Back In the Game (19 page)

Chapter 43

“I
have got to get some new clothes!”

I threw a pair of jeans on the bed. Absolutely nothing in my closet made me look pregnant. And I really wanted to show up at the Mommy In Training class looking at least a few months pregnant.

Because I was pretty sure I wouldn't be allowed to stay if someone found out I wasn't pregnant!

I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself from the side. Nell had oh, so helpfully pointed out that I'd gained some weight. I stuck out my stomach. I poked it with my forefinger. Well, I guess she was right; I had put on a few pounds, but not enough to make me look pregnant or anything.

In the end I wore an old pair of Duncan's sweats he'd left behind and the biggest T-shirt I could find. I was kind of hot by the time I got to the church basement where the class was being held, but I figured sweating was probably something a pregnant woman would do on a warm day in June.

I was also wearing my old wedding ring. It felt odd on my finger, too tight, as if my finger had already plumped up to match the size of the other fingers. By the way, lots of pregnant women get swollen fingers.

The room was large and painted an icky yellow. Crayon drawings were tacked to a corkboard along the left wall. Folding chairs were arranged in about six lines of six seats across. Not very comfortable for the pregnant woman! Only a few seats were open and I took one near the back.

A minute later an African-American woman in a sexy yoga outfit sat next to me. Her belly was as flat as a pancake.

“Hi,” she said. “I'm Roberta.”

“Hi. I'm Laura.”

“First baby?” she asked, looking at my midriff.

I nodded and put my hand to my stomach as I'd seen a few of the other women do.

“So, when are you due?” Roberta asked.

“In—”

And then I panicked. I'd worked out the calendar just that morning, but now my mind was an absolute blank.

“Um, well, it's kind of unclear,” I mumbled. “The doctor is . . .”

“Okay, mommies, listen up!”

Saved by the drill sergeant of an instructor!

I murmured “Sorry” and focused on the woman who stood before us. She introduced herself as Mrs. Beaker. She was squat, like a frog woman. Her hair was a sort of halo of very tiny, tight gray curls. She had a booming voice and a big smile. I thought she must be a grandma. I thought she probably made really yummy casseroles. I decided to get a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch.

Mrs. Beaker was a pretty good teacher. We learned about the importance of prenatal care. It didn't sound so bad, eating all those vegetables and fruit—you could make smoothies out of the fruit, at least—but I wasn't thrilled about the exercise thing. Maybe, I thought, I could try yoga for mommies-to-be; that didn't sound too sweaty and you got to sit a lot.

We learned about the importance of regular visits to the ob-gyn. Well, duh, I thought, of course. Okay, I hadn't gone to the gynecologist in a few years, but there was no big reason to go. I hadn't had any infections or anything. But I would go once I got pregnant!

Mrs. Beaker told us that there were a whole bunch of vitamins and minerals you had to get enough of, especially folic acid, whatever that is.

And then she outlined what sort of things we could expect to happen to our bodies and when. A lot of it sounded really awful, like diarrhea and nausea and swollen hands and feet. I shuddered from head to toe when she talked about sex during the last trimester. Nell says I'm squeamish and I guess I am. But what's wrong with being grossed out by the thought of a penis poking your unborn child? No way. Not for me. My new husband would just have to hold out.

Roberta had brought a pen and a notebook. She scribbled down every word Mrs. Beaker spoke; at least, from the way she was flipping pages it looked like it. I guess I should have thought to bring a notebook, too. But I just didn't know there'd be so much information!

Finally, finally, the class was over.

“Okay, ladies,” Mrs. Beaker boomed, “next time I need you to bring—”

I scooted out of the room before Roberta could ask me more questions. And as soon as I got home, I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich and started working on the calendar again.

 

“See, what he doesn't understand is that I know what he's thinking. I know . . .”

I nodded and tuned out and Matt talked on. He talked for fifteen minutes—I discreetly timed him—about something going on in his office, something to do with some guy who wants Matt's job but who's really naive if he thinks he's going to get it and just last month he got off probation for—something or other.

I nodded a lot and made some sympathetic sounds and when Matt was finished, I said, “Wow. Your job sounds so important,” and he kind of beamed.

“So,” he said, “how was your day?”

I was on the verge of telling Matt about going to the Mommies In Training class that morning but decided he might think I was trying to pressure him. And we all know that men do not like to be pressured!

“It was very nice, thanks,” I said brightly.

Men also don't like their mood spoiled over dinner.

“Good. You know, my buddy Greg got a line on tickets to the entire season and I'm thinking—”

Nod encouragingly and make sounds of sympathy or surprise. That was how to handle Matt. That was how to handle most men.

It wasn't, I suddenly remembered, how I'd handled Duncan. He hadn't needed handling. We just had a good time together.

I shifted in the seat as if to shake off the memory of my marriage. My happy marriage.

Jess and Matt hadn't had a happy marriage, I reminded myself. Which is why Matt is single and sitting across the table, carving steak and talking to me about football.

For the life of me I couldn't understand why Jess had married him. He was so not her type. I don't really know what Jess's type is, but I know that Matt certainly isn't it.

And then I wondered why Matt had married Jess. I wasn't going to ask him, but I was curious. I was prettier than Jess so it couldn't have been her looks. She is smart, smarter than me, but I don't think a man marries a woman because she's smart. Right?

“Should I get the check?”

I came back to life and smiled big at Matt. “Sure,” I said. “Whatever you like.”

Chapter 44

I
was afraid he'd be there. I was afraid he wouldn't be.

“I should have called,” I said to Evan. “You're probably busy. I'm sorry.”

He smiled. “Not at all. It's good to see you.”

“You, too.”

I'd finally worked up the nerve to approach Evan. After our last phone conversation, the one in which I'd so rudely rejected him, I'd avoided even walking past the Auster Gallery, afraid I'd run into him, afraid of the look I might find in his eyes, anger maybe, or hurt.

But since that awful phone conversation, something inside me had changed; at least, it was beginning to change. I was tired of avoiding what might be my life.

Now, standing face to face with Evan, I found that what I'd felt that night in the restaurant, that intense draw, was still there. It hadn't been due to the surroundings or the wine. It was because of Evan. I felt very glad. Frightened but glad.

“So,” Evan said, “are you interested in one of the works?”

“No. I mean, yes, of course. I love the small landscapes in the second room, but I'm afraid a teacher's salary doesn't allow me to collect much art.”

“Starving artists, starving appreciators. The business of art is strange and unfair.”

“Oh, don't get me started on the topic!”

“So, if you're not here to buy a piece . . .”

Steady, Grace. “Actually,” I said, “I stopped by to say hello. I mean, I was hoping to run into you.”

“Oh?” Evan asked. “Why's that?”

“No reason in particular. Just to, you know, say hello.”

Did I imagine it or did Evan's eyes reveal some pleasure at hearing this?

“I'm glad you did,” he said. “I've been wondering about your program.”

“You have?”

“Yes,” Evan said promptly. “Arts education is in such trouble in this country. I feel I've neglected to do my part in supporting it. If you feel your program is something worthwhile, I'd like to help in some way. I'll make a financial donation, but I'd like to do something more hands on. I'm good with a hammer and nails.”

I didn't know what to say. Was Evan's offer to help out really just a way for him to spend time with me? And would that be so bad?

“Why are you hesitating?” Evan asked with a smile. “Do you think I'll make a mess of everything?”

“Oh, no, of course not! It's just . . . Just that you must be so busy with the gallery and the upcoming show and all.”

“I am busy,” he said. “But I want to make time for your program. I wouldn't offer something I can't deliver.”

I thought of Simon. He always made offers he had no intention of delivering. It was his way of life, almost unconscious.

“Well, then, yes,” I said, “I'd love your input. I'd like it. Thank you.”

“Great. So, when should we get started?”

And then I took a further step toward liberation.

“How about we meet for dinner?” I said. “Maybe tomorrow. If you're free, that is.”

Evan bowed slightly. “I am free and I would love to meet you for dinner. Why don't you choose the restaurant this time?”

I said I would. We made plans to meet at the gallery at seven the following evening. We parted with smiles. I felt the need to touch his arm but didn't. There would be time for that. I hoped.

I couldn't help grinning as I walked along Newbury Street. Let people think I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had, but if this was crazy, I liked it.

I stood at the next corner and waited for the light to turn green. The sun was warm, the air dry; potted flowers lined the patio of the café to my left. Suddenly, I was overcome with a desire to pick up a paintbrush, to prepare a surface, to produce something. It was a long-missing but still-familiar urge; its resurfacing took me completely by surprise. Suddenly, I couldn't wait to get home and work.

The light turned green and I dashed ahead.

Who was this brave new Grace Henley? Whoever she was, I hoped she wouldn't let me down.

Chapter 45

“W
ell, let's put it this way,” Nell said. “As I'm learning how to become my self, or how to redefine the old self, whatever it is I'm doing, I'm realizing that Richard has that exact same right. He has the right to be himself. I'm not saying it was easy sitting across from the man my ex-husband has sex with—”

“The man he loves,” Grace corrected.

Nell grimaced. “That's even worse. Anyway, I'm not saying it was easy, but it was okay.”

We had gathered for dinner at a very good bistro called Gabrielle's. Laura grumped about the prices until Nell pointed out that no one had forced her to come along.

“What was your impression of Bob?” I asked.

“Honestly, Jess, I thought he was very nice. He seems unassuming. He's got a pleasant face, though Richard is definitely more handsome.”

“You two did make the perfect couple,” Grace said, “at least as far as looks.”

“Sure. We were a living, breathing Barbie and Ken. But might I remind you that Barbie and Ken don't have genitals.”

“And,” I added, “I heard they broke up after something like forty years together.”

“So, Ken was gay after all?” Laura asked, eyes gleaming, as if relishing the thought.

“I don't know. I think their PR people thought they needed to be single for a while. You know, recapture the world's attention.”

“Ah, yes.” Nell grinned. “The media-created breakup. You know, it might be nice to have someone else make my personal decisions for me. Nell, it's time you dated a twenty-year-old. Nell, it's time to dump the twenty-year-old and get back with your ex-husband for six months. It'll make great press.”

“Well,” Laura said, “I don't know how you did it, meeting those two for lunch. If I were you, I wouldn't have anything to do with Richard.”

“Thankfully, Laura,” Nell said, “you're not me. You don't have to deal with Richard if you don't want to, but I would like to be his friend. I'd like to create a new dynamic, one that allows each of us to be comfortable.”

“And you think Bob will be open to you and Richard being friends?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Bob might have accidentally wrecked my home, but he's not the home-wrecker type.”

“Well,” Grace said, “it's not like Bob has to worry about anything sexual going on between you two.”

Laura put her water glass down with enough force to spill part of its contents. “I still think you're crazy. The man cheated on you! He lied to you. He humiliated you. And you want to be his friend?”

I supposed compassion and forgiveness were foreign concepts to the younger Keats sister.

“Yes, Laura,” Nell said, “I do. And here's why. In a few years the kids will be graduating from college. Maybe someday they'll get married. Maybe someday they'll have children. I don't want to make occasions that are supposed to be celebratory miserable. For Colin and Clara's sake, if not for my own, I have to work on a relationship with Richard.”

Laura rolled her eyes. I wondered how old her child would be when he started therapy. Probably about two.

A child.

“Have you wondered about Richard and Bob having kids of their own?” I asked Nell.

Nell laughed. “Oh, God, of course I have. Richard's only forty-four and he's in perfect health. If anyone has the energy for an infant, it's Richard. He was amazing when the kids were little. But I just can't bring up the subject with him.”

“I don't blame you!” Laura huffed.

“Enough about me.” Nell turned to Grace. “What's going on with you and the job?”

Grace's face suddenly became animated.

“It's been crazy lately,” she said. “We've got so many kids, but Evan's been a real help. Of course, the money he donated is going to fund a buying spree at my favorite art supply store. The kids will be grateful, especially the ones who are really into making art. But it's his time I most appreciate. My interns are almost entirely without a work ethic. Most mornings they show up late and hungover. But Evan shows up when he says he's going to and stays until the job is done.”

“Is there something you're not telling us about this Evan person?” I asked. “Like, are you two involved? Is this the same guy you mentioned when we met Trina at Nell's house?”

“Ah, yes,” Nell said. “The ‘real' man!”

“No! I mean, no, we're not involved, and yes, Evan is the ‘real' man. And I think he might like me a little.”

“And . . .” Laura prompted.

“And I think I might like him a little, too.”

I know Grace. And at that moment I knew she liked Evan a lot more than a little.

“What's he like?” Laura asked.

“Well,” Grace said, “he's very attractive. He's got a lovely smile and—”

“What's he like as a person,” Nell said, “not what does he look like.”

Laura protested. “I want to know what he looks like!”

“Look in a magazine,” I said. “His picture is all over the local media.”

“Let's just say that he's about as different from Simon as a man can be.”

Nell raised her wineglass. “Hurrah!”

“Really,” Grace went on, “he's responsible and independent and he's always doing things for other people, always thinking of other people.”

“Especially you?” I asked.

“I don't know yet,” Grace admitted. “I'm not sure I'm reading his behavior correctly. I'm not sure if I should take his words at face value or look for a more subtle message. In some ways with Evan I feel completely innocent, unschooled, almost as if I'd never learned anything about men and women and how they come together.”

“Maybe that's a good thing,” Nell suggested. “Maybe that means what's developing between you is special, unique.”

“If something's developing between us. I'm still not sure of anything.”

“Has he been married?” Laura asked. “Does he have children?”

Grace nodded. “Yes, he was married once for a long time to a woman he met in grad school. They got divorced when he was around forty. That much is common knowledge, but I haven't asked him about what happened. It's too soon for that. And he has no children. He told me that himself.”

“So he's been single for how long?” Nell asked.

“About ten years,” Grace said. “Of course, that makes me wonder if he has any intention of ever remarrying. Not that I'm ready to consider another marriage. Not yet, anyway.”

“You'd probably know if he was a Casanova,” I pointed out. “He's too much in the public eye to hide a wild reputation.”

“True,” Grace said. “Maybe he just hasn't met the next love of his life.”

“And maybe that's you. I'm glad for you, Grace, really.”

Grace laughed a rueful laugh. “Don't be glad just yet, Jess. I have no idea what will happen, if anything.”

“All right,” I said. “We won't jinx it. We'll change the topic.”

“So, Laura,” Nell asked, turning to her sister, “what's new with you and the quest for a sperm donor?”

Laura gave her sister a dirty look. Really, I thought, Nell should lighten up on Laura. She is what she is, and no amount of teasing is going to change her.

“I'm not sure I should talk about my relationship with Matt,” Laura said. She leaned forward, as if about to impart a secret. “You know. Because of Jess.”

Nell and Grace exchanged a look of exasperation.

I cleared my throat dramatically. “Laura,” I said, “I thought we talked about this. You have every right to live your own life. If you want to talk about Matt, fine. Just don't expect me to listen to stories about what you two do in bed. I'm not that sophisticated or cosmopolitan.”

“I told you, we haven't slept together yet.”

“What are you waiting for?” I asked abruptly. I shouldn't have been mean; here I was thinking Nell was being mean, but something about Laura just calls up the nastiness in people.

Laura blushed.

“Oh,” I said. “I get it.”

“Get what?” Nell asked with a grin.

“Laura's revirginalized. No sex until marriage.”

“Engagement,” she corrected. “No sex until we're engaged.”

“That night with what's-his-name,” Grace said, “the one who lied about having kids, really spooked you, didn't it?”

“Yes,” Laura admitted. “Besides, I think waiting makes the whole thing more romantic. More special.”

“Does Matt know about this vow? That you'll only have sex in exchange for a diamond?”

“It's not like that at all! Nell, why do you always have to be so harsh?”

“Sorry.”

I doubted she was.

“Anyway,” Laura said, “Matt understands how I feel. He understands that doing things the right way is very important to me.”

“He can be amenable,” I said. “He did let me drag him to Paris on our honeymoon.”

“Where are you dragging Matt on your honeymoon?” Nell asked Laura. “Babies ‘R' Us?”

Laura sat up straighter. I couldn't help noticing the beginnings of a double chin. “For your information,” she said, “if we get married, we're going to go to Cancun or some other tropical paradise.”

No stuffy museums or dank old churches. No unpronounceable food and a foreign language to contend with.

Yes, I thought, if Laura doesn't break his heart, she'll be a much better match for my ex-husband than I ever was.

“Another round, ladies?” I asked.