Friday Mornings at Nine (32 page)

She laughed because, truly, this was ludicrous. Did he really not recognize how he had handed her the perfect counterargument? Did he not see, as she did so clearly now, what a little fool she had been…and, in some ways, still was? Maybe he was counting on her to continue her streak of idiocy because he just kept staring at her, his expression one of pathetic pleading.

“David,
we
were a really long time ago, too,” she said, surprising even herself with the levelness of her voice given the news she had just been dealt. “But you’re right. It doesn’t matter. It’s over. We’re over. In fact, we’ve been over for more than eighteen years. We need to say good night and go home.”

She stayed facing him, awaiting his inevitable argument, but in her mind, she sprinted through all the reasons (even putting aside his involvement with Allie) that had clarified their incompatibility to her already that fall:

The way he had tried to subtly undermine her relationship with Michael and to downplay the significance of his own numerous deceptions to his wife.

The way she had seen him relishing every moment of his club-president omnipotence and trying to recreate the world where she and all their friends revolved around him. A means of bolstering his ego and tapping into the vitality of a now-diminished youth.

The way he had chosen to assert what little potency he had retained with an air of entitlement that wasn’t the least bit kind or attractive, in her opinion.

And, in answer to Lexi’s excellent question, the way he had repeatedly proven he didn’t have her best interests in mind. Not then. Not now.

“Please, Jenn. We’re not through with each other yet. There’s unfinished business between us. You felt that kiss, didn’t you? It felt so right. We’re so right together. We
get
each other. You can’t deny that.”

David was smart, yes. He understood her on many levels—certainly enough to manipulate her well—but he only ever did what he thought was good for himself. Not for her. Not for his wife. Not even for stray lovers. Michael at least demonstrated putting her and the girls ahead of his own needs sometimes. Many times, she realized. She couldn’t help but be grateful to him for that. To wish she’d shown him much more appreciation for this trait.

“I’m not denying that, David. I’m not denying anything. I just think we want very different things out of life, and one of the things I want is my family.”

He slanted her a speculative look, and said, “The two don’t have to be incongruous. I mean, I love my kids, too. We can be together, you and I, and still be good parents and pretty good spouses—if we’re careful. It’s not like your husband and my wife are such great prizes, right? It’s not like they understand us like we deserve to be understood.”

She stared at him, amazed the man could look so normal on the outside (with trim abs even) and, yet, be such a pathological liar and all-around bastard. Jennifer was pleased with herself for attaining an undeniable sense of certainty about that. And a sense of peacefulness. She would no longer be haunted by the end of that relationship.

“It’s incongruous for
me,
David. So, I don’t think we have any unfinished business left now. Really. Good night…and goodbye.”

She spun around and half walked, half jogged back to her car, breathing deep yoga breaths and saying farewell to each building on campus as she passed it. So long, Vat Building. Bye-bye, Weaver Center. Adios, Thomas Jefferson Hall. David, she was relieved to discover, was intelligent enough not to follow her. And as she slipped into her car and turned the ignition, she knew this part of her life was officially, finally, thankfully
over
.

She drove home without even the comfort of the radio. She found herself tuning in to something different—something internal—but the signal was coming in kind of fuzzily still. She didn’t want too many distractions from it, even though it kind of felt more like indigestion than intuition.

But, also, it was late, she was tired and she wanted to be near those she loved. Her daughters, of course, but Michael, too. Despite his negative feelings toward the “massively bad guy” from her past, she was thankful he didn’t try to physically prevent her from going to see David. Whether Michael realized it or not, it
was
a necessity for her. And, God, what she’d learned. It sure took her long enough….

Of course, the problem remained that she still really didn’t know what Jennifer World was like when she was alone. She had never taken the time to experience it, which was her fault, perhaps, but if she didn’t do it soon, she would
still
be to blame. She also wouldn’t be doing Michael or even her daughters any favors. She had been a poor guide for Veronica and Shelby lately. She wasn’t helping them navigate adolescence well at all. This, she realized, couldn’t happen if she didn’t know herself. If she just kept blending into whatever environment appeared before her.

Jennifer left her overnight bag in the car and walked into the house, surprised to find Michael still awake at eleven-thirty. He was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise type and, considering how drained he looked, he should’ve gone to bed at ten.

“Hi,” she said.

He raised his hand in a faint wave but didn’t speak. With their relationship issues unresolved but at least out in the open, he hadn’t been as susceptible to breaking things lately, nor was he as inclined to walk on eggshells around her anymore. She understood this. She gathered he had spent the day trying to shield and reassure their daughters but, by this late in the evening, he was weary. And still very angry with her.

“You’re still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He paused. “You’re back, I see.”

“Yes, I’m back. And, Michael, you were right about something. David is not a great guy. I knew that before, actually. I remembered it, but tonight…I remembered a lot of other things, too. I wanted to see what it was like to be back in the same place with everyone again.”

“And?”

“And mostly it was sad. Mostly it was a lot of people wishing they were twenty years younger and they had their choices to make all over again.”

He bobbed his head once or twice. “Human nature.” But something in his eyes brightened a bit. They didn’t have quite the sheen of exhaustion and despondency as when she had first walked in. “So, where are you now? Did you get all that out of your system?”

Something about the way he said this rubbed her the wrong way. They were just words, but it was the implication that she’d been completely mistaken that bothered her. She’d made plenty of mistakes, yes, but not
everything
she’d reacted to in the past few months was erroneous. And not
everything
that was a problem in their marriage was because of her ex-boyfriend.

“I won’t be seeing David again. Not anytime soon. Probably not ever,” she told him. “If that’s what you’re wondering. I spoke with another old friend of mine tonight, though. Lexi. And she and I might get together for lunch sometime.”

He shrugged as if to say “Whatever.”

“And as for ‘getting all that out of my system,’ I’ll have to get back to you on that. I still don’t know what’s in my…system. Or how it works.” Then, for the first time in months, since David’s original message on August thirteenth, to be precise, she was being honest enough to look her husband in the eye. And she felt—yes, actually
intuited
—that he knew she was no longer their family chameleon.

Friday, November 19

T
hey arrived at the Indigo Moon Café within five minutes of each other. This time, Tamara got there first, a penitent look on her face and a preorder of three lattes and three big hunks of pecan-caramel coffee cake (the November special) on their table.

“What’s this for?” Jennifer asked, when she walked in next.

And Bridget, who whisked herself to the table a moment later, exclaimed, “Oh, my goodness. Those look like they have a million calories! Who ordered already?”

“I did,” Tamara said. “It’s my apology for accidentally skipping out on you two last week.”

Was an act of contrition necessary?
Bridget thought.

And Jennifer was on the verge of saying, “So, why—really—did you skip out on us?” But Tamara shot her a please-don’t-ask look and pointed to the table. “Try the coffee cake, you guys. It’s good.”

So, they all sat down, started nibbling and began their customary chitchat routine…their focus on the usual, predictable subjects, which created a visible degree of ease and emotional weightlessness:

Benji was going to be coming home on Monday, just as Jon was leaving for a few days, but both would be there for Thanksgiving.

Bridget took Evan to the doctor for more follow-up tests, all of them seeming to confirm a diagnosis of celiac disease, which, while good to know, would mean a lifetime of restrictive diets for her son.

Jennifer’s daughters were withholding information, especially Veronica, and this was causing parental concern.

And so on and so forth for the first twenty minutes.

They were interrupted only once, by the owner, who’d stopped by their table to ask how they liked the new coffee cake.

“It’s delicious,” Bridget enthused.

Tamara and Jennifer agreed, but Tamara couldn’t help but roll her eyes when Gordon Lightfoot began his 1970s lamentation of “If You Could Read My Mind.”

“The cake’s excellent,” she told the man, “but is there any chance we could bribe you into changing the radio station? I’d take eighties, nineties, alternative, Elvis’s greatest hits,
anything
else.”

The owner shook his balding head. “No can do, ma’am. The wife loves this station. Only one she’ll listen to.”

“But
why?
” Tamara had lived through the seventies. Year by agonizing year. She’d had more than enough of its music before the decade ended.

“She says they knew how to write about real heartache back then. She says it’s way better than that whiny stuff on the radio today.” He leaned closer to Tamara and pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “I’d rather listen to Smashing Pumpkins myself, but I’m gonna give her what she wants, you know? I need her here. She’s the one who bakes.”

Tamara couldn’t think of a counterargument to that, so she shrugged and the owner smiled at her. Then he walked off to the next table.

Bridget, who shared neither Tamara’s resentment for the music nor Jennifer’s affinity for it, felt she had a lot to be thankful for and expressed her excitement over the upcoming holiday. “It’s more of a challenge now to cook recipes Evan can eat,” she said. “There are a bunch of traditional dishes he just won’t be able to have anymore, like the bread pudding, but I’m having fun coming up with things he can enjoy. It’s going to be a pretty big crowd this year.”

Jennifer, who thought Bridget’s overly packed house for every national and religious holiday was just a few millimeters short of a screaming nightmare, couldn’t help but ask, “How many people are coming?”

Bridget stared into space and started counting, her left thumb touching each finger as she named a family cluster. “Well, there’s my brother’s family, my two sisters and their husbands and kids, my parents, my Auntie Barb and the five of us…so, about twenty-two, if everyone shows up.”

Tamara groaned. “You’re cooking a full Thanksgiving dinner for all of them? Good God, you’re insane.”

But Bridget shook her head. “No, it’s the
best
. Everyone’s together. We’ve all changed a little since the last time we saw everybody, but not so much that we don’t recognize each other. We can catch up on news. Spend a few hours with my parents and my aunt, who are getting older. Well, I guess we all are.” She smiled faintly. “And I have a captive group of taste-testers at my disposal for my latest recipe acquisitions—like Turkey Tetrazzini al Formaggio and Sweet Potato Dumpling Bake. It’s gonna be awesome.”

“Knock yourself out, sister,” Tamara said.

Bridget knew this wasn’t a passion her friends would understand, but, oh, Dr. Luke did! Just yesterday at the dental office, she was flipping through one of her newest cookbooks,
A Tasteful Thanksgiving,
when he stood behind her at the desk and looked over her shoulder as she perused some possible side dish selections.

“How about those?” he said as she turned to the page with recipes for Spinach-Stuffed Zucchini and a very healthy looking Autumn Squash Casserole.

She used a purple Post-It Note to tag the page, but then she saw a picture for the delectable Wild Rice Stuffing on the other side. Oh, and Savory Corn Pudding. Hmm. She skipped to the next page—Brandied Pumpkin Pie!—but before she could even point to it, Dr. Luke said, “Oooh, that one.”

“Or maybe the Sherry-Soaked Cranberry Cake?” she suggested, tapping the picture on the facing page. She shot a look back at him and they shared a moment of enchanted expectation. So many possibilities.

“Or both,” they said together, laughing. It was like being at the Italian restaurant with him all over again. Like kids playing with an Easy-Bake Oven. Like a free pass back to the imaginary creations and simple pleasures of childhood. No wonder she didn’t want to let go of him.

Then, with one eye on her and another on the door, he added, “And you can invite me over for it, too.”

It occurred to her then that, perhaps, this was something Dr. Luke missed as well. The whimsy of childhood, the sense of inclusion…both of which often seemed to dissipate into the overpowering mist of the adult world. That their ability to have reclaimed a bit of that joy together—in the course of their short
friendship
—was rare.

“We’d love to have you join us, you know,” she said, hoping she projected the earnestness she felt. “Do you have plans for Thanksgiving Day?”

Again, his eyes strayed to the door. Graham had popped into the office as a “surprise” more than once this month, and Dr. Nina would just as soon grimace as grin at someone if she walked in. “I’m afraid I do,” he said with a gentle smile. “My sister and her family have slotted me into a place at the kids’ table already, but thank you.”

He was absentmindedly fingering his gold cross, and Bridget remembered something he’d told her one day in passing. That there were times that shook a person’s faith. He said he knew all about that. But he also said people needed to do whatever they could to get it back, and being with those they loved and those who loved them in return always helped. “It’s fun just imagining what you’ll come up with next week,” he added. “Your creativity with food astounds me.”

“Another time, then,” she said. “Promise?”

“Yes,” he said. “I promise.”

Bridget embraced his words—“your creativity with food astounds me”—and, through them, finally found the courage to give voice to the dream she had held silently but hopefully within her for so many years.

To Jennifer and Tamara that day, she explained, “This is really what I want to do with my life. I want to go to culinary school. I want to cook complicated things for people.”

“In other words, you finally figured out who you wanna be when you grow up, and it’s a chef,” Tamara said, grinning.

“Yes.” Bridget nodded emphatically. “Yes, it is.” With all her heart and soul, yes! Was she too old? Was it too late for her? God, please make it still be possible.

Jennifer gazed with affection at their sweet friend. “Then don’t let anything stop you,” she said quietly.

Even Tamara said, seriously this time, “If anyone could do it, it’d be you.”

“Thanks, you guys.” Bridget wiped away a small drop of wetness that had somehow collected in the corner of her eye. Why was she always so emotional? Of course, admitting her big dream aloud was only the first step. “I just have to break it to Graham now.”

“You don’t think he’ll be supportive?” Jennifer asked.

Bridget shrugged. “There have been a lot of changes for us this year already. Me going back to work. Evan’s food issues. The stress of us not being on the same page in our relationship.” She thought of the post-Hallowiener Party, their blowup and their reconciliation. The fact that they had both been open and willing to work on their issues had set their marriage on the road to recovery, but Bridget didn’t want to push it with Graham. She didn’t want to heap on more changes when he was already making a bunch of compromises on her behalf. “I’m sure he’ll think that I’ve got enough on my plate just trying to make gluten-free dishes for Evan. And, in a way, he’d be right. They
are
a challenge.”

“Just not the
only
cooking challenge you want,” Jennifer discerned.

Bridget nodded. And though she didn’t tell her friends this, she couldn’t help but worry that Graham’s recent attentiveness was just a temporary thing. A knee-jerk reaction to the perceived threat of another man. That Graham might only be willing to take these few cursory steps as a way to thwart Dr. Luke, but he wouldn’t necessarily stand for any
real
test. Any major change in their family’s lifestyle.

“You might be surprised, Bridget,” Tamara suggested, oddly mysterious. “You’ve really been there for your family all these years. I think they know that. I think each of them might be more willing to support you than you realize.”

Jennifer shot Tamara a curious look when she said that, which Bridget didn’t notice because she was too preoccupied wrestling the residual jabs of guilt she felt. Though Tamara’s statement was awfully kind, it wasn’t strictly true. Bridget couldn’t forget she’d had months of wayward fantasies and, even though she had never once strayed in her marriage, she knew her “moments” with Dr. Luke had been genuine. That, no matter what she tried to tell herself, her attraction and attachment to the dentist wasn’t purely based in “friendship.”

“I hope so,” Bridget murmured.

Tamara then turned her attention to Jennifer, who seemed to be weaving in and out of a long and dark procession of thoughts. “You’ve held out on us long enough, Jennifer,” she said, showing uncharacteristically high restraint despite her small, sly grin. “I was half hoping you’d call for an emergency coffee meeting this past Monday to tell us what the hell happened at your reunion last weekend. I didn’t want to pester you, but I’ve been dying of curiosity here.”

Jennifer bobbed her head. She knew by coming today that she was opening herself up to questions. She’d answer the ones she could. Or at least most of them. Probably.

So, she told them about going to the CPU party. About seeing David again and about crossing paths with the others in her college group of friends.

“I was looking for closure,” she told them quietly. “And I got it.”

Tamara raised a thin brow. “And?”

“And a part of me is embarrassed. That I’d thought about David for so long and wasted so much time pining over the end of our relationship. Wondering for years ‘what if’ scenarios—what if he’d never left me or what if I’d somehow gotten him back?” She paused. “The truth is, he
did
leave me, and that said something about him, and about his character, that I didn’t want to acknowledge. I also finally understood what a player he is. I guess, on a number of levels, I always knew that, but we were both so young back then. Some players mature over time. Grow out of the worst of it. David only became more skilled. And more desperate. Seeing is believing, I know. But I didn’t want to acknowledge what I saw for a long time either.”

“Because it made you feel foolish,” Tamara said, understanding. It had been a double ego blow for their friend, she realized. Not only had Jennifer been abandoned by a guy she had been imagining a future with, but she had been blindsided—something that made any smart girl feel stupid. Women like Jennifer and Tamara would craft almost any excuse not to feel this way about themselves, even to the point of complete self-delusion. Tamara surmised that Bridget was less calculating by nature and, thus, fortunate in not suffering quite so much from this destructive trait.

“What about Michael?” Bridget asked. “With David out of the picture, how are you feeling about your marriage now? Was it the right decision after all?”

Jennifer swallowed. This was a valid question. The question that had continued to haunt her for months, in fact. Or years. “Bridget, I don’t know.” She kind of laughed. “And even
I
am starting to get sick of hearing myself say that. The reunion proved a number of things to me. David’s a jerk and always has been. People who were truly my friends still are. People who weren’t, well, they won’t be inviting me to friend them on Facebook anytime soon. The kinds of bad decisions I was vulnerable to making back then, I’m still vulnerable to now. And, above all, I’ll only hurt people I care about if I keep floating along with what others tell me I should want, and playing these passive-aggressive games with them.” She sighed. “See, it turns out that in my relationship with Michael,
I’m
the player. But I don’t want to be anymore.”

Again, Tamara was the one who understood immediately and instinctively what Jennifer was saying. Wasn’t this a bit like Aaron’s accusation of her? That, in his opinion,
she
was the manipulative one? Only her marital scenario with Jon had mostly played itself out already, while Jennifer’s domestic drama with Michael was still in the rehearsal stages. Though eighteen years was a long fucking practice run.

Bridget, by contrast, could not fully grasp this whole
player
conundrum and its implications. She did, however, sense how emotionally distraught their friend was, and she had recently witnessed the discord between Jennifer and Michael firsthand. She knew what it felt like to be at odds with one’s spouse. It made living together a distancing experience. More like bunking with an indifferent roommate than sharing a home with a loving husband. And that was really, really hard to deal with. Even for people like Jennifer, who weren’t overly emotional. Maybe especially then…because their intimate inner circle was that much smaller.