Slow Dancing on Price's Pier (23 page)

“Visiting the love of my life,” he said, and he kissed her forehead.

Thea came around the counter to say hello. It felt ridiculous not to greet him with her usual kiss on the cheek—such a platonic gesture, even when they were married—and so she leaned toward him and gave him a quick peck. Irina's eyes lit up with an optimism that made Thea's heart break.

“What are you having?” Thea asked. “Iced tea?”

Jonathan glanced at the chalkboard above the counter, deciding what to drink. “No iced tea. I'm feeling adventurous. Give me . . . let's see . . . a vanilla huggle.”

Irina's face lit up, her head snapping toward Thea. “I
told
you men would like it. Didn't I say?”

“Yes, you were right,” she said happily, and she headed behind the counter to make Jonathan's latte. Her daughter had not only been correct that the lobstermen felt no discomfort about the vanilla huggle, but the men in particular ordered it twice as often as the women. They also ordered it twice as often as when it was simply called a vanilla-cinnamon latte. Thea was convinced of her daughter's genius for marketing. Irina had a future in the Dancing Goat—if she wanted it someday.

Thea made their drinks, left instructions for Claudine to give a shout if she needed help, then she, Jonathan, and Irina headed back into her office for privacy. Thea pulled the chair around from behind her father's desk, Irina sat on a stool shaped like a red dog, and Jonathan got comfortable on the small love seat that had been pushed against the wall for the last ten years.

For a while, they talked easily—like they used to. Thea felt as if her life had gone back to normal. Irina seemed to have made it her goal for the evening to make her father laugh, and Jonathan was a willing audience. They were very different—father and daughter. Irina didn't let Jonathan coddle and spoil her half as much as he would have liked. But Thea could tell that one day, they would be more than just relatives: they would be friends.

First, though, they had to get through the next hour.

She could tell from Irina's constant chatter that her daughter was nervous, as if talking about soccer and mean teachers would keep more adult discussions at bay. But Jonathan had come for a serious conversation. He and Thea had been planning it for days via texts and e-mails. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable.

“Irina,” Thea began, “we need to have a discussion. You know how your father's been staying with Uncle Garret . . .” She hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Your father and I . . . we've decided . . .”

“We've decided we can no longer live together,” Jonathan said. “And so we're going to permanently separate.”

“That means divorce,” Irina said slowly.

“Right. That is what it means.” Thea could feel Irina looking at her hard, watching for cues about what to say and how to react. Thea kept her voice as light as possible. “Basically, things are going to be the same as they are now. You'll stay with me for part of the week and your father for the other part.”

“At Garret's?”

“Not forever,” Jonathan said. “Just for a little while.”

“I
knew
this would happen.” Irina sighed and looked down at her lap. “I don't like it. I don't want you to live apart. I want everything to be like it was before.”

“I know. And I'm sorry,” Thea said, surprised by Irina's lack of theatrics. “There's no other way.”

“Is it just for now?” Irina asked.

“No, honey. It's permanent,” Jonathan replied.

“Don't you love each other anymore?”

Thea caught Jonathan's eye, saw nervousness flash across his face. “Yes,” she said quickly. “Of course we still love each other. We'll always love each other.”

“Then why can't you be together?”

“Because we love each other like friends do,” she said. “Not like husband and wife.”

Irina glanced at Jonathan, something sly and conspiratorial in her eye. “This is her fault, isn't it?”

“What?”
His face showed blank shock. “No—no, it's not her fault. Irina, listen to me. It's not anyone's fault. It just happened.”

Thea resisted the urge to take Jonathan's hand. She wanted to draw them both toward her, to embrace them and protect them. “Any questions you want to ask, you can. That's why we're all here together. Even if it takes all night.”

“All right,” Irina said.

For an hour that seemed like ages, they talked, Irina asking questions that had no good answers. The minute hand made its slow crawl around the clock over the filing cabinet. Thea's coffee grew cold, and Irina's eyes began to droop with fatigue.

She and Jonathan had married for the wrong reasons, and now their relationship had not been broken so much as they had finally accepted what it truly was. Thea could see that now—the truth of it. But how could she explain that to her daughter—if she should explain it at all?

Eventually, the conversation grew tortuous and repetitive: Irina asked the same questions over and over, and with each iteration Thea and Jonathan struggled to find new answers, better answers, ones that satisfied. They might have gone on that way forever if Irina hadn't finally yawned and said she was getting tired. She slid off her low chair and settled down on the rug that looked like a map of a town. Her feet rested beside a herd of cows grazing on a hillside; her head was propped on her arms, not far from a bank.

Jonathan moved her hair to kiss her check. “I'll see you this weekend,” he said. “We're going to have fun, okay?”

Irina was mute, eyes closed. For a moment, Jonathan stood beside her, hesitating as if he might apologize. Thea saw the sadness in his eyes, the hesitation that said he too wondered if they were doing the right thing.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” she said softly. “I'll walk you out.”

Outside, they stood together under the light above the door of the Dancing Goat. The wind blew down the alleyway, smelling of fried food and salt from the sea. Thea rubbed her arms against the slight chill of the air.

“How do you think it went?” Jonathan asked.

“It's too soon to tell. She's been so angry lately. I don't know if we made it better or worse.”

“Will she be okay?”

“I hope so,” Thea said. “We'll do our best to help her be okay.”

He looked at her for a long time, his expression soft in the yellow light. His face gave her comfort: his heavy eyebrows, his strong nose, the little brown birthmark barely visible on his cheek. “For what it's worth, I don't think she could have a better mother.”

“Her dad's not too bad either, I have to say.”

Jonathan gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

She watched him walk down the alley, his familiar ambling gait, the slight slope of one shoulder where his briefcase dragged his arm down. Whether or not Irina was satisfied by their groping attempts at explanations, she wasn't sure.

But what she did know was that she would fight for the happiness of her family—despite the new and surprising form that happiness had taken—and she was thankful to know she wouldn't be fighting alone.

 

 

Garret had bought a new suit for the occasion of his parents' anniversary party—the pretty saleswoman had told him that the deep navy color brought out the blue in his eyes, which in turn had brought out the green in his wallet. And while Garret hadn't bought the suit because of Thea—since he wasn't certain whether or not she was going to have the audacity to show up—she was on his mind. If he absolutely had to see her, he wanted to be in top shape. The fewer cracks in his armor, the more time he could spend on offense instead of defense.

The party was in full swing when he arrived, a lifetime's worth of his parents' friends gathered, drinking, laughing, and even dancing. The ballroom had been sparingly decorated—just a few hearts here and there hanging from the ceiling on strings, tables covered in red cloth, tall tapering candles in gold holders, and a lively band playing oldies. He scanned the room and saw Irina holding court in the corner with a group of children. His brother was talking without animation to a distant cousin.

“Garret!” His mother pushed her way through the crowd, smiling her gracious smile. She wore a gold dress with black beading that on any other woman might have looked too young. But Sue, so slim and youthful, pulled it off beautifully, and he told her so as he hugged her.

“I have to warn you,” she said. She pulled the sleeve of his jacket to bring his ear a bit closer. “Thea's here. Oh, don't look around for her like a cornered cat. I just didn't want you to be caught by surprise.”

He pulled himself up straight. “You invited her.”

“She's very generous. She's helping me out.”

Garret shook his head and laughed to himself. His mother was a genius—through and through. Because Thea had been asked to cater, she
had
to show up at the party—she would never turn down a request for help. And Sue, in the meantime, got to make a public show of support for her ex-daughter-in-law despite a divorce that would be unpopular among her conservative Newport friends.

“Oh! There she is now,” Sue said, brightening instantly. She stood on her tiptoes and waved Thea over, and to Garret's disgust, he felt his nerves leap—excitement, annoyance, frustration . . . He wished he or she hadn't come. Life had been so much simpler when he'd hated her and never saw her.

Sue spoke to him through tight lips, her worry not putting so much as a dent in her smile. “Are you going to make a big scene at your father's anniversary party? Or are you going to smile and be friends?”

Garret sighed. “It's gonna cost ya.”

“You'll be fine, darling. Just treat her the same way you'd treat some political person you don't like.”

“You want me to pull some strings and get her fired?”

“I want you to be charming,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and tried not to notice Thea crossing the room to meet them. And yet he couldn't help it: she compelled him to look. She was dressed not as a guest but as staff. She wore trim black pants that made her legs look curvy and strong, a maroon dress shirt, and a black, buttoned vest that hugged her from ribs to hips. Though she was all business walking toward him, he didn't miss the apprehension in her fake smile.

“Hello,” she said. She glanced at Garret only for the briefest of moments before her eyes landed back on Sue.

“How's everything going?” Sue asked her. “Are we working you too hard?”

“Oh, no!” Thea said, and Garret wondered if his mother could hear that slight tinny pinch in her voice. “We're all set!”

Sue knocked Garret on the shoulder. “Aren't you going to say hello to Thea?”

He looked at Thea, her serious oval face. Something in his chest went taut. “Hello to Thea.”

“Oh, good Lord. Garret—I think sometimes you're still a thirteen-year-old boy inside that head of yours. I've got to go say hello to the Whartons. So you two play nice. Got it?”

Thea laughed. “That's what you always used to say.”

“And who would have thought I'd still have to say it now?”

Garret watched as his mother joined a group of friends on the other side of the room. And then he was with Thea—just her—the two of them standing still together, so the bustle and sweep of the crowd around them was like a river parting around an island. She smelled like vanilla and coffee, and she was wearing makeup. The effect of it—her eyes darkened to black, her lips shiny and pinkish brown—stopped him. Thea, the innocent he'd once known so well, had been replaced by this dazzling and worldly woman. He did what he could: he steeled himself against her before he spoke. “So what is it that you're not telling my mother is wrong?”

“What makes you think something's wrong?”

“I can just tell.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “It's me, isn't it? Years of pent-up lust that you just can't get under control.”

She laughed—a tight, nervous hiccup. Her eyes darted around the room, and he knew she was searching for a polite way to excuse herself. “Fine. If you must know, my head barista stood me up.”

“What's she doing?”

“
He
just called and told me he's hungover, sleeping on somebody's floor, and can't get a ride here.”

He glanced over at the coffee carafes and espresso machine that had been set up on a cloth-covered table in the corner. A young woman was frantically making drinks while partygoers waited in line. This was barely controlled chaos, and if he knew anything about Thea, it was probably driving her nuts. She prided herself on two things: coffee and customer service. And from the looks of the way that the barista was rushing through her cappuccinos, it seemed neither was being handled adequately.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and put his hands in his pockets. “So I guess you'll need some help?”

She looked up at him, suspicious.

He smiled—the smile he always used when he wanted something. But usually he was angling to
receive
a favor, not the other way around. He cleared his throat. “You know . . . if you asked me to help you, I
might
be willing.”

“You want me to ask you for help?”

“I'll make you a deal. You don't even have to say
please.
”

“Thanks.” She crossed her arms, glaring. “But I'll figure it out on my own.”

He shrugged. It was stupid to have offered.
Of course
she would turn him down. “Suit yourself,” he said.