Mrs. Perfect (9 page)

He just looks at me, deep lines etched at his eyes and mouth.

I abruptly stop laughing. “Is that the real reason we’re moving? Because we’re broke and might have to sell the house?”

He doesn’t answer, and I feel a terrible lump fill my throat. It grows and grows and presses down so that I want to gag. Gag and throw up.

I’ve been through this before. I lived this as a kid. I refuse to live this now.

But Nathan isn’t my dad. I’m not my mom. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening again.

“You’ll get another job here, a great job,” I tell him low and clearly. “But until then, we’ll cut back. We’ll cut back on whatever we can—”

“It’s too late for that,” he says. “It’s . . . unfixable.”

Tori wanders into our room, her thumb popped in her mouth, her eyes wide and a frightened blue. I haven’t seen her suck her thumb in at least a year. It means she’s heard us arguing and she’s nervous. Scared. That makes two of us, baby.

I scoop her into my arms. “Let’s go to school,” I say with false cheer, and step around Nathan without looking at him.

I try my best to focus on the exercises and lengthening and breathing during the Pilates class, but my mind races and I keep turning the same thought over and over in my head.
What does unfixable mean?

Nathan said the situation is unfixable, but I don’t understand what unfixable is. I don’t accept unfixable. I believe things can be fixed. I believe. I believe.

It’s not until I’ve showered and dressed and am leaving the club that I check my BlackBerry calendar and remember I’m hosting the auction meeting at my house tonight.

Nathan’s going to have a fit.

Wearily, I call him to give him fair warning. He’s definitely not happy. “Can’t you at least wait until I’m gone?”

“The date’s set, Nathan. Everyone’s made arrangements for child care. I can’t change it now.”

“Why is the auction so much more important than your family?”

Stung, I fall silent. My mouth opens and closes before I manage to find my voice. “How dare you say such a thing? I only volunteered to chair the auction to help the girls—”

“Oh, please, Taylor. You can fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me. The auction is nothing but a huge ego booster and we both know it.”

My eyes feel gritty. A lump fills my throat. “How long have you hated me?”

“I don’t hate you, Taylor, but I know you and I know your games.”

Games? What games? “I have to go,” I say thickly. “I’m supposed to be helping in the computer lab.”

“Of course. Taylor Young, queen of everything.”

I’m shocked at his bitterness. I’ve never heard him speak to me like this. How long has he felt this way?

Shaken, I stop by Starbucks on my way to school and get my usual latte, but instead of passing on the sweets, I buy a pumpkin scone with the maple glaze. I scarf down the scone sitting in my car. I eat as fast as I can, eat until every crumb is gone. And then I pound the steering wheel.

I hate myself.

I hate myself.

I hate what’s happening all around me. But I feel so helpless. I want to fix this. I want to make things better. But moving to Omaha isn’t the answer. It can’t be the answer. This is home. This is where we live. We have to find a solution here.

Nathan takes the girls out to a movie while I host the auction meeting. He doesn’t say good-bye when he leaves. Brooke and Tori give me a kiss. Jemma shouts from the doorway that she loves me. Thank God. I couldn’t bear it if the girls turned on me, too.

The meeting is set for seven p.m., and everyone arrives promptly. I’ve opened bottles of good Chardonnay and Merlot, believing that a fund-raising meeting is so much more civilized with a great glass of wine.

We spend ten minutes socializing before I call the meeting to order. “As you know from my e-mail, we need to come up with a new theme, as Enatai took ours. Patti and I met last week to brainstorm ideas, and I sent you all our top three. Can I have some feedback on the new suggested themes?”

“I’m not crazy about any of them,” Louisa says candidly, “but of the three, my favorite is the Côte d’Azur.”

“Do you really think the Côte d’Azur is a good theme?” asks Carla, leaning back in her chair, her pen pressed to her chin. “Will everyone get the whole South of France thing?”

“Everyone knows about Cannes,” I answer firmly. “The film festival is renowned. We can decorate with palm trees and white tents and red carpets, really working the glamour of the film industry. Big spotlights, select live auction destinations blown up and framed like movie posters.”

“Or we track down vintage travel posters depicting some of our destinations like Greece, Paris, Sun Valley,” Patti adds. “Honestly, I think it would be fun and glitzy, kind of a holiday party in the middle of March.”

A debate ensues and then turns heated, as it often does. So many of us are strong women and opinionated. Give us all leadership roles and there’s bound to be conflict.

Patti eventually calls for a break. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some more wine,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh.

She takes my arm as we all rise and head for the dining room, where wine and appetizers wait. “Are you okay, Taylor?”

I nod briskly. “Of course. Why?”

“You don’t seem like yourself. You’re sure everything’s all right?”

My chest squeezes tight, and I fight the most ridiculous urge to burst into tears. I would love to confide in her, but I can’t. This isn’t something I can talk about, isn’t something that can be shared. “I’m fine. Just concerned about the auction.”

“Don’t be concerned. We’ll do the Côte d’Azur theme, everyone will have a ball, and we’ll raise buckets of money, okay?”

I struggle to smile. “Okay.”

Patti offers to top up my wine, but I cover my goblet. One glass is enough. I have to be careful about drinking. It’s not just the calories. If I drink too much in one week I sometimes feel more blue, and I have enough trouble not being sad as it is.

The others aren’t holding back, though. The two bottles are nearly empty, and I go to the kitchen to retrieve a third. As I return to the dining room, I overhear part of a conversation taking place between Patti and Barb, one of the new first-grade moms.

“There’s definitely a mystique about Sun Valley,” Patti says with a laugh. “Maybe it’s because there are four distinct groups that gather in Sun Valley at Christmastime. The locals, the Seattle people, the L.A. people, and the celebrities.”

“Celebrities?” Barb asks curiously.

Patti glances at me before answering. “Well, you don’t talk to the celebrities—that’s a definite no-no—but they all go during the winter holidays. Bruce Springsteen, John Kerry, Bruce Willis, Demi Moore, Ashton Kutcher.” Patti glances at me again. “Who am I forgetting?”

This should be easy—I’ve been going to Sun Valley for the past ten years. But I can’t think of anyone. My brain doesn’t seem to be working. I frown hard, concentrating, trying to picture faces I’ve seen the last few years. “Um, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver last year, and oh, Clint Eastwood and Robin Williams, too.”

“Tom and Rita Hanks,” Patti adds.

“Bode Miller,” I chime in, feeling utterly ridiculous for even having this conversation when my world is spinning wildly out of control. Nathan’s right. Why am I hosting this meeting tonight? Why am I doing this now? He says he’s moving. He says we have no money. He says we’re broke. I nearly sway on my feet.

Patti shoots me another worried glance. I pretend I don’t notice, and the young first-grade mom, Barb, definitely hasn’t noticed. She’s dazzled by what she’s hearing. “And you just . . . hang out . . . with these people?”

Patti shrugs. Her tone is casual, dismissive. “If they’re at the evening parties, and they usually are.”

“Is it hard to get invited to the evening parties?”

“Not if you know people, and ski.”

“Skiing is essential,” I agree, trying to pull myself together. “The people who ski like to get together in the evening for a cocktail party, and every night it’s a different house and party. Of course, the party is never ‘planned’ in advance, but is a spur-of-the-moment thing while on the slopes.”

“But don’t you believe they’re all that impromptu.” Patti laughs. “The cocktail parties are usually catered, and some people bring in chefs to cook for their friends.”

Barb is hanging on every word. “Are kids included?”

“Most kids stay home with the nannies, although there are evenings where kids are included. It’s not the norm, though, and you don’t want to take your kids to an adults-only party. Big mistake.”

They continue talking, but I can’t listen, can’t do this anymore. It’s starting to hit me, really hit me. Nathan hasn’t worked in months. He isn’t a vice president at McKee. We’ve been living on borrowed money. We’re out of money.
Broke,
he said.

That’s the part I have the hardest time with. How can we be broke?

I’m hit by an icy wave of panic, and then another. I’m shivering again, uncontrollably. I look around, trying to figure out how to escape. Patti grabs my arm, walks me into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” she demands, her voice no-nonsense. “Tell me. I know something’s wrong. I’ve known it all night.”

I want to tell her. I want to tell her everything, but the problem is, I don’t understand everything. I don’t understand anything. My husband’s lied to me. My husband’s been living a lie. We’ve all been living a lie. We’ve been going on trips and spending money and buying expensive bottles of wine when we had no savings and Nathan didn’t even have a job.

My stomach heaves. I put my hand to my mouth, afraid I’ll throw up.

Patti suddenly understands. “You’re sick.”

I nod, my hand pressed even more tightly to my mouth as I battle to get my sensitive stomach under control.

“Go upstairs,” she orders. “Get in bed. I’ll wrap up the meeting, send everyone home.” She claps her hands as if I’m a wayward child. “Go. Now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I dash upstairs and climb into bed fully dressed. My head aches. My stomach continues to heave. I’m shivering like mad.

I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe Nathan’s been lying to me. Not just once, but again and again. For over seven months he’s deceived me. Gotten up and “gone to work” and allowed me to believe that everything’s okay when it’s just the opposite. Nothing’s okay. Everything’s changed. We’re facing disaster.

Chapter Nine

Nathan returns with the girls a little after nine. I get up and put the girls to bed and then robotically wash my face and prepare for bed.

As I leave the bathroom, I find Nathan standing at our bedroom windows, looking out. The clouds have again cleared, and the lights of Seattle sparkle across the low purple lake.

“Do you know what it’s like trying to provide for a family of five in Bellevue?” he asks as I turn off the bathroom light.

“No.”

“Did you ever wonder?”

“You never talked about it.”

“But then again, it’s not as if you wanted to be bothered,” he answers.

The coldness is back in his voice, the sharp tone that makes me feel as though we’re balancing on a knife’s edge.

“You’re oblivious,” he continues brutally. “You’ve no idea how expensive it is here. No idea how pressured I’ve felt. I barely sleep at night. I wake up early and go work out to keep from having a nervous breakdown.”

I sit on the side of the bed, slide my hands beneath my thighs to hide how much they shake. “I wish you’d tried to tell me.”

“I did.” He turns to face me. “I said, Taylor, stop spending. Taylor, we’re tight on cash. Taylor, don’t buy things. Taylor, Taylor, Taylor.”

He did. I hang my head, the guilt and shame so dark and deep that I can hardly breathe. I feel lost and scared, the same fear I felt when I was fourteen and ashamed of my mother and ashamed of my father and ashamed to be Tammy Jones.

“Why didn’t you listen?” he demands, walking toward me. “Why didn’t you care?” His hands bunch at his sides. He’s furious, and he’s shaking, too. Nathan isn’t a fighter. He avoids conflict like the plague.

Just like my dad, I think, and my dad’s conflict avoidance meant he ended up becoming the laughingstock of Pasadena. Dad didn’t want to fight with Mom and did everything he could to avoid the truth, which included admitting that he was married to a woman with no moral fiber.

But this isn’t about my parents, it’s about Nathan and me and our life together. A life that seems as fragile as a sandcastle.

“I did care,” I whisper. “I do.”

“Then why didn’t you stop?”

I can’t answer him. He already knows I’m compulsive and obsessive. He knows the reason I try so hard to be perfect is to make up for my failures.

“Maybe it’s better if you don’t go to Omaha,” he says after a moment. “Maybe it’s better if you and the girls stay here. Better to keep the girls settled until you and I sort out our thing.”

I lift my head to look him in the face. “What do you mean,
our thing
?”

“Us. You and me. It’s not really working anymore, is it?”

He’s taken my heart in his hand. “I still love you.”

“And I love you. But—” He pauses, rifles his hair, his expression stricken. “But what good is love when it turns us into this?”

Chest burning, eyes burning, I look past him to the night and the lake and the lights of a boat slowly sailing by.

“Face it, Taylor, we’re not living in reality. We haven’t been in years. We both buy stuff to keep us busy. To keep from feeling empty.”

My eyes are watering. I’m trying to hold back the tears. I don’t want to cry.

“Taylor . . .” His voice drops, persuasive. “I know you’re not happy. I don’t make you happy—”

“But you do,” I interrupt, desperation making my voice too loud. “You do,” I repeat, more gently. “I love you. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone or anything. That’s what makes our girls so special. They’re you and me together. They’re us.”

He just shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says finally. “I realized this afternoon I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I need to get back to work, get back to earning money and paying the bills. Get back to the things that matter.”

“I don’t matter?”

“The family matters.”

I hear such a strong “but” in there. “But it’s not the girls you want to get away from. It’s me.”

He gives me a side glance, his expression remote, shuttered. “Taylor, you’re still not listening. I love you, but I can’t do this right now. I need to think. I need some time.”

Nathan goes to bed, but I can’t sleep. I pace downstairs. I eat four white-cheddar-flavored rice cakes. A handful of almonds. A couple of Oreos. Half a pint of ice cream.

Nathan has said things he’s never said before. He’s said the very things I’ve feared my whole life. I’m too flawed. Too broken. Unlovable.

My hand presses to my eyes to stem the tears. I wrap the other arm around my middle, holding in all sound. I have to keep it together. Have to keep me together.

I get scared when I hurt like this. So afraid there’s something really, truly wrong with me. None of my other friends ever talk about hurting. None of them talk about fear and shame. I went to counseling for a number of years after I graduated from USC. I was tired of being bulimic, tired of hating myself. The counseling did help. Maybe I need to go again.

At one, I make myself go upstairs and climb into bed. Nathan sleeps with his back to me. His shoulder is so wide, his legs so long. I creep toward him, lie curled just behind him, as close as I can without actually touching him. I need his warmth. I need his love. But most of all, I need him.

In the morning, I get the girls to their bus stop and return home to tackle the breakfast dishes, only to find that Nathan’s already done them and is now sitting with Tori on the couch, reading her one of her favorite stories, the Berenstain Bears’
The Bears Picnic
.

I hover in the doorway, listening to Nathan read. It’s a story I’ve heard a thousand times before. Jemma never really took to the Berenstain Bears stories, but Brooke and Tori just loved them. Tori has her dad read them at least once a week.

When Nathan finishes the story, I drive Tori to preschool and come home instead of heading to the gym. Upstairs, I find Nathan packing. He’s dragged out a suitcase—a real suitcase, not one of those overnight bags that hold a few things. This suitcase could empty his closet.

That’s when I get it. Nathan’s leaving. Really leaving. Permanently leaving.

I lean against the doorjamb, my legs weak. “When do you fly out?”

“Tonight.”

“The girls—”

“Already know. I told them last night. I’ve promised them I’ll call every day. I told Jemma to keep her cell phone charged, as I’ll call the girls daily on that.”

“You don’t want to use the house number?”

“You’re not usually at the house, and I don’t want to risk missing talking to the girls. This way they know they can always reach me, too.”

I bundle my arms across my chest. “You make it sound like we’re getting divorced.”

“That’s the last thing on my mind. I love the girls. I care about you. But for now, I have to focus on getting my life back on track. I’ve had a hard year, Taylor. Things weren’t great at McKee before I quit, and I just want to start feeling better about myself again.”

I nod. I can understand that. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

I find it hard to just stand by and watch, though. “Do you want some coffee or a cup of tea? I can make you a cup of green tea. It’s really good for you—”

“Taylor.” His voice is sharp, and it silences me. “I’m fine.”

I nod, but I don’t leave and I don’t speak again as Nathan grabs more shirts and slacks and sweaters.

I search my heart for the right thing, the perfect thing, to say, but nothing comes to mind. In my heart I know I have to be the one to fix this, but I don’t yet know how. Instead, I watch as he selects a jacket. It’s getting colder in Omaha. He’ll need a heavy coat for the Nebraska winter.

I’m numb the first few days Nathan is gone. I don’t sleep well. I have a hard time falling asleep, and then I wake up in the middle of the night to either eat or cry or do both.

I want to sleep, though. When I sleep, I forget. But then in the morning when I wake up, it all hits me again. Nathan’s gone. We’re in serious financial trouble. We might even get divorced.

Waking this morning, I roll over in bed and extend my arm where Nathan should be and grab air, amazed all over again at the empty space. He’s been gone eight days now. He’s talked to the girls daily, but only twice to me, and one of those times I think it was a mistake. I think he’d meant to dial Jemma’s cell phone and dialed mine by accident.

For sixteen years, Nathan’s been not just my lover, but my best friend. I’ve talked to him about everything, shared all the little details along with the big things, and now overnight he’s gone.

I roll over onto my back, grab the pillow that would be his, and hug it to my chest.

What if he doesn’t want to get back together?

Another thought hits me.

What if, like Peter Wellsley, Nathan wants the kids?

Tortured by the thought, I climb out of bed and go to the adjoining office with the huge arched window that overlooks the lake and dock and beautiful estates of Hunts Point.

The desktop computer is still on, and I click on Outlook and check my e-mail in case Nathan’s written. He has.

I sit in front of the computer to read the e-mail.

I need you to gather up all the bills and mail and send to me here. They won’t get paid just sitting there.

Give the girls my love. Hope everyone’s doing well.

I close my eyes and press my forehead to my hand.

Nathan’s got to come home. Or we have to go there. We have to be together.

I type a quick response before I can have second thoughts.

N, I can get a sitter for the weekend. Why don’t I bring the mail myself? T

I push send before going to wake the girls.

While the girls brush their teeth after breakfast, I check my Outlook again. Nathan’s answered me.

I nervously click to open his e-mail.

Taylor, I don’t have the time and we don’t have the money. Just put it in Express Mail. It’ll be here tomorrow.

I read and reread the e-mail. I read it until my heart feels like it’s on fire.

I go through the day on autopilot. I show up at school, woodenly fulfill my obligations, send out e-mails to the various committees, and read the e-mail reminding me that the next book club meeting is coming up. I haven’t even looked at the book since that afternoon when I sat outside on the back lawn, watching Tori and Allison play.

I’m looking for the book when I remember Nathan’s request to overnight the bills to him. Damn. How could I forget? Glancing at my watch, I see it’s nearly five. Damn it again. Even if I rush to the post office now, the bills won’t reach him for two days, as I’ve missed the three o’clock cutoff for Express Mail.

I go downstairs to Nathan’s office and turn to his wood filing system on his desk. It’s overflowing with bills. I pull them off the top and then reach into the middle shelf. There are more there. And more on the bottom. Envelopes opened and unopened, stacks and stacks with some dating back three months or more.

No wonder Nathan’s depressed. He’s been facing this mountain of bills for years.

Suddenly I need to know what we’re dealing with. He might be the bill payer and the wage earner, but it’s time I got informed about our finances, too.

Picking up an envelope, I wonder where to begin. Or how one should begin. I haven’t paid bills for nearly thirteen years, since before Nathan and I were married, as he took over all finances the summer we were engaged. He’d wanted me to have great credit, not merely good credit, and he’d been appalled by my lackadaisical manner of paying bills, a system he considered hit or miss.

Nathan was the first person who made me realize that late was still terrible when it came to your credit score. Late meant a bad credit score, and it was better to make smaller but more frequent payments than my huge payments every now and then.

I don’t know why I didn’t understand the system before, but Nathan made it all clear. Nathan always made it clear. That was one of the things I loved most about him.

He took the time to explain things to me, filling those gaps in my knowledge base, and trust me, there were a lot of gaps. When you’re a girl growing up in a dysfunctional family, you’re far better at cleaning up others’ messes than your own.

Nathan.

I close my eyes, hold my breath, try to keep the crazy emotions in.

I miss him. I really wish he’d let me come see him.

Reluctantly, I turn my attention back to the pile of bills, deciding I’ll start by organizing them. I’ll open all and then sort them by company, then due date, and then maybe finally I can see where things stand.

An hour later I’ve finished opening, stacking, and adding up what’s owed, and I think I’ve added wrong, so I clear the calculator and start over adding again.

Mortgage payment: $5,600, times three (How can we have not paid our mortgage in three months?)

Lexus SUV car payment: $435, times three

Nathan’s Porsche payment: $617, times four

Boat payments: $332—many, many times (six months late!?!?)

Country club golf membership and dues: $525 per month, times four

Bellevue Club membership, expenses, and dues: $675, times three

Landscape/gardening: $395, times three

Cell phone: $288, times two

House phone: $148, times two

DirecTV: $102, times three

Puget Sound Energy: $500, times three

Water: $600, times two

Nordstrom’s: $1,400 minimum payment, times three

American Express Platinum card: $17,400 due

Alaska Airlines Signature credit card: $6,000 minimum payment

Discover Card: $3,300 due

American Airlines Citibank credit card: $2,800 due

Hawaiian Airlines Visa credit card: $1,900 due

Neiman Marcus credit card: $1,450 due

Macy’s credit card: $800 due

Starbucks credit card: $375 due

Victoria’s Secret credit card: $240 due

Eddie Bauer credit card (who knew? must be Nathan’s . . .): $88 due

And there are more, miscellaneous bills from school, social obligations, medical, kids’ orthodontics.

The rough total of what we owe—right now, this month, this moment—is $70,000. Or to be more precise, $70,756.