If You Only Knew Page 21

  My hand is still on the doorknob.

  "I'll go," Emmanuelle says. She grabs a tissue and wipes her eyes, then slips out of the office. Her hand brushes my bare arm, and I leap back as if she has leprosy.

  "Rachel," Adam says in a low voice. "Come in. Close the door."

  I obey, standing in front of the couch where he explains tax loopholes to his clients or confers with Bruce, his paralegal, or fucks his mistress.

  "Have a seat," he says.

  "No."

  "This is not what it seems," he says. "She's having a hard time with...me ending things. She came in here, very upset, and threw herself at me. That's what you saw."

  "How stupid do you think I am, Adam?"

  "I don't think you're stupid."

  "You're still sleeping with her."

  "No! No, I am not sleeping with that woman."

  "Save it. Enjoy single life."

  I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, and his face is suddenly furious. "You want a divorce? Do you really want a divorce, Rach? You want to get the girls every other week? You want them to have a stepmother? You want to move to some shitty apartment? Because last time I checked, I'm the one who pays the bills around here."

  "So what does that mean? You get to screw around? You get to cheat on me, because I stay home to raise our children? You think a judge isn't going to squeeze every last dime out of you, Adam? You think Jared Brewster will let you keep working here?"

  Something ugly flickers across his face. "Right. Too bad you couldn't marry him. All those years wasted, waiting for him to notice you."

  I don't dignify that with a response. "I'm taking the girls to Jenny's. Have a wonderful weekend. I'm sure your slut will be thrilled that you're free."

  And I do walk out, head held high, shoulders back. I make it to the car before I throw up. Right in the backseat.

  Jenny

  Even though I've seen Leo in a suit once before--sleeping in his ratty lawn chair--the sight of him clean-shaven, groomed and dressed to kill is a little...uh...wow.

  Gray suit. Black shirt. Gray patterned tie. He looks like he stepped out of the pages of GQ, all tall and kind of thin, making me want to cook for him. His hair curls off his forehead, and his eyes are so... And those heartbreaking cheekbones...

  "Close your mouth," he says. "Are you ready?"

  "Oh. Yes. Uh-huh."

  "Come on, Jenny. Snap out of it."

  "You look... You're beautiful."

  His brow wrinkles with an incredulous look. "Can we get this show on the road? You look nice, by the way."

  I manage to close my mouth. "I better. I spent a fortune on this dress."

  "Impressing the old boyfriend. A staple of the female psyche."

  "It's more like 'impressing the ex-husband's wife,' but yes."

  Tonight's the dinner at Owen and Ana-Sofia's, and of course I bought a new dress. I'm a clothing designer. Clothes are maybe the one area in which I can claim a slight edge on Ana-Sofia. Not that it's a competition; she was crowned the victor a good while back. Whatever the case, I'm wearing a Catherine Deane white embroidered dress with leather trim and my suede gray-and-black leopard print Manolo shoes. Don't judge me. Whenever I buy an outfit that costs this much, I donate the same amount to a charity. Plus, I have to look gorgeous as part of my PR program for Bliss--or so I justify my clothes-whore ways to myself.

  "You're driving, by the way," Leo says. "Hang on, I'll get Loki."

  "What? No, you won't. Loki's not coming!"

  "He is, or I'm not." He gives me a patient, pitying look. "Jenny, what if he has a seizure? I'm not leaving him."

  "But I didn't tell them we were bringing a dog."

  "So what? Throw them off their game a little. Fuck up their perfect little world. Maybe Loki will do you a favor and puke on the new wife."

  "Okay, that is a pleasing image, I'll give you that. But if Loki sheds on my dress, I'm letting him out on the West Side Highway."

  He leans in, and I practically swoon. "No, you wouldn't," he whispers. "You're too nice."

  "It's hard to stop eye-fucking you when you flirt with me."

  "Duly noted."

  I get behind the wheel and wait as my date-who-is-not-a-date gets his dog and guides him into the backseat. Loki growls at me, but I'm used to it by now. The smell, however, is new. "You can wash dogs, I've heard," I say as Leo gets in the front seat.

  "Yeah. Well, Loki doesn't like baths."

  "Neither does my niece, but she gets them." I start the car and pull into the street.

  Leo turns back to see if Loki is settled, and pets the foul-tempered (and smelling) dog. I do admire his devotion to the animal. It'd be nice if the animal could find it in his heart to like me a little. I see him almost every day, after all. Now that the weather is gorgeous and the days are longer, Leo is outside in his chaise lounge more than ever. I've bribed both Leo and Loki with meat products, but it's only worked on Leo so far.

  There have been no other kisses exchanged. Made me almost wish for Loki to have another seizure.

  "So tell me about Mr. and Mrs. Perfect," Leo says.

  "It's Dr. and Dr. Perfect. She has a PhD in something noble. He's a plastic surgeon, the type who fixes facial deformities, not the boob-job type. She runs a foundation that digs wells in third-world countries."

  "I hate them both already."

  "Thank you, loyal friend."

  He grins, and I have to concentrate on not sideswiping the Hummer in the lane next to me.

  "So what went wrong with you and Dr. Perfect the Male?"

  "Owen. I don't really know."

  "Oh, come on. Sure you do."

  "The divorce was his call. I was very happy."

  "Really? So you were completely stunned when he sat you down for the talk. No warning signs. Just blissful happiness and then he shot you in the heart."

  "Yep."

  "Jenny. You're not that dense, are you?"

  My hands tighten on the steering wheel. Behind me, Loki farts, and the smell is damn near toxic. I give Leo a look and roll down my window.

  "I'd rather not analyze the failure of my marriage right now, okay?"

  "What better time? I bet there were warning signs."

  "Maybe there were. I just didn't see them as warnings. I thought it was just normal stuff."

  "Like what?" He's turned in his seat to look at me, and there's something about his eyes that basically forces a person to talk. The interest, the kindness, the hint of humor--or mockery. "Tell Uncle Leo."

  I sigh. "He wanted to travel more than I did. He did three weeks with Doctors Without Borders every year, and he wanted to do more. His workdays got longer and longer. He zoned out when I talked about my job." The sex wasn't fabulous anymore. He stopped laughing at my jokes.

  He got bored with me.

  Leo sighs. "Men suck."

  "Preach it, brother." I put on the turn signal and take the exit that leads to my former home.

  *

  Ana-Sofia greets me at the door with her usual cry of joy. "Jenny! How wonderful to see you! And you look so beautiful!"

  I'm horribly overdressed. Ana is wearing long wide-legged raw silk pants and a white asymmetrically cut, perfectly simple tank top. Eileen Fisher, fabulous on Ana's superslender tall figure. Bare feet, no makeup, no pedicure, her straight, long hair in a simple ponytail.

  Damn. I got the clothes completely wrong tonight.

  "And you're Leo," Ana-Sofia says, kissing Leo on both cheeks. "Come in, come in! Oh, you brought your dog! Hello, puppy!" Loki, that foul-breathed, gaseous cur, wags his stumpy little tail and lets Ana-Sofia stroke his ears. Traitor.

  "Holy shit," Leo mutters. "You weren't lying about how beautiful she is."

  "Not helping," I mutter back.

  "Jenny." Owen gives me a big hug. "I've missed you! It's so good to see you. Hello, I'm Owen."

  "Right, the ex-husband. I'm Leo Killian. Nice to meet you."

  "Would you like a drink?" Owen says.


  "Love one," Leo answers.

  "Jenny?"

  "You bet. Whatever you're having. Where's Natalia?"

  "She's sleeping," Ana-Sofia says. "You haven't seen the nursery, have you, Jenny? Come, take a peek!"

  She leads me down the hall--already hung with three black-and-white photos of the new family--to what was once my home office. It's been transformed into the most beautiful baby's room I've ever seen, soft peach walls with white trim, a series of Classic Pooh prints hanging in a row. Exotic mobiles and wall prints add color to the room, as does a bright red-and-orange printed rug. There's an entire wall filled with shelves of children's books in several languages and a hammock of stuffed animals--all made with organic wool, no doubt, hand-knit by nuns in the Swiss Alps.

  But what gets me the most is this: in white paint, in the handwriting I recognize all too well, is written "Daddy loves you very much," and underneath that, in different handwriting, "Mommy does, too!" Natalia is sleeping on her back, her arms by her head. She's covered by the white satin quilt I made.

  I love her. I can't help it. She's the child of the man I married, the child of a kind and generous woman, and I helped her into this world. I'm a schmuck, but I love this baby. My eyes mist over, and Ana-Sofia puts her hand on my back. "You are so kind to us," she says.

  Oh, shut up, I want to say. I smile instead.

  We go back into the living room, where two more couples have joined the party. Introductions are made--Felicia and Howard, Bitty and Evan.

  What if I hadn't brought Leo? I'd be the odd woman out, surrounded by three married couples, like that horribly familiar scene in Bridget Jones's Diary. Or was Ana-Sofia going to dig through her list of eligible men and find me someone? And if she was, why hasn't she? Fixing up the lingering ex-wife would seem like a priority, wouldn't it? Why, for that matter, hasn't Owen introduced me to a wonderful doctor friend? "Jenny, this is Alessandro, a cardiologist--no, strike that, too many emergencies--an ophthalmologist, and I knew you two would hit it off." And I look into Alessandro's dark eyes--yes, he's from Italy. Venice--and there's a sparkle there, and when we kiss...

  I remember Leo's kiss. That not-quite-just-friends kiss. I look over at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. Yeah, yeah. I'm incredibly transparent. I know that.

  The other couples are fine. They're those New Yorkers, the people who spend Thanksgiving morning at the soup kitchen, then stop by the package store to buy a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine to bring to their friends' penthouse. They listen to NPR--and so do I, but only for the storytelling shows. The people who send you those petitions for your online signature to stop the killings in wherever killings are taking place. As if those signatures are really going to do anything.

  Felicia Balewa, who's Nigerian, makes documentaries about social injustice. Her husband, Howard, is a movie producer--and also a Vanderbilt. Bitty Lamb, I know, is a gastroenterologist (hard to believe people choose that particular specialty). Her husband, Evan Allard (French), is a high-end fundraiser for an organization that educates girls in India.

  And the thing is, that's all fantastic. I'm glad they work at the soup kitchen and care about their causes. It's the self-congratulatory sense they have, so gravely discussing their commitment and level of knowledge.

  I find myself doing it, too. I haven't found the right volunteer opportunity just yet, but I'm still getting settled in. An apprenticeship program for sure, absolutely. To my credit, I have actually thought of that idea... I just haven't done anything about it yet. Yes, it's terrible about urban blight. Surely there's more we can do for those at-risk kids. I hate the way I sound.

  At least Leo isn't listening. He's surveying Owen and Ana's book collection, which are all glossy, important tomes and coffee-table books that raise awareness on subjects that matter.

  Sigh.

  The appetizer hour is endless, in which we eat organic sheep cheese flavored with locally grown organic herbs served on, yes, organic, gluten-free, fair-trade crackers. Ana-Sofia talks about the latest wells her foundation has funded. Felicia mentions her interview on CNN last week in reference to her latest documentary about a secret girls' school started by a friend of Malala. Bitty and Owen discuss Doctors Without Borders and where they're each interested in going next.

  Wedding dresses don't really come up.

  Owen must sense my discomfort, because he comes over and gives my shoulder a squeeze.

  "Bitty's uncle was recently visiting," Evan says in his thick and gorgeous accent. "We took him to zee exhibit at zee Frick. So beautiful. They gave a private tour, of course, so he would not be recognized."

  "Who's your uncle, Bitty?" I ask.

  "I don't like to name-drop," she says, smiling down at her wineglass.

  "I will give you clues, yes?" Evan offers. "My wife, her uncle is an author of some fame. He has been on that woman's show? Oprah?"

  "Wally Lamb?" I say, feeling like I just got the right answer to Final Jeopardy. See, gang? I, too, can read! "Wally Lamb's your uncle?"

  She shrugs and gives a small smile.

  We observe a moment of silence for the great man, whose books I'm almost positive I've read. Well, I've read one or two. Probably just one. I make a mental note to read them all, because I feel really stupid right about now.

  Then Loki rises from behind the couch, where he's been sleeping this past eternity, stretches and breaks wind in a long, poisonous hiss.

  "Oh, no, is that a dog?" Felicia asks. "I'm afraid of dogs," she says.

  "So stay away from him," Leo says mildly. He's not helping.

  "Leo, your work, what is it that you do?" Evan asks.

  "I'm a piano teacher."

  "He's a Juilliard graduate," I offer. "Right, Leo?"

  He gives me a dark look.

  "We have a piano," Ana-Sofia offers, nodding at the baby grand. "How wonderful if you'd play for us, Leo."

  "I don't play anymore," Leo says. "Sorry." He pours himself more wine.

  "Dinner's ready," Owen says.

  "You remembered I'm a vegan, right?" Bitty says. "I can't tolerate animal products of any kind."

  "Makes me sorry I wore my bacon bra," I say. No one laughs but Owen, who puts his arm around my shoulder as we walk into the dining room. I'm grateful. Even if Owen's guests are not really my type, even if Leo isn't being a great date, Owen is still Owen, and still cares about me.

  "I hear the baby," Ana-Sofia says. "Excuse me, please."

  "I'll come with you," Felicia says. "I've been dying to hold her."

  "Jenny, will you give me a hand?" Owen asks. His hand rests on the small of my back as we go into the kitchen. "Ana said to keep an eye on this couscous, but to be honest, I have no idea what I'm doing."

  For the next few minutes, Owen and I work together in the sleek galley kitchen. Asparagus and couscous, sweet potatoes and quinoa. It's like old times, though we used to serve more basic foods when we were married--roast chicken and stew and lasagna, with the occasional Japanese meal when Owen felt like putting on a show. But we know the space well, and each other's rhythms. He slides behind me, I remind him where the serving spoons are kept. Guess he and Ana-Sofia never did rearrange the kitchen.

  "So you and this Leo... Things serious?" Owen asks.

  "We're friends," I say. "We met when I moved in." Owen nods at that. "How's fatherhood, Owen?"

  His face changes, gentling and glowing at the same time. "Amazing," he says. "She smiled the other day, and I...I felt it, Jen. You know? In my heart." He wipes his eyes. "I'm so sorry I never thought I wanted kids. I was wrong."

  What's the proper response to that? Great! Then let's kill Ana-Sofia and raise the baby just us two. Or how about Bite me, and thanks for nothing. "Well. A lot of people say that, I guess."

  Natalia the Perfect Infant apparently goes back to sleep. Ana and Felicia return to the table, and talk turns to foreign films. Leo shoots me a pained look and pours himself more wine. Ana gives him a smile, as if she's apologizing.

  "I always th
ought The Seventh Seal was Bergman's greatest work," Howard says.

  "No! Are you kidding with me?" Evan exclaims. "But of course you have seen The Virgin Spring? It is so superior!"

  "The Angelika had the most amazing retro documentary night last month," Bitty says. "Deus e o Diablo na Terra do Sol. You have to watch it without the subtitles for the full impact. As 1960s socioeconomic films go, that one has to be the best."

  "I was just going to say that," Leo says.

  "Were you!" Bitty coos.

  "No."

  Super. I think Leo may be a little drunk. Then again, if I wasn't driving tonight, I'd be right there with him. But he's not being the world's best date, and he is being borderline rude, barely talking.

  "I just watched Citizen Kane again," Howard says.

  "For the twentieth time!" Felicia cheers.

  "The message of corruption and innocence... So profound."

  Then Ana-Sofia comes out from the bedroom, holding the perfect bundle that is Natalia, and hands her to me, and I breathe in that perfect baby scent, and then her warm little face is snuggled against my neck. "She missed her Aunt Jenny," Ana says.

  Oh, babies. My whole body aches with the wonder and wanting of them, the sweet, trusting weight, the silken head of black hair. I close my eyes, love wrapping around me in a warm, soft squeeze.

  Leo stands up. "I have to take Loki for a walk," he says. "Excuse me."

  The baby is passed around while Leo is out. He's gone for a longer time than I'd like.

  To make up for my date's lack of conversational input, I find myself trying harder. After all, these people aren't horrible. In fact, they're really sincere, if a little hard to take. Yes, they're wealthy. A lot of New Yorkers are. Owen is. I didn't do too badly, either. Still don't. So I chatter and listen and joke, getting uptight Felicia to admit she misses ham, telling stories about brides and Andreas. It's nice, too, because Owen chimes in here and there, saying, "Jenny, tell them about the Christmas when Andreas and your mother got lost in the Bronx," or "Oh, God, I remember that wedding!"

  Natalia, however, is the star of the show--she's smiling and cooing. I can't take my eyes off her, and when Felicia gets to hold her, jealousy knifes through me. Felicia lives three blocks away. She can see Natalia all the time.

  Leo finally comes back in, washes his hands in the kitchen and returns to the table. "Nice night," he says, sitting back in his seat as Loki trots off to collapse in the living room.