Love and Other Natural Disasters (18 page)

I laughed at first, like it was a
party trick. But as she held there, her gaze unwavering, I realized it was
working. I wanted to tell her everything.

I started out somewhere expected
(missing Liv, but thinking she could use a break from all my fears and
anxieties), but was surprised by what surfaced over the next hour, with me
talking nearly continuously and Dyan saying so little. As I told her about
Jon's affair, how he almost missed the birth, my failed attempt to look past
everything, and now the official separation, she made noises of empathy, but I
couldn't tell what she really thought about it all. I realized how attuned I'd
become to other people's signals of late, how I subconsciously tried to give
them the version of my life that would be most palatable. Talking to Dyan was
freeing, so much so that it let me get beyond Jon to me.

I found myself saying how I'd never
really built a career, that I'd been feeling around for one when I got pregnant
with Jacob (in what was a happy accident, I assured Dyan, who didn't seem to
need the assurance). Then somehow—I certainly didn't know how—I'd become one of
those people who seemed to equate kids with a sense of purpose. I'd tried to
pretend motherhood was enough, and it wasn't. It wasn't just that I didn't have
Jonathon, that I might never have him again, but I didn't have me. I'd never
even expected to be a mother—how could I have expected it to be enough once I
was? I'd never meant to have this life, not even a part of it. Laney might have
fit this life—hell, Laney might have truly loved it, but I'd never—

Dyan leaned in with an intensity
that startled me, interrupting me with her eyes, and in the silence that
followed, she said, "This is
your life.
Now, what are you going to
do with it?"

Just then, I knew what she wanted
from me. She wanted me to sit up straighter and own this life of mine. But I
couldn't. I shrank back in the chair.

I thought I could feel her
disappointment, but she only said, "There's time." Then a second
later, "Just don't take so much time answering that you forget the
question."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was the night of Tamara and
Clayton's engagement party, which made it precisely the wrong time to look like
shit. It was the first social event Jon and I were both attending since the
separation. I was already nervous to face Clayton, whom I hadn't seen in months
(since Thanksgiving, to be exact). I could tell that Tamara thought I hadn't
squealed enough in excitement over her engagement announcement, while I felt
the octave I raised my voice should have sufficed, given my own circumstances.
I thought of explaining that it wasn't her and Clayton I was dubious about, but
marriage itself, and decided against it. It seemed like there was so much she
and I couldn't say to each other anymore. Our silences were more meaningful
than our words these days.

Charlie was in support of me biting
the bullet and facing the music, since now was as good a time as any—in other
words, he had a whole host of clichés that meant seeing Jon would suck, but was
inevitable. I didn't think my friendship with Tamara could survive my skipping
this party, so I had to agree with him. Fortunately, he'd offered to go with
me. It wasn't entirely selfless, since he loved parties and recreational
drinking and I was the one driving.

Half my wardrobe was piled on my
bed, and I was trying to convince myself that a strategically placed scarf
could cure all ills.
Laney wouldn't need a scarf,
I found myself thinking.
Her name still ran through my head in all sorts of contexts:
Laney probably
has a career she likes. Laney's stomach isn't convex. If Jon and
I
never
get back together,
women
like Laney are going to be my competition.

I was slumped on the bed in my bra
and panties when I heard the doorbell. It had to be Lil. She'd agreed to watch
Jacob and Olivia, though mostly it would just be Olivia because Luke and Jacob
would keep each other entertained. They'd been looking forward to their
Saturday-night play date all week. I could hear the two of them tearing through
the house, and I waited for Lil's knock on my door. Finally I pulled on a robe
and went down the hall.

Charlie and Lil were in the living
room, talking animatedly at closer proximity than seemed customary. When they
noticed me, Charlie said, "Hey, shouldn't you be dressed by now?"

"Sorry I was late," Lil
said. She leaned in and gave me a hug. "I thought you'd have been ready
for a while."

"I've been trying for a
while." I didn't like the whiny quality in my voice. Something about their
shared good spirits rattled me.

"Do you want some help?"
Lil asked. I glanced at Charlie, who was watching Lil. His attraction to her
was obvious. "Some help would be great," I said.

“Well, you girls do your
thing," Charlie said. Then he reddened. Lil was making him nervous, and
when he was nervous, he got corny.

She didn't seem to notice, and we
went back to my bedroom. Once inside with the door shut, she started sifting
through the clothes on my bed. Fingering a flutter-sleeved blouse, she asked
casually, "Would you mind if I fucked him?"

I stared at her, floored.
Oblivious, she continued to paw.

She held up a silky top for
inspection. "Maybe this?" she asked.

"Are you serious about my
brother?"

"No, I wouldn't be serious
about him at all. It would be entirely unserious. He doesn't even live here
permanently. That's where you get the best stuff."

"
Ew
!
I can't even think about my brother having sex."

"But he does, right? I mean,
there's no way that guy's a virgin." She extended the shirt toward me.
"Try that on, okay?"

"I already tried it."

"It seems like it'd look good
with your skin tone."

"My blotchy skin, you
mean." I looked at myself in the mirror above the bureau, more despondent
by the second.

"I'm great with makeup. When's
the last time someone did your makeup?"

I thought about it. "My
wedding."

"I could really make your eyes
pop." She stood behind me and smiled at my reflection in the mirror.

I tried to smile back. I wished I
didn't feel so disturbed by the thought of her and Charlie, especially since
there was no way I could stop it. He was a grown man. If he wanted to be with
Lil, it wasn't really my business. But I was glad when she didn't press me
again.

The party would have been Jacob's
dream: Up on the roof, lit by candles, surrounded by thousands of bubbles. And
people. Jacob loved to be surrounded by people. He already had a well-developed
group persona, a willingness to let his voice carry to a crowd, and an innate
ability to feed on their appreciation and go one step further. I once asked my
mother if I was that way when I was a kid and I'd lost it, or I'd just never
had it. She said she didn't know, we didn't spend much time around groups. I
thought her answer explained it all.

But somehow, Charlie had it. You
know, it. Charisma: a way to instantly and unselfconsciously generate goodwill
even in places that, at a glance, you'd say he didn't belong. He was the one
who greeted Tamara and Clayton first, beaming at them both, thrusting out a
hand to Clayton and saying, "You must be the lucky guy."

Tamara looked radiant in the most
literal sense, as if she were lit from within. She wore a filmy blue dress that
brought out her eyes, and her blond hair was in a carelessly careful upsweep.
Clayton had a look that could only be described as satisfied, like he'd found
his place in the world. Standing there—a beer in his hand, a cocktail glass in
hers—it seemed like they both had. If you could flash forward ten years and
they still looked that way, no matter what the world had brought me, I'd have
no choice but to believe again in marriage.

"I'm so glad you're
here!" Tamara said.

"Me too." I hugged them
both, one after the other. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Tamara said
into my hair; I could smell the purple orchid that was in hers.

"Jacob inspired the
bubbles," Clayton said. "When we were planning the party, we happened
to notice he'd left some of that bubble stuff behind." He and Tamara
exchanged a smile, as if remembering,
What an enchanted moment that was.

"There's something pretty cool
about a bunch of adults standing on a roof blowing bubbles," Charlie said.
"I don't know which I want to get my hands on first, a bubble blower or a
drink. Which one's in shorter supply?"

We all laughed. "I think
there's plenty of everything to go around," Tamara said.

We stood surveying the party. The
act of blowing bubbles had everyone feeling loose and uninhibited, and there
was something magical about watching the bubbles fly off into the night, as if
we'd all been a part of their liberation.

"It's a great party," I
said.

"You have to say that."
Tamara was smiling like she knew it was true.

"Are any of your students
here?" I asked.

"I thought about it. But I
figured if I invited one, I'd have to invite them all."

"
Mmm
,
coeds," Charlie said, in the way Homer Simpson would talk about doughnuts.
I swatted at him, but everyone laughed. I thought how Charlie and Lil really
did have a lot in common, chiefly that they could get away with saying things
that from anyone else would draw an offended silence, or worse.

"So you're back at work now,
right?" It was the first thing Clayton addressed entirely to me, and I
couldn't help noticing the forced warmth in it.

"I've been back a few weeks
now."

"How's that going?" He
was terrible at feigning interest, but there was something sweet about the
attempt.

"It's going..." I
hesitated, then said, "Boringly. It's just a boring job, let's face
it."

The shared laughter felt good. It
felt like the old days, with Charlie acting as a standin for Jon.

As if on cue, Jon appeared at my
elbow. "Hey, guys," he said. He was holding a glass with what looked
like whiskey in it, and he looped his other arm around Clayton, doing a manly,
sideways squeeze. Then he pecked Tamara on the cheek. "You look beautiful,"
he told her.

"Thanks." She shot a
quick glance my way. I could feel that my cheeks were hot.

"Hi, Charlie. Eve." Jon
bobbed his head at us in turn, flashing a smile. "Great party."

"What do you do for an opening
line when you're at a lousy party?" Charlie asked, trying to smooth over
the obvious discomfort. "The kind of party where no one's talking, and
some girl's crying in the bathroom because her boyfriend's an asshole, and
there's vomit on the floor. What's your opening line then?"

"That's when I always break
out the bubbles," Clayton said. We all smiled at his effort.

"Bubbles are the new
monkey," Jon added. We looked at him quizzically. "You know that old
saying, 'everything's funnier when there's a monkey'?"

"Must be before my time,
man," Charlie said. His delivery was affable enough, but there was
something undeniably stinging in the remark. Before Olivia was born, Charlie
had been pulling for a reconciliation, but I'd noticed that since he'd been
living at the house, he seemed more in favor of me moving on. I wasn't sure why
he'd changed, and he never said anything explicitly. Usually I could read it in
his body language and in the expression that crossed his face when Jon's name
was mentioned. I hadn't expected him to make such an overt dig.

The awkward silence was broken when
a couple came to greet Tamara and Clayton. I realized that the vast majority of
attendees were coupled. There were larger groups, but they were just couples
coming together. The principal unit of the party was definitely a dyad.

Ignoring Jon, Charlie said to me,
"We could go meet some people."

Jon was looking around, trying to
seem casual, but I could see the tension in his jaw and neck. Somehow I felt
like I should rescue him. I at least had Charlie to take the edge off; Jon had
no one.

"How are you, Jon?" I
said.

He turned to me gratefully. "I
wish I knew."

I smiled. "I know the
feeling."

"It's funny, all the things I
wish I could tell you and then you're here and I've got nothing."

"You could just start
somewhere, and see where it goes." I didn't know what I wanted to happen,
just that I wanted him to keep talking.

"Why don't we start with how
great you look tonight." His eyes lingered on my face, and I had to look
away. "Really great."

"Thanks."

"Can I tell you the truth? It
feels ridiculous to stand here with you and tell you anything else." When
I nodded, he continued. "I've never felt this heavy in my life. It's hard
to walk sometimes, I'm so heavy."

I'd forgotten Charlie was even
there—he'd been trying to give us privacy, I guess, by looking around at the
party and pretending not to listen—but he suddenly broke in angrily, glaring at
Jon. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "Trying to make her feel
guilty?"