and all she could feel was the future stretching forever in front of them. A future in which he had Rachel, and she was alone.

He sat on a bench in silence for a while, as she sat quietly on the rock, both of them wishing that Wim would hurry up. And finally, Peter looked at her again. He seemed to be growing increasingly uncomfortable, and whenever she glanced at him, she could almost see him squirm.

“Are you all right?” he asked her finally, and she opened her eyes. She'd been holding her face up to the sun, trying not to feel the proximity of him, which was nearly impossible. She was aching to get up and throw herself into his arms, or at his feet. How was it possible to spend more than half a lifetime with someone and simply have them get up one morning and walk away? It was still nearly impossible for her to accept or even fathom.

“I'm fine,” she said quietly, not entirely sure of what he meant. Did he mean now, while waiting for Wim and sitting on a rock in the sun, or in a broader sense? She didn't want to ask.

“I worry about you,” he said, looking at his shoes. It was too painful to look at her. Everything he had done to her was in her eyes. They looked like pools of broken green glass. “This has been hard for us both,” he offered finally, which was hard to believe.

“It's what you want, isn't it?” she whispered, praying he would say no. This was her last chance to say it to him, or so it felt.

“Yes.” He spat the word out like a rock that had been caught in his throat. “It is. But that doesn't mean it's easy for me either. I can only imagine how you must feel.” To his credit, he looked sad and worried about her.

“No, you can't. I couldn't have imagined it either, until it happened to me. It's like a death, only worse. Sometimes I try to pretend that you are dead, which is easier, then I don't have to think about where you are, or why you left.” She was being excruciatingly honest with him. But why not at this point? She had nothing left to lose.

“It'll get better with time,” he said gently, not knowing what else to say, and then mercifully, they both saw Wim running down the road toward them. He arrived like a burst of summer wind, hot and perspiring and out of breath. For an instant, Paris was sorry he had come when he had, and then just as quickly, she was relieved. She had heard all she needed to know. Peter was firm in his decision, and only sorry for her. She didn't want his pity but his heart. The conversation could only have gone downhill from there.

It was easier to focus on Wim, and from then on, they were both busy carrying his belongings upstairs. Once they got into the room, Paris stationed herself in the area of Wim's bed, to unpack what they brought up, and Peter and Wim lugged boxes and bags, a trunk, a small stereo, his computer, and his bicycle up three flights of stairs. They had rented a microwave and a tiny refrigerator from the school. He had everything he'd need, and it was four o'clock before everything was set up. Two of his roommates had arrived by then, and the third appeared just as they left. They all looked like healthy, young, wholesome boys. Two were from California, and the third was from Hong Kong. And they seemed a good mix. Wim had promised to have dinner with Peter that night, and he said he'd be back at six, and then turned to Paris as they walked slowly down the stairs. They both looked tired, it had been a long day, and emotional in every way. She was not only watching her youngest child fly the nest, and helping him do it as she lovingly made his bed and put his clothes away, but she was setting Peter free at the same time, or trying to. It was a reminder of her double loss. Triple, when she thought of Meg. All the people she counted on and loved were now gone from her daily life, and Peter far more than that. He was gone for good.

He turned to her as they reached the main hall, which was graced with a huge bulletin board covered with fliers and messages, and posters of concerts and sports events. It was the essence of college life.

“Would you like to join us for dinner tonight?” Peter asked generously, as she shook her head. She was almost too drained to talk, as she brushed back a lock of blond hair, and he had to fight the temptation to do it for her. She looked like a young girl herself in jeans and T-shirt and sandals. She hardly looked older to him than the girls moving in to the neighboring dorm, and seeing her that way brought back a wave of memories for him.

“Thanks. I'm wiped out. I think I'll go back to the hotel and get a massage.” She was even too tired for that, but the last thing she wanted was to sit across a dinner table from him, or worse, next to him, and see what she could no longer have. As tired as she was, she knew all she would do was cry. She wanted to spare them all that. “I'll see Wim tomorrow. Are you coming back?”

He shook his head in answer. “I have to be in Chicago tomorrow night. I'm leaving in the morning, at the crack of dawn. But I think he's pretty well set, by this time tomorrow he won't want anything to do with either of us. He's off and running,” Peter said with a smile. He was proud of their son, and so was Paris.

“Yes, he is,” she said with a sad smile. It hurt so damn much, no matter how right it was. It was painful for her. “Thanks for carrying all the heavy stuff,” she said, as he walked her to the van. “It didn't seem like that much when we packed.” It had grown exponentially somehow on the flight out.

“It never does,” he said with a smile. “Remember when we took Meg to Vassar? I've never seen so much stuff in my life.” She had even brought wallpaper and curtains, and a rug, and insisted her father put up the wallpaper with a staple gun she'd brought. She had her mother's gift for transforming a room, and fortunately her roommate had liked what she'd brought. But Peter had never worked so hard in his life. Putting up the curtains to her satisfaction had been agony, and Paris laughed at the memory with him. “Whatever happened to all that stuff? I don't recall it coming home, or did she take it to New York?” It was the trivia of which lifetimes are made. A lifetime they had shared and never would again.

“She sold it to a junior when she left.” He nodded, and they looked at each other for a long moment. So many memories they had shared were irrelevant now, like old clothing left to disintegrate quietly in an attic. The attic of their hearts, and the marriage he had destroyed. She felt as though her entire life had been deposited in a dumpster like so much trash. All things that had once been cherished and loved and belonged to someone, and now had no home. And she along with it. Tossed out, forgotten, unloved. It was a depressing thought.

“Take care of yourself,” he said somberly, and then finally let himself say what he'd been thinking all day. “I mean really take care. You look awfully thin.” She didn't know what to answer him, she just looked at him, nodded, and looked away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. “Thanks for letting me be here today.”

“I'm glad you were,” she said generously. “It wouldn't have been the same for Wim if you weren't here.” He nodded, and she got into the van without looking at him, and a moment later she drove away, as he watched her for a long time. He believed in the choice he had made, and there were times when he had never known such happiness as what he and Rachel shared. And there were others when he knew he would miss Paris forever. She was a remarkable woman. And he hoped that one day, she would get over what he had done to her. He admired her for her dignity and courage. He knew better than anyone that she was a woman of great grace. More than he felt he deserved.

Chapter 7

When Paris showed up
at the dormitory to see Wim the next day, he was on his way out with his friends. He had a thousand things to sign up for, people to meet, worlds to discover, things to do, and she realized within minutes that if she stuck around, she would be in the way. Her job was done. It was time to go.

“Do you want to have dinner tonight?” she asked hopefully, and he looked awkward and shook his head.

“I can't. I'm sorry, Mom. There's an assembly for the athletic department tonight.” She knew he wanted to get on the swimming team. He'd been on the varsity team all through high school.

“It's all right, sweetheart. I guess I'll head down to L.A. to see Meg. Will you be okay?” She half-wished he would throw his arms around her neck and beg her not to leave, as he had done at camp. But he was a big boy now, and ready to fly. She hugged him for a long moment, and he looked at her with an unforgettable smile.

“I love you, Mom,” he whispered, as the others waited for him in the hall. “Take care of yourself. And thanks for everything.” He wanted to thank her for the day she had been willing to spend with his father the day before, in spite of everything, but he didn't know how. His father had spoken respectfully of her the night before, which almost made Wim ask him why he had left if he thought so highly of her. It was impossible to understand, but more than he wanted to know. He just wanted them both to be happy, whatever it took. Especially his mom. Sometimes she seemed so frail. “I'll call you,” Wim promised.

“I love you…. Have fun …” she said, as they walked out of his room, and he hurried down the stairs with a wave, and then he was gone, and she walked slowly down, wishing for only a second that she was young again, and starting all over. But what would she have done differently? Even knowing what she knew now, she would have married Peter anyway. And had Wim and Meg. Other than the last disastrous three months, she had no regrets about their marriage.