Tempting Fate (8 page)

Gabby doesn’t realize how obsessed she has become until the emails stop coming.

She waits, all morning, for Matt to send one of his customary emails, determining he should be the one to make the first move, not her; but by lunchtime she is worried. Everything changed when she said no. Why did she say no? Why did she not keep it going for just a while longer?

At two o’clock she can’t take it any more. She can’t focus on anything, and with a shaking hand she sends him a text, attempting to keep it light, fun; attempting to stay in the spirit of their correspondence before last night.

But she is careful not to assume that the intimacy that existed between them is still there, not until she is reassured that he feels the same way. No ‘Surf Dude’ today, no easy jokes. She needs to wait to see where she stands.

Matt, just wanted to

thank you for a wonderful evening.

Hope your meetings go well.

Speak soon …

Delete.

Much too formal.

Dear Matt,

great evening! Thank you!

Let’s do it again!

Delete.

M – A delicious, dangerous

night. Thank you. xx

Send.

‘Hi, Liv.’ Gabby comes into the kitchen just after Olivia, who caught the bus home, has walked through the back door. ‘How was school?’

She doesn’t know why she asks this question. Every day, when the girls get home, Gabby has a need to ask them how school was. Perhaps, she reasons, this is because she was never asked. Somehow this has become cemented in her head as being symbolic of what kind of a mother you are: a good mother, an interested mother, always asks how your day was.

Alanna usually says fine, even when Gabby can see the day hasn’t been fine. She is quiet these days, frequently going straight upstairs to do her homework, rather than sit at the kitchen table, as she has always done.

Even when her teen and tween both grunt in response, Gabby has to ask the question. There are other things she tries to do in order to be a good mother: freshly baked cakes sit on the cake stand
for when her children get home, although Olivia announced lately that she is on a diet and will not eat anything with sugar or flour in it. Still, there is something about a kitchen that smells of cinnamon and sugar and caramelizing butter that is homely, that makes their house what Gabby thinks a home should be like.

Olivia duly grunts in answer to Gabby’s question before dumping her backpack in the middle of the floor and opening the fridge, peering in at the shelves.

‘There’s nothing for me to eat,’ she says belligerently, and Gabby slides her out of the way to point out the cheese, the yoghurts, the fruit.

‘I don’t want fruit.’

‘So have a yoghurt.’

‘I don’t eat yoghurt. I’m vegan.’

‘What?’ Gabby shuts the fridge and turns to stare at her. ‘Since when?’

Olivia shrugs. ‘I’ve been avoiding meat for a while. I just decided today to go completely vegan.’

‘Great,’ Gabby says, not unsarcastically. ‘What am I supposed to feed you?’

‘Vegetables. Salads. Bread. Pasta. Quinoa.’

‘Eggs?’

‘No. Nothing from an animal.’

‘Cheese?’

‘No. Dairy products are the worst.’

Gabby sighs dramatically. ‘What am I supposed to do with the macaroni cheese I made for dinner tonight?’ She suppresses a smile as Olivia pauses, her mother’s
home-made macaroni cheese being her most favourite food in the world.

‘Are you just saying that?’

‘No!’ Gabby opens the fridge again and pulls the foil off an oval dish to show her.

‘I guess I could eat it tonight. I’ll start again tomorrow.’

‘Absolutely.’ Gabby turns away, knowing full well that this, as with all of Olivia’s fads, will last approximately two weeks, at most.

‘The garden guy wants to see you. He’s outside,’ Olivia offers nonchalantly as an afterthought.

Gabby grabs her chequebook from the desk drawer and runs outside, writing a cheque for fifty dollars made payable to cash for the mow, blow and go guy in the driveway, then she goes straight back inside to check her phone, except it isn’t where she left it – on the desk above the chequebook drawer. Damn. Where the hell is it? She turns and casts her eyes over the counter, until Olivia’s voice, filled with suspicion, pipes up from the family room.

‘Mom? Who’s Matt?’

Her heart thumps in her chest. ‘What do you mean?’

Olivia stands up from where she has been hidden, slumped down in an armchair facing the fireplace, and turns to face her mother, her expression a mixture of distrust and confusion, anger and also a need to be reassured.

‘“ur wicked sexy when drunk … wink Matt kiss kiss
hug kiss.”’ Olivia, her hand on her hip, her eyebrows raised as she reads, stares at her mother accusingly.

Gabby is aware that the colour has drained from her face. How should she play it? What should she say? What the fuck was she thinking, leaving her phone around unlocked? But, wait … she didn’t leave it unlocked.

‘How did you unlock my phone?’

‘Alanna and I have both known your code for ages. Which doesn’t explain why you’re getting these texts from someone other than Dad.’

‘It’s not what you think,’ Gabby says quickly. ‘Dad knows about it. It’s the guy who interviewed me and we were joking that he fancied me. Let me see.’ She holds out her hand for the phone and reads the text. ‘Wow, it sounds like he really did fancy me.’ She feigns surprise. Badly.

‘What about your text to him before that? I’m not stupid, Mom.’ Olivia grabs the phone from Gabby. ‘“A delicious and dangerous night”? What the fuck does that mean?’

‘Excuse me?’ Gabby’s voice rises in shock and guilt. ‘Don’t you dare speak to your mother like that.’

Olivia’s voice also rises. ‘Don’t you dare send texts like that to someone who isn’t Dad!’

‘I’m not doing anything,’ Gabby says weakly, deflated, overwhelmed with shame.

‘Tell that to Dad,’ Olivia spits.

‘You know what, Olivia? I plan to. This isn’t what
you think.’ Gabby snatches the phone back and deletes the texts, before turning abruptly, going upstairs to her bedroom and shutting the door.

First she emails Elliott.

Our daughter seems to think I am having an affair with the child I met with last night, and is now being a teenage bitch from hell. Incidentally, though, he did send me a text saying I’m sexy! You were right – the hot-mommy clothes worked! Meanwhile, I’m flying high that I’ve still got it (you lucky man, you). Will you talk to Olivia? She seems to think I encouraged him, which is laughable. What time are you home tonight?

Love you,

G xxx

And next, Matt.

My dangerous friend – it might be wiser not to text. My fault entirely, as I texted first, but it seems my daughters are adept at breaking codes to unlock my phone. I truly did love seeing you last night. I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun. You are utterly delicious, which you know, and you have brought sunshine into my life all day today.

Thank you.

G xoxox

From then on Gabby keeps her phone tucked into the rear pocket of her jeans, going to the bathroom occasionally to pull it out and check for a response, but
none comes. The high from the night before starts to wane. By the time Elliott comes home she is feeling a mixture of depression and anger.

Why hasn’t he responded? What’s wrong with her? Why did she have to send that email to him? Why does she now feel so humiliated? The sight of Elliott walking in just before seven raises in her both relief and guilt.

‘Where are the girls?’

‘Alanna’s watching TV, and Olivia’s in her room, still not speaking to me. She thinks I wrote something provocative to that guy, Matt.’

Elliott cocks his head to one side. ‘Did you?’

‘No!’ Gabby looks away, shaking her head dismissively. ‘I wrote it was delightful, but also dangerous because I had to reveal stuff about myself in the questionnaire. I think she thought it meant something else.’

‘Ohhh.’ His voice is drawn out as he laughs. ‘Okay. She phoned me, upset, and did tell me you had written a text saying something about dangerous.’

‘See? I think she thinks I’m having an affair.’

‘Yup. That’s exactly what she thinks. And she thinks I’m an idiot for not seeing it.’

‘Well, she’s right, because I am exactly the kind of woman to have an affair. After all, I’m married to a terrible man, and, really, my life is utterly awful so why not blow it up? Just for fun?’

Elliott shrugs his shoulders and sighs. ‘Teenagers. Their frontal lobe isn’t fully connected. As we well
know, it leads to all kinds of disasters. I’ll go and talk to her now, because she was really upset. You should talk to her afterwards. Don’t be hard on her; just reassure her.’

‘Okay,’ Gabby says, although at this moment in time she’d be just as happy not having to look her daughter in the eye.

Twenty minutes later Elliott comes downstairs with Olivia, who is looking both grumpy and sheepish.

‘Anything you’d like to say to your mother?’

‘Sorry,’ she mumbles.

‘And Gabby? Anything you’d like to say to Olivia?’

Gabby frowns at Elliott; she has no idea what he means. ‘Sorry?’ she attempts.

‘Right,’ he replies. ‘And we both want Olivia to know that you are not having an affair, nor would you have an affair.’

‘Exactly,’ Gabby says, wishing she could be as certain, although there is still no response from Matt and anger is starting to set in.

‘Come on, cheer up.’ Elliott gives his elder daughter a kiss. ‘Go get Alanna and let’s have dinner.’

Their evening is uneventful, but Gabby is acutely aware that she has had something of a lucky escape. She has to stop. She wants to stop. But all she can think about, all she has been thinking about for weeks, is Matt.

She is finishing off stacking the dishwasher when Elliott walks up behind her.

‘By the way, Gabs, I have to be at a GI conference on the twenty-third. Harvey was going but it turns out it’s his anniversary and one of us needs to be there. You don’t mind if I go, do you?’

‘Of course not. Isn’t that the weekend the girls are going to see Jill?’

‘We’re going to Aunt Jill’s?’ Alanna’s face lights up. ‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘I forgot,’ Elliott says. ‘Sorry. Your cousins are desperate to see you so we were going to drop you off and have a romantic weekend.’ He turns back to Gabby. ‘I’m really sorry, sweetie. The conference is in New Mexico, at a big hotel. Maybe you could come and have spa treatments. We could turn it into a romantic weekend there.’

‘Right,’ Gabby says wryly, shaking her head. ‘A romantic weekend during which time I wouldn’t actually see you.’

‘Probably not, but you could have massages and spa treatments, and I think the weather’s great.’

‘It sounds glorious, but not nearly as glorious as being in my own house, all by myself, for a whole weekend!’ She shudders with pleasure. ‘Now that’s a treat that never happens. I get to sleep in our great big bed with no one stealing the covers. I can eat sandwiches from Trader Joe’s for two whole days if I feel like it. I can work in the barn without worrying about having to come in and cook for anyone, or clean, or do laundry. Bliss!’

‘Great, Mom,’ Alanna says. ‘Why don’t you just say you hate being a mother?’

‘Okay,’ Gabby says, and she shrugs cheerfully. ‘I hate being a mother.’

‘Mom!’ Both girls look at her, horrified.

She smiles. ‘I am so kidding. I love being a mother. You know I love being your mother more than anything. I’ve always loved it. Especially when you were little. How did the two of you get so big? When did you stop needing me so much?’

‘Uh-oh!’ Alanna flashes a look at Olivia. ‘Mom’s getting sentimental.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Gabby says, blinking, aware her eyes are glistening. ‘I just miss those days so much. Meanwhile, I love the two of you more than anything, but so rarely have time that’s just for me. And count yourself lucky, girls. I had a mother who really did hate being a mother.’

‘No!’ Olivia, who adores her grandmother, protests. ‘Grasha says she was just busy.’

‘That’s the point,’ Gabby says. ‘Grasha was far more interested in everyone else than she was in me. But,’ she concedes, ‘she is a much better grandmother than she ever was a mother, it’s true.’

‘When are we going to see her?’ Alanna says. ‘Can we go to London again by ourselves?’

‘I think maybe Grasha should come here next time.’ She and Elliott exchange a look. They had sent the girls over to London last year as unaccompanied minors.
All had gone extremely well until the girls actually reached the Roth/de Roth house, at which point it became clear that Grasha was a far better grandmother than mother only when not on her own turf.

On her own turf, she hadn’t changed at all. The girls came home excitedly reporting the streams of freaks sitting around Grasha’s kitchen table. Because their grandmother was ‘so busy’ they were left to explore London by themselves, which they adored, although Gabby had blanched at the thought of a ten-year-old and a sixteen-year-old making their way around London alone.

‘Darling,
you
did it,’ her mother said innocently, when pressed. But, as Gabby pointed out, she had been
raised
in London; she wasn’t a naive child from the suburbs of Connecticut.

To their credit, and making Gabby enormously proud of them, the girls had not spent all their time in Topshop and Primark, but they had been to Tate Modern, ridden the London Eye, visited various markets, and even – and of this Gabby was most proud – watched
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
in Regent’s Park. All by themselves!