In Love Again (27 page)

She was so tiny and he was so tall, they were almost the same height when she stood hugging him while he stayed seated. “No more oh-Pauls, okay?” he asked into her hug.

She took an almost military breath, fortifying her little body into rigid attention. “You’re right. None of that.” She patted his cheek in that loving, maternal way.

The next few days were a revelation to Claire. An education. When she and Ben had their child together, this was the type of home she wanted them to have. This was a real family. Everyone was so deeply invested in the success of everyone else, so hopeful and joyful on behalf of one another. Their happiness always multiplied and their sadness was lighter for being shared.

The thought gave Claire pause. It made her wonder how Lydia would fit into her new life with Ben and the baby. Would she be full of resentment? Resigned? Altogether absent? When Claire allowed herself to imagine what she really wanted—her dream scenario—she envisioned all of them living in New York, with Lydia happily employed and enjoying a productive life. She pictured her coming over for Sunday dinners, like supposedly normal people do.

Claire sighed and reminded herself that neither she nor Lydia had ever been “normal people” and that too many things would have to happen for that dream to come true. She tried to rein in her enthusiasm for some unlikely mother-daughter happily ever after and focused instead on getting to know Ben’s real family instead of the imaginary one in her head.

The upstairs bedrooms were very small—almost dorm-like—and the walls were paper-thin. Later that night, everyone could hear Nicki’s wail of misery when her parents finally told her about Paul’s diagnosis. The extremity of his condition lent a poignancy to the next few days. Claire was honored to be there.

All of her worry about not being smart enough, or independent enough, or cool enough, or something enough, was utterly dispelled. Paul continued to call her princess, teasing her like Ben, in a way that made Claire feel like a part of some loving inner circle, rather than a source of ridicule.

Ben’s sisters were fierce—that much of what Nicki had said was true—but their ferocity was about loyalty and love, not about confrontation. They all talked. All the time. Whether it was about the local political uproar over replacing the stop sign with a flashing light or reproductive rights in China. They were all so familiar with one another, but it never bred contempt.

And Nicki did ultimately make Claire say the word
orgasm
out loud. At the dinner table.

They’d all been talking for hours as usual and Sanger, the painter from New Mexico, had just started talking about Georgia O’Keeffe and vaginas just after dessert was set out on the table. Claire must have blushed, and Nicki cried, “Stop saying
vagina
, Aunt Sanger! You’re making Claire go all red in the face.”

“I must just be a little flushed,” Claire said defensively. She covered her cheeks with her hands as a very atypical silence descended over the table.

“She’s never said the word
orgasm
out loud,” Nicki continued. “Isn’t that priceless?”

Sanger narrowed her eyes across the farm table in Claire’s direction. “You’re joking, right?”

Ben leaned back to get a better look at Claire; he’d been resting his left hand on her right thigh for most of the meal. Now, he folded his arms and grinned.

Claire shook her head. “It’s just never come up.”

Hoda and Cady burst into gales of laughter. “
Come up
! Get it?”

“You all are being mean,” Ben’s mother said, looking to make sure Claire wasn’t getting her feelings hurt. “It just can’t be true. Tell them, Claire.”

“Well…” Now everyone was so quiet, Claire felt like she should stand up and recite a few lines of poetry, as her parents had always made the children do on special occasions. Olympia took a sip of wine and gave her an encouraging wink.

“Just say it, Claire,” Nicki said.

“Nicolette!” Betty chided. “Stop being so…loud.” Obviously, Betty wasn’t going to chastise her for content, but delivery.

Claire took a deep breath. “So you want me to just say the word, for no reason.”

Ben’s other sister, Joumana, who was the professor at Penn, had arrived just before dinner with The Republican Boyfriend, as Ben’s mother introduced him. His name was Rob, and he sat to Claire’s left. He raised his glass. “Orgasm!” he yelled.

Ben’s father, usually quiet, especially in the face of the full battalion of female energy roaring around him at holiday times, raised his wineglass next. “Orgasm!” And around the table it went until all the glasses were raised and all eyes were gleaming with jolly expectation at Claire.

She took a deep breath and raised her glass. After a moment of hesitation, she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Orgasm!”

They all clinked their glasses and laughed and were enjoying the return of the usual melee when Ben’s mother raised her voice. “Wait!”

“What?”

“What is it?”

The table of people quieted again and Ben’s mother looked at him with a crease of worry in her brow, then shifted her eyes to look at Claire. “Just because you don’t say the word, you still
have
them, don’t you? I raised my son to know better—”

“Oh my god!” Ben shouted. “How am I even related to you people?”

His father smiled as all the sisters started talking and laughing again, and Claire worried she might never return to her normal skin color, but instead remain in that permanent state of beet red. Ben’s mother was still looking at the two of them, waiting for an answer.

“Mom!” Ben barked. “Stop! Yes, of course. I mean, good god, just get off.”

Hoda and Cady and Nicki all burst out laughing again. Wiping her eyes, Hoda said, “You did not just tell Mom to
get off
, did you?” Everyone started laughing again.

Ben raised his eyebrows and shook his head in complete defeat. He put his arm around Claire’s shoulder and pulled her toward him. “I tried to warn you. They’re crazy.” Then he leaned in and whispered hot and close, “And they adore you.” He kissed her cheek.

During the days, Claire took a few long walks with Nicki. Lydia was going to be spending Christmas and New Year’s in Lyford Cay, and Claire wanted so much to rebuild their relationship. And for Lydia to get along with Ben. And she hoped Nicki could help.

“I feel like I’m using you,” Claire said at one point, when she and Nicki were plodding through the snowy trail.

“As the song goes, use me up. What is it about your daughter that makes you so…upset?”

Claire tried to think if that’s what it was, if Lydia upset her. And if so, why. “Well, it’s just that she’s so…useless.”

“Ouch.”

“You asked me to be honest, didn’t you?” Claire felt instantly guilt-ridden.

“Yeah, but that’s…really honest.” Nicki gave her a rueful smile. “I mean, nobody’s
useless
.”

“I didn’t mean it literally, Nicki!” Claire tried to remember she was seeking advice from a human being who thought 1990 was
olden days
. She took a deep breath of the cold air. “It’s just a British expression that means, oh I don’t know, kind of lazy and unambitious.”

“Okay, so you mean you want to help her figure out what she wants to do with her life?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“First of all, I don’t think you should use words like
worthless
and
useless
.”

“Ouch,” Claire mimicked.

They both laughed, then Nicki continued. “I mean, not like I know what I’m talking about but, you know, she must have something, some
thing
that she loves…that inspires her?”

Claire shook her head and looked down at the path as they walked on. “I don’t know. It’s a terrible thing to admit, but I don’t feel like I did a good job helping her foster anything unique like that.”

“Well, what do you love? What inspires you?”

“Oh,” Claire sighed and looked up at the trees. “Everything. The branches. The color of the snow. Patterns. Fabric. How things are made. Your uncle—”

“Enough with the goo-goo love stuff. I mean, what else out in the world? What does Lydia do that she loves? Like you love design and color.”

Claire hadn’t really thought about it like that, but it was the truth. She had loved color and shapes and objects long before she ever thought of that as the foundation of a career. “I guess that’s a good place to start, isn’t it? I’ll ask her. It’s terrible that I don’t already know.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know either.” Nicki shrugged. “My roommate’s such a great singer, but she didn’t even know she had a good voice until she got with this one teacher.”

“You’re fabulous, Nicki. I can’t wait for you and Lydia to meet each other.”

“Oh, I would love that. I bet she’s wonderful.”

When they said good-bye very early on the morning of Christmas Eve, everyone hugged and squeezed and whispered encouraging words about babies and happy couples and second chances. Claire felt filled to the brim with the outpouring of love from Ben’s family.

“Be careful with that!” Lydia barked at the porter as he removed one of her six pieces of luggage from the van she’d been forced to take from the grubby airport in Nassau. She scowled as she saw Devon and Sarah pull into the front circle of the hotel in their glitzy convertible. She doubted they’d flown commercial either.

“Hi, Lydia!” Sarah called as she got out of the car and walked toward her.

“Hello, Sarah.”
Little Miss Perfect
, Lydia thought snidely. “Have you just arrived?”

“No, we came in a few days ago to spend time with my parents.”

“Oh. Your mother and father are here?” Lydia had met the aggressive wench and the stuffed shirt at Devon and Sarah’s wedding. How tedious if Mr. and Mrs. James were going to be here too.

Sarah’s face pinched. “She’s my stepmother. And no, they were here until this morning, but they’ve flown back to Chicago. Did you just get in?”

Lydia sighed. “Yes, the flight was horrific. So crowded and miserable. Hi, Dev.”

Devon had come over after talking to one of the men who worked at the tropical resort. He was always trying to pretend he was so egalitarian all the time.

“Hi, Lyd. Are you going to be a twat again this year or are you going to have a nice holiday in paradise for once?”

“Bugger off.”

“I’ll take that as a twat.”

Lydia smiled despite herself. “Look. The last thing I want to be doing is hanging out with a bunch of pie-eyed lovebirds like you two. And now my own mother sounds all lovey-dovey too. And grandmother! It’s like goddamned Fantasy Island or something.”

Sarah laughed. “Maybe you’ll meet someone?”

The young Bahamian man who was loading the last of her luggage smiled to himself.

Lydia snapped. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing, miss.” He tipped his chin down and caught Devon’s eye as he walked past with the luggage cart piled to high heaven.

Lydia stomped her foot. “You are all ganging up on me as usual. Seriously. What did I do to deserve that?”

Devon grumbled something into Sarah’s ear and turned toward the front entrance of the main building. “Bye, Lydia.”

Sarah lingered.
Perfect
.
Now the lecture
, thought Lydia.

“Your mom is really nervous about introducing Ben to everyone. You could try to be nice.”

“What do you care?”

“Lydia. Grow up. Devon and I have been married a year. I’m part of this family now.”

“You and everyone else, it seems.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, never mind. I’ll try to play nice in the sandbox.”

“Why do you have to
try
in the first place? What’s so hard about being Lydia anyway?”

They started to walk into the lobby.

“I’ve already got a shrink in London. I certainly don’t need you analyzing me, Sarah.”

“You should get a new shrink, then, because he or she is doing a crap job of helping you appreciate your life.” Sarah turned from the front desk, then turned back. “We’re meeting for drinks at six thirty. Dinner’s not until eight. We’ll be down at the beach before then if you want to hang out.”

“Oh, twats welcome, then?”

“Whatever, Lydia.” Sarah turned away and walked out the large French doors and onto the path leading to the bungalows.

When Lydia returned her attention to the front desk, the porter who had transferred all her luggage from the van was already gone to deliver her things to her villa. In his place was a distractingly handsome young black man standing tall and serene behind the desk.

Now, Lydia wasn’t one to stare, but he happened to be one of the more attractive blokes she’d ever laid eyes on. Dark, smooth skin that pulled across sharply defined, high cheekbones, long black lashes that should have made him look feminine but didn’t. And a mouth…lips that were…sinful. He was everything intense and masculine compared to the pale toffs she’d been partying with in London lately.

Her mind wheeled through the possibilities, then screeched to a halt. Lyford probably had some stupid rule about not letting him
fraternize
with the guests. Nor did she fancy being some absurd hot-for-the-help cliché, either. Still, there was something about him, something unfamiliar—because it felt real—that pulled at her.