Falling (11 page)

They turn up a dirt road and follow the hand-painted signs to
Dinner on the Farm Parking
through an open wooden gate, into a meadow filled with parked cars. They park and climb out, following another couple along a mown grass pathway through a wildflower meadow. A few minutes later they reach a large open field filled with people standing around sipping elderflower cocktails, helping themselves to hors d'oeuvres off trays borne by young, smiling women in linen aprons and chunky boots.

Dominic grabs two glasses off a tray, and they toast each other and take a sip.

“I had no idea this was a thing,” says Dominic, looking around with a smile. “I like it, though. It makes me feel comfortable, at home. Just like we were talking about on the way here. Reminds me of what the town was like when I was growing up.”

“Where do you think the actual dinner will be held?” Emma looks around but can't see any tables.

“Through there, maybe? See the sign to the orchard?” A passing waitress overhears and stops with a smile.

“The dinner? It is in the orchard but we don't let anyone over there until it's time. There's a whole theater involved in getting the tables ready, and we wait to bring everyone in all at once.”

“This is really nice,” says Dominic happily, helping himself to a small spoon of shrimp with dill pesto and quinoa. “And delicious,” he adds. His mouth is full as he speaks, and Emma laughs as she takes a spoon and tries the food herself.

It's not long before everyone is invited into the orchard. The scene they find there is beautiful. Four long trestle tables stretch between the apple trees, globe lights strung between the branches, votives in mason jars winding down the center of each burlap-covered table, bamboo chairs lining each side.

The lights twinkle in the fading sunlight as servers stand to one side, greeting the guests with smiles. Everyone first glimpses the magical setting, then looks for seats. Emma glances around, trying to spot people she hopes, prays, may be nice, chatty, fun for the night.

Before she can think too long, Emma and Dominic sit with two couples their age, who introduce themselves as soon as they sit down. Emma already has them pegged—she worked with people just like them in New York. The men, good-looking and clean cut, wear huge expensive watches on their wrists. She knows even without looking that they will each sport a Panerai, or a Rolex Daytona, and she flicks her eyes down to check, seeing that indeed one is a Panerai, the other an IWC.
Nailed it,
she thinks.
Bankers.

The women are well groomed and friendly, but clearly not very interested in Emma. Out of politeness, she attempts to make small talk, asking them about their lives, their babies, where they worked before they had babies. Both of them are former bankers, undecided as to whether they will return to work. Emma knows in both cases they will not; she has worked with too many women like them, and she feels like she knows exactly how their lives will be laid out ahead of them. They have children and leave banking, thinking they will go back, but they will love being stay-at-home moms, even though a
lot of the time they are bored. They will employ a nanny or au pair to take care of the boring parts—the endless trips to the children's museum, the aquarium, the kiddie gym—and will spend their time getting back into shape and looking good enough to keep their husbands' interest. The children will grow, will start kindergarten, and the wives will get involved with charities, will tell people they used to be bankers, conferring on themselves a status they gave up to be full-time mothers, because they still want to be defined as something more than merely a wife.

When their children reach high school their friends will slowly start working again, and they will realize it is no longer a status symbol to be a stay-at-home mother. They will look for something not too taxing to fill their time. Good God, they will realize. Whatever did they do with all that time? They will work in local stores, or start businesses, or help out at the school library. Many will become real estate agents, although most will struggle to find clients in a town overrun by middle-aged women going into the real estate business once their children have started high school.

Oh yes. Emma knows these women well thanks to Sophie and her vocal feelings about them. She can see their whole lives laid out in front of them in a way they will not be able to for years. As the women answer her questions, she wonders whether they will ask her anything about herself, but she is entirely unsurprised when they don't. Once she stops asking them about themselves, they grow quiet.

“I saw what just happened,” Dominic says, dropping his voice so they can't hear. “They were as interested in you as their husbands were in me.”

“Their husbands weren't interested in you?”

“Nah. I don't work at a hedge fund or bank. I told them I was a bartender and their eyes glazed over.”

“But everyone loves the Fat Hen! Why didn't you tell them you
worked there? You know they would have wanted you to be their new best friend if you'd told them.”

“That's exactly why I didn't tell them,” murmurs Dominic. “The Fat Hen has enough of those types. I definitely don't want to encourage any more.”

“I'm sorry,” whispers Emma. “I think we got stuck with the duds.”

“We have each other,” says Dominic. “And I couldn't be happier with the company I'm keeping tonight.”

She flushes with pleasure, just as the feta and watermelon is set on the table, and she can distract herself with the food. They chat about this and that, until the plates are removed, when Dominic turns to her and asks, “How is it you don't have a boyfriend? I asked you before but you didn't give me a straight answer.”

This time, she manages not to blush and commands herself to hear the question as one from a friend and not a flirtation. “I'm pretty self-sufficient,” Emma answers. “Honestly, I'm not sure I'm a good girlfriend. I had a very long relationship when I was younger and everyone expected us to get married, but I think I'm a bit of a lone wolf. It's a terrible thing to admit, and not the thing you're supposed to say, but I'm perfectly happy being on my own. Why are you smiling?”

“Lone wolf,” he says. “When I was a kid I used to be in a rock band and we called it the Lone Wolves because that's what everyone called me. The Lone Wolf.”

“So you're independent, too?”

“It's different for a man. We're expected to be. But I don't know how easy it would be for me to share my life with anyone, either.”

“Really? You seem so open. You seem exactly the kind of man who would, should, have a partner.”

“Yeah. I know that's how it seems, but my model for marriage wasn't a great one.”

Emma remembers what that real estate agent Jeff had said about Dominic's parents: the fighting, the drama, the violence.

“Your parents? Were they not happy?” She already knows the answer but wants to hear it firsthand from Dominic.

He laughs. “That might be the understatement of the century. They hate each other, but they're still married. I think my mom planned a huge bunch of kids, but after me she had a ton of miscarriages, and I think the whole thing was a huge disappointment to her. They're very Italian, which means there's always a lot of shouting, but in my family's case that comes with a lot of anger and a lot of . . .” He shakes his head. “This is boring.”

“No. It's really not. I imagine that growing up in a family like that must have scarred you in some way, must have made you reluctant to get involved with anyone.”

“I didn't think so when I was younger, but I realize now how often I was attracted to women who brought drama to a relationship. Everything I thought I wanted to avoid from my own childhood: the shouting, the anger, the turmoil? I always seemed to pick women who brought exactly that into my life.”

“But not now?”

Dominic pauses. “I had a girlfriend once. I was about seventeen, and we would fight all the time. There was this one night when we were yelling at each other, and I was so angry, I swear to God it's the only time in my life I actually have come close to laying a hand on someone. I didn't. But I was scared that I was going to. And I realized then that if I didn't make a conscious choice to live differently, I was going to follow my parents' path. And I didn't want that. That night changed me completely. I learned that it's all a choice, and that choice is up to us. And then of course Jesse came along, and it's always
different once you're a father. I'm different. Not only do I always have to put Jesse first, I've had to learn what it is to have a relationship. I know it's my kid, but it's the first real long-term relationship I've had as an adult. I've had to learn to be selfless. To put someone else before me. And I've had to try to teach Jesse that we're the only ones in control of our happiness. It's been a great lesson.”

“So now you're ready for the woman of your dreams?” says Emma.

“Maybe.” He looks at her. There is a long pause.

“Gina?”

“That's over,” he says simply.

Emma fights the delighted grin that is itching to get out. “Didn't I see her come over late last night?”

“She did. And I ended it.”

“I'm so sorry.”

Dominic stares at her. “
Are
you?”

She is quiet for a minute. “I don't know. Are you?”

“No. It was pointless. It wasn't going anywhere. It wasn't fair, either to her or to me.” Dominic reaches for the basket of corn bread, takes two pieces, hands one to Emma. Without looking at her, he reaches for the butter and keeps his eyes down as he slathers some on his bread. “I found myself thinking about other . . . things,” he finally says.

Emma's heart jumps. “Other things?”

Dominic looks up and gives her a slow smile. “Yes.”

They make it through the lamb-and-date meatballs, the braised short ribs with succotash and roasted beets, through the burnt caramel ice cream with toffee apple slices. They make it through talking, and drinking, and laughing, and looking at no one but each other.

They make it through coffee, and fine, delicate ginger-and-lemon cookies, and mint tea with tiny chocolate biscotti.

They make it halfway up the mown pathway on the way back to the car park after dinner, couples behind them, couples in front.

“Look,” says Dominic, pausing along the path and pointing out something glistening beyond the trees. “A pond. Shall we check it out?”

Emma nods, and as they step off the path and through the long grass, Dominic reaches out and takes her hand, and a warmth settles over her entire body as she feels his hand wrap hers.

They walk down to the pond, and stop when they reach the water, turning to each other at the same time. Emma is hardly able to breathe.

Dominic reaches out and places a hand on her cheek. And then she is in his arms, his mouth is on hers, her mouth opening as his arms wrap around her body and she sinks into something that feels so familiar, so right, that when they finally disengage, when they open their eyes and look at each other, her cheeks are wet with tears.

“Why are you crying?” Dominic asks, looking at her with wonder.

“I have no idea,” she says, which is absolutely true.

•   •   •

They kiss at every stoplight on the way home. They do not talk about what will happen once they get there until they pull into the driveway. Then Dominic asks if she will wait in the car while he pays the babysitter and sends her home.

Emma sits in the car, astonished by what has happened. She watches Dominic, standing in the doorway paying the babysitter, feeling a jolt of lust in her loins, something she hasn't felt in a very long time. She's not even sure she has ever felt exactly this before.

She looks at him from inside the darkened car, tasting him still on her tongue, remembering from earlier in the evening what he feels like, the shape of his head, the texture of his hair, and a shudder runs through her body.

She wants to drink him in, eat him up. She wants to fold herself into him so tightly that the two of them become one. She wants to consume and be consumed, in a way so unlike the Emma she has always been, that when the babysitter leaves and she finally gets out of the car and joins him in the house, her legs are shaking.

“Sssshhh.” Dominic puts his finger to his lips, indicating that Jesse is fast asleep, before pulling her back into his arms. They stand at the foot of the stairs, kissing, and when he takes her hand and motions her upstairs, she nods, and follows him up into the master bedroom, where he inches her back, until she falls backward on the bed, laughing softly.

He dips his head down, kisses her neck, pushes the strap of her dress down, and the laughing stops, replaced with a sharp, ravenous intake of breath as she pulls his head back up, needing his mouth to be on hers.

Dominic kisses his way down her body, pulling her dress down, fumbling around her back to undo her bra and throw it across the room. He lingers on her breasts, slips a hand down inside her underwear, as she lets out a small, pleasurable moan. She reaches down to undo his jeans, unbuttons his shirt to feel his skin against hers.

She marvels at the intimacy of these acts, and how she feels so comfortable performing them. It should feel so strange, she thinks, guiding him into her, feeling him inside her as he props himself on his hands and gazes at her. But everything feels so right. So very different from before. From ever before.

•   •   •

The last time Emma had sex was through Tinder. She is not a Tinder girl, but everyone she knew was doing it, everyone said she had to do it. She thought, after a while, that she
should
try it. Though people
used the app mostly for sex, surely there were some who found relationships unexpectedly, and if they did, why not her?