The Smart One (34 page)

The two women met at a restaurant on the Upper West Side, not far from Elizabeth’s apartment. “I can’t imagine raising a child here,” Weezy said. “I admire you for it. If I hadn’t been able to run mine like dogs outside, I think I might have gone crazy.”

Elizabeth just nodded, and Weezy was afraid she’d insulted her. “It really is admirable,” she said again. “Cleo’s a lovely girl.”

“A lovely pregnant girl,” Elizabeth said. Weezy looked up, embarrassed that the waiter was standing right there and had heard, but Elizabeth didn’t seem to care. She ordered a glass of wine and raised her eyebrows at Weezy, who nodded in agreement.

“I’m just so furious,” Elizabeth said.

“I know, I know.” Weezy found that Elizabeth’s anger made her want to be even more understanding.

The two women talked about what was to come, agreed that their children had no idea what to expect, but promised to help in any way they could.

“I’ve told Max they can move in with us after graduation.”

“That’s a very generous offer,” Elizabeth said.

“Of course, if you’d rather have Cleo here, I understand.”

“It’s really up to her. I doubt she’ll want to come back here.”

Weezy felt very sad for Cleo just then. If Martha or Claire were pregnant and abandoned, she’d drag them back home whether they wanted it or not. She’d make sure they knew they had their mother for support; she’d be in their faces every day.

“You’re handling this all quite well,” Elizabeth said.

“I’m just handling it,” Weezy said. She tried to sound humble, but it actually came out sounding like she was bragging.

After lunch, Weezy wandered up Amsterdam, popping into some of the little boutiques. She was a little light-headed from the wine, but found it refreshing not to care who saw her. She ended up buying a ridiculously expensive pair of booties with giraffes on them. They were so tiny and perfect. She tucked them into her purse and went out to get a taxi back to the train station.

CHAPTER
16

This was what a psychotic break looked like. Claire was pretty sure of that. Sometimes, she wanted to stand up in the middle of the office, at dinner with her family, or while she was in Fran’s basement watching ESPN with him, and scream, “I am having a psychotic break, people. I am having a breakdown and no one is noticing.”

But that only happened if she let herself think about it, which she tried not to do most of the time. She found it was easier to ignore everything that was going on and just get through the day. She stayed busy. If she wasn’t at Fran’s watching a movie or drinking a beer, she was running around the neighborhood with her iPod on, sprinting down the dark streets in the cold until her chest was too tight to breathe and her legs hurt. Anything to make sure that when she got into bed that night, she’d fall asleep quickly.

AT HOME, THE AIR WAS FILLED
with Max and Cleo. Weezy was acting like someone with a brain injury, sometimes slow and spacey, sometimes sharp and wild. The day after Thanksgiving, she’d told them the news in the kitchen, and although they’d already guessed, it was still a shock to hear.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Weezy said. She looked nervous, like they might have already spread the news around town.

“Of course not,” Martha said. “Oh my God, we won’t tell anyone.”

“People are going to find out eventually,” Claire said.

“I know that,” Weezy said. “But let’s just hold off. It’s no one else’s business.”

“People are so gossipy in this town,” Martha said. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Why are you crying?” Claire asked.

“They’re so young. How can they handle this?” Martha’s nose was running.

“Martha,” Claire said, “stop acting like you’re the one that’s knocked up.”

“Claire, that’s enough,” Weezy said. “This isn’t easy on your sister. This isn’t easy on any of us.”

“Why isn’t this easy for her?” Claire said. “What’s so hard about it? Just because you’re embarrassed doesn’t mean you can act like this is all about you.”

“This has nothing to do with being embarrassed,” Weezy said.

Martha looked up at the ceiling then, just as the tears poured down her cheeks. She let out a strange squeak and left the room quickly. Weezy turned to Claire with a look that said,
Are you happy now?

“Jesus,” Claire said.

“It wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to your sister.”

“It actually might.”

None of them spoke to one another for the rest of the day. Will looked like he wanted to get out of the house. He’d been angry in the morning, but by the afternoon, he looked exhausted. He and Weezy had been holed up in their bedroom having whispered conversations. Around dinnertime, Will tried to act normal, asking if anyone else was interested in warming up some leftovers, then going ahead and taking out the Tupperware containers and warming up the turkey, stuffing, and gravy until the whole house smelled like Thanksgiving again. He was the only one who ate.

They didn’t apologize to one another. That isn’t how they worked. The three of them were just short and chilly to one another for a few days, and then eventually it went away. Even Martha and Weezy spoke to each other with pursed lips and stilted conversation, although Claire was pretty sure they hadn’t been fighting with each other. It was like no one could keep track of who was mad at whom.

Even Ruby the dog was upset by the situation. She knew that everyone was out of sorts, and she spent her time walking up to each member of the family and licking them on the hand, as if to say,
Don’t worry, it will all be fine
. At the end of each day, she looked exhausted,
lying on her green bed in the corner of the TV room, her head on her paws. Ruby had taken to eating her food quickly, like she was afraid someone was going to take it away from her if she paused or looked up.

“She’s not even chewing,” Claire pointed out. And it was true. The dog was just scarfing down her food, swallowing the pieces whole.

“Maybe she’s an emotional eater,” Martha said.

“A what?” Claire asked.

“An emotional eater,” Martha repeated. “You know, like she’s eating her feelings because she’s upset about Max.”

Both Weezy and Claire stood and stared at Martha without saying a word.

AFTER THANKSGIVING, MAX HAD TAKEN
to calling Claire’s cell phone every day. “Just checking in,” he’d say.

“Things will get better,” Claire told him. She could think of nothing else to say.

“I can’t even imagine that right now,” Max said.

“Trust me. I know it seems bad, but in a few months it will be fine.”

“Months?”

“Just give it time.”

Claire convinced Max to come home for Christmas, telling him it would be worse if he didn’t. So he’d arrived with Cleo in tow, who still wasn’t talking to her mother and was so quiet that she didn’t even seem like the same person. All of Christmas was quiet, actually. They sat around reading books most of the time, which seemed to be the perfect activity since they could ignore each other and still pretend to be spending time together. Everyone took a lot of naps. And even Bets, who didn’t know that Cleo was pregnant yet, seemed to sense that something was off and was on unusually good behavior.

“Won’t your mother miss you?” she asked Cleo.

“Oh, no. She’ll be fine.”

One night, Claire got up and had a cigarette in the bathroom. She never would have dared if Bets hadn’t been there, but who was going to know the difference? She sat on the tile floor, her back against the wall, and smoked slowly, letting the cigarette burn down to her fingers.
She sort of understood what it was that Bets liked about this. It was secret and solo. It was just one little thing that she had for herself. When she was done, she flushed the butt down the toilet and went back into Martha’s room and climbed into the twin bed.

“Did you just smoke in there?” Martha asked.

“No,” Claire said. “I didn’t.”

They all went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve, and came back home to have eggnog by the fire. Bets excused herself, telling everyone that it was well past her bedtime.

“I’m an old woman,” she said. “Practically on death’s door. I’m not cut out for this anymore.” She’d worn her best red suit, which seemed too big for her. Bets had always been tiny. “I barely eat,” she sometimes said. But now she was practically miniature. She seemed to be proof that old people really did shrink. It was a frightening thought.

The rest of them settled in the living room and Will started a fire. Claire was certain that they all wished they could go to bed like Bets had, but this was their tradition and they didn’t really have a choice.

Weezy poured everyone eggnog with a shot of whiskey, except for Cleo, of course. “This one’s a virgin,” she said, handing the glass to Cleo. Cleo blushed and took it. “Well, that’s an awful term, isn’t it?” Weezy asked. It was like everyone was trying to be as awkward as possible.

Claire even wished that Cathy was there with them. It would have been lovely to have someone to talk loudly and hog the conversation. But Maureen, Cathy, and Ruth had decided to visit Drew in California for Christmas. “We’re just in need of some sunshine,” Maureen had said. But that was a lie. Maureen just didn’t want to be anywhere near the Coffey house that Christmas. And really, who could blame her? She’d offered to come back and fly home with Bets on the twenty-seventh, which was her way of apologizing, and Weezy had seemed to accept it gladly.

Christmas morning, they opened their presents politely, thanking each other like they’d met not long ago; like they were acquaintances or office mates who were fond of each other. They balled up wrapping paper and threw it into a big black garbage bag that Will held open. Anytime someone made it in, Will would shout, “Two points for you!”

By the time they all sat down to eat ham at the table, their patience was thin and their small talk was bordering on nasty.

“Don’t take so many potatoes,” Martha told Max.

“Calm down, there’s plenty left for you, porky,” he said.

“I can’t believe any of you are hungry,” Bets said. “You all ate like pigs going to slaughter this morning. I can barely even imagine eating a meal right now.”

“I could use some help in the kitchen,” Weezy said.

“I’m right here, trying to help,” Will said.

“This ham looks really fatty,” Claire said.

Only Cleo remained almost completely silent. She was probably trying to will herself to be anywhere but there, thinking that no matter how much she was fighting with her own mom, this was worse. You could almost see her thoughts:
There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home
.

Fran spent the holiday in Florida with his parents, and when he returned, he brought her a little tchotchke, a tiny stage with a group of stones with googly eyes and little guitars. Underneath the label said
ROCK BAND
. Claire took it and laughed.

“It made me think of you,” Fran said. She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

He also gave her a beautiful light tan leather journal. She realized that he probably found both presents in some little gift shop that was nearby, but she didn’t hold that against him.

She gave him a plaid scarf that she’d bought at the last minute, during a moment of doubt when she couldn’t justify sleeping with someone for three months and not giving him a Christmas present. He seemed to like it.

IT WAS A RELIEF TO GO BACK TO WORK
after Christmas, which was the first time Claire had ever thought such a thing. Even though the heat in the office was on full blast and the place was always too warm, and everyone always seemed to have wet shoes that smelled like dogs, Claire was glad to be back. It meant that time was moving forward, that winter was continuing on. The people of PP loved talking about
the weather, and even when it was barely snowing outside, they’d come in sniffling and saying things like, “We’re due for another whopper,” or “It took me twenty minutes to clear off my car this morning!”

Right before Christmas, Leslie had called Claire into her office to tell her that Amanda had decided to take another three months off unpaid. “It’s company policy that allows you to do that,” Leslie said. “So legally we have to let her. I won’t get into the details, but let’s just say I’m not surprised we’re in this situation.”

“Uh-huh,” Claire said. She couldn’t blame Amanda for not wanting to come back to PP right away.

“We’re hoping that you’ll be able to stay on for the next three months.”

“Sure,” Claire said.

“That’s great. That really gets us out of a bind.”

It didn’t seem like a bind at all to Claire, but she didn’t say anything. If she couldn’t do it, wouldn’t they have just called the temp agency and gotten someone else? But she could tell that Leslie was the kind of person who enjoyed being annoyed at work, who liked to sigh deeply and tell her friends, “You just have no idea what I’m dealing with at the office. No idea.”

“So you’ll stay until the end of March?” Lainie asked when she told her. “That’s good.”

“I guess.”

“Well, it’s a job. And that’s what you need.”

“I know. It’s just sometimes I feel like I’m going to be there forever. Like I’m just going to keep working at PP and keep living at home for the rest of my life.”

“Claire, it’s three more months. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“It’s just when I look at the past year, I feel like I messed up so much that there’s no telling what I could do.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re not going to live at home forever. You’ll move out, and probably soon. You’re just taking time to figure out what you want to do. It’s just a time-out.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Claire thought about Lainie’s words when she was at Proof Perfect,
making copies or opening the mail. “TV Time-out,” she’d whisper sometimes at her desk. It was something they used to scream when they were little, when they were in the middle of a game and someone needed a break. They’d be running around, playing tag or kickball, and someone would yell, “TV Time-out!” and just like that, they’d all stop right where they were, put their hands on their knees, and catch their breath.