We Could Be Beautiful (27 page)

After that I was done taking pictures. I asked Caroline to go get the camera from Dan, which she did. I had another drink and waited for this party to be over. At ten the caterers had to go. I was glad about that. Vera said she would gladly take the leftover bottles of wine home with her. Susan said, “Call me tomorrow, bitch.” Ellen, with vacant, unappreciative eyes, said, “Thank you for having me.” I was not impressed. Dan said, “Yes, thanks, and I’ll see you very soon.” He didn’t mention his unanswered e-mail about the Counting Crows.

Caroline, Lucia, and I were the last people there. I needed help getting these candles home, and I had asked them to spend the night. I didn’t want to be alone. Lucia was going to come back in the morning anyway, so it was no problem. Caroline was indecisive. She wanted to spend the night, too, but she felt bad for leaving the kids, but she really wanted to stay. “If Bob gets a vacation from parenting, I should get a vacation from parenting.” She texted her “team” to let them know. She had 24/7 service anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

Lucia and Catherine waited on the sidewalk while I said good-bye to the shop. I walked into my office for the last time. All the hours I had poured into this. All the days spent working at this desk. What had been the point? What had I learned from this? Why was Susan a better businessperson than I was?

I closed the office door and stood in the near-dark of the space I had come to know so well. Jeff had executed the shelves for the cards flawlessly. I hoped whoever bought the shop would leave them up. I noted the small, familiar imperfection on the floor. For some reason, it had always reminded me of a seashell. I hoped the next person would leave that, too. I reminded myself of what William had said. To lose any more money on this venture would not be optimal. Over three years—that was a long time. That’s what I would say when I talked about it later. Three years in this economic climate—wow.

I walked around the perimeter, trailing my fingertips on the walls. I stopped, put my cheek against the wall. I must have been deliriously tired—what was I doing? Then I kissed the wall. The imprint of my pink lipstick was so faint, I doubted that anyone would notice it later.

•

Lucia slept in the guest room and Caroline slept in my bed. I gave them each some pajamas. Lucia wanted to wear the ones she’d gotten me last Christmas. Caroline, in bed, said, “I love the skylight—I can see the moon.” I felt like we were kids again. Maybe we had always been kids. We just had credit cards now, and homes, and men, and cellulite.

“If Bob is cheating on you,” I said, “you should go to therapy.”

“We’re already in therapy.”

“You never told me that.”

I could see the outline of her profile. She opened her mouth. She waited for a second before she said, “I thought you would judge me.”

“No,” I said.

“Mom would judge me.”

“That’s true.”

I wanted to tell her about the journal, but I couldn’t do that—she’d want to read it. I couldn’t let anyone read it, not yet. I had to figure out what it all meant first. Why had Mom written the Stocktons were “set to go back as it is”? And what the hell did “Guilt is cancer” mean? And did any of this mean anything? I imagined that when I found out, I would say, Oh, this was all a big misunderstanding. I was trying to connect dots that had no connection. Making something out of nothing as usual, Catherine. You are so paranoid and you have always been so paranoid and you think the world is out to get you when really the world doesn’t give a shit about your silly little life.

“Bob was different when I first met him,” Caroline said, her voice thinning. “I think he was nicer. His job has gone to his head.”

“Really? He’s a pediatrician. And he seems pretty nice to me.”

“He’s always nice in public.”

“What’s he like at home?”

“I just feel like everything I do annoys him.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Am I supposed to change now that he’s different? I don’t even know how to act.”

“Just be yourself.”

“Are you yourself all the time?”

“Oh God, Caroline, you know I hate philosophy.”

“It’s not—I’m just asking a question.”

“Am I myself all the time? Yeah, I am,” I said without thinking, because it was the right thing to say, and I was the older sister, so I would act like the older sister.

“I don’t even know who I am right now. I think I’m having a midlife crisis.”

“You’re only thirty-seven. It’s kind of early.”

“Maybe I’ll die early and this is the middle of my life.”

“So you’ll be dead at…seventy-something.”

“What? You’re supposed to tell me I’ll live forever! Or at least long enough to see my kids grow up.” Caroline laughed and hit me with a pillow.

I hit her back. “How am I supposed to know how long you’ll live?”

She was going to hit me back but then didn’t. We were silent for a while. There was just the sound of Herman snoring in the corner. When I looked up at the skylight, the same stars were there, and the moon.

“Catherine, what am I going to do if Bob leaves me?”

“He’s not going to leave you, and even if he does, you’ll find a way to be okay.”

I had the briefest recollection of my old psych professor in college who used to say, “The advice people give is usually the advice they need to take themselves.” Then I remembered that professor had taken a semester off to take care of her own mental health (she thought it was important to be honest about this, given her field) and so everything she had ever said was easy to discount. She was crazy. But it bothered me that this line had stuck with me for so long. And I knew I should be taking my own advice. If William left me, I would probably find a way to be okay. And if I never had a baby, maybe that would somehow be okay. And if the money ran out—well, that didn’t seem okay at all, and there had to be a way around it.

“You’re such a good person, Catherine. I’m glad you met William. He’s a good person, too.”

“Yeah, he really is.”

Herman stirred, let out a little bark. Maybe a bad dream.

“Even though I don’t love that dog. He’s kind of high-strung.”

“I know, thank you. There is something wrong with that dog.”

“Maybe he was beaten as a puppy.”

“Don’t say that, then I’ll feel bad for him.”

“Oh. Well, if you feel bad, go buy him a new jacket or something.”

•

The next afternoon I met Susan at Bloomingdale’s for frozen yogurt and shopping. She wore a hairy pink cardigan and said, “You look great,” before she’d even really looked at me.

“I’m worried—”

“Order, you’re up.” We had reached the front of the line.

We ordered small, sugar-free, fat-free vanillas. We sat in the corner. I was cold, too cold. Why were all frozen yogurt places freezing inside? The place was packed, full of people and their Big and Little Brown Bags.

Susan set her cup down on the counter. The yellow spoon she had stabbed into her yogurt fell to the side in slow motion. She checked her phone. “Sorry,” she said. “E-mails.”

I stirred my yogurt. I didn’t feel like eating. Food was such a waste of money most of the time.

“So how are you? I would be freaking out if I were you.” She stirred in a noncommittal way. The pearly buttons on her pink cardigan shone like little moons.

“I’m worried.” And I whispered the next part: “About money.”

“Don’t you have the money from the shop now?”

“Yes, but—”

“That’s not going to last.”

“Exactly. And if I can’t get pregnant?”

“Shit. But William has money, doesn’t he? How much is that ring worth?”

“I don’t know.”

“How much do you have saved?”

“I don’t know. Not a lot.” I was clenched, cold again. The more yogurt I ate, the colder I got. Why weren’t we having hot chocolate or tea? Maybe I didn’t want to be in this conversation. Maybe I didn’t want to be telling Susan these things. But didn’t I have to? Didn’t you have to tell your best friend everything? “I have the house.”

“Yeah, but Catherine, come on, that only matters if you plan on selling it.”

I was positive about what would happen next: Susan would ask me how much I needed and offer me at least a million dollars, maybe two. She was richer than me anyway, very rich. Her trust was five times the size that mine had been. But she didn’t offer me money. She said, “Have you thought about suing your mother?”

“What? I don’t even know how that would work.”

Susan stuck a pensive finger in the air. Her nails were a nude color. Not the best choice—it washed her out. “It would probably be easier since she has Alzheimer’s, right? She’s incapacitated.”

“I think this year has been eventful enough. Also, suing my mother?”

“Sorry. I’m just looking out for you.” Susan took the only bite of the frozen yogurt she would take. It was mostly melted, and dripped from her spoon. “At least when she dies you’ll get something.”

When I looked at Susan then, I thought, Who are you? And who does that make me? I had never questioned my friendship with Susan, ever. She was a pillar in my constantly-falling-down life. Not knowing how to address this in the moment, I did the mature thing and changed the subject.

“How’s Henry?”

“He’s a doll.” Susan checked her phone. “An absolute doll.”

“You’re going to stay with him for a while?”

“We’ll see,” she said. “You know I would never say yes to that question. Anything could happen.” She laughed. “Clearly, as your situation has taught us.”

I forced a smile. “You know,” I said, “I’m feeling nauseous all of a sudden. I think I should go home.” I didn’t bother to say this in a believable way.

“No shopping?”

“Not today. Maybe another time.”

“Okay, honey. Call me. Call me if you need anything at all, okay?” If Susan believed in regrets, I might have thought she looked regretful then, ashamed that she’d suggested I sue my own mother. Or not. Her face was so frozen with Botox, it was hard to tell.

25

W
illiam came home looking dead tired and extremely tan. “Many outdoor restaurants,” he explained. “And Michael insisted I go to a tanning salon with him.”

“Your boss made you go to a tanning salon?”

“He didn’t force me. I agreed to go.”

“Oh my gosh.” I thought this was hilarious. “Bankers at a tanning salon, that’s great.”

“It was rather comical. I’d never been to a tanning salon before. They gave us small goggles.”

I wrapped myself around him. “I love how eccentric you are.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve missed you, Catherine.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Don’t go to work today.”

“Unfortunately, I must.”

“Sit with me first. Just for five minutes.”

“That would be wonderful.”

We sat in bed together. With Herman, of course, who was psychotically happy about reuniting with his master. I leaned into William, put my head on his shoulder. He felt so warm and good and sturdy and he was playing with my hair and I loved it.

“What else did you do over there?”

“Nothing of interest. I saw the inside of the hotel most of the time.”

I thought of the two orange golf balls in his desk and how he had never talked to me about golf. “Did you play golf?”

“No, I didn’t play golf.”

I squeezed into him. “I just want to hold you here all day, I’m so happy to see you.”

He stroked my hair. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry Max showed up. I was sure I told his mother I would be gone.”

“It’s okay. It was fun.”

“How was he?”

“Who, Max? He was great. Give any kid some sugar and they’ll be happy.”

“Point taken. And how is Caroline?”

“She’s fine.”

“Bob called me. He was concerned that she spent the night here.”

I hadn’t mentioned this to William because I knew he was kind of particular about his space, and he might have been bothered that Caroline had slept in his spot in the bed.

“She did, yes.” I raised my head off his arm so I was looking at him. “Bob called you about that? Why?”

“I think he was worried.” He took a strand of my hair and ran his fingers all the way to the end.

“Caroline thinks he’s cheating on her.”

“Oh? I hope that’s not the case. That would be devastating for Caroline.” He looked genuinely upset, and I thought that was very sweet—how protective he felt of my sister.

“Did Bob mention anything about it?”

“No, he did not.”

“Would you tell me if he did?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes, I would tell you—of course I would. And I would tell Caroline. Absolutely.” He traced his fingers down my spine. “The party was nice?”

“Yes, it was nice.” I didn’t feel like talking. I just wanted his body there next to mine.

He looked at his watch. “That’s five minutes. I have to get dressed for work, my darling.”

“No.” I squeezed him. “Don’t leave me.”

•

After he had showered and dressed for work, he went down to his office and called my name. “Catherine, can you come down here please?”

He had a thing about not yelling. He had actually suggested installing an intercom system to avoid yelling. So I was surprised he hadn’t walked up the stairs to tell me whatever he was going to tell me.

I pushed the swinging door open. He was sitting in the green mesh chair, facing the window. He swiveled around. His hands were folded in his lap. His hair was still wet. He wore an off-white shirt, or was it white? It was hard to tell.

“What’s going on?”

“Come,” he said.

Why was he being so serious? Was this a role-play thing? Were we going to fuck on the desk now? But then, when I got closer, I saw the open cigar box in his lap.

“Did you open this?”

How could he possibly have known? I had put everything back exactly as I’d found it. Okay, maybe I had forgotten the order of the photographs, but who would remember that?

“Yes.”

“Please don’t go through my things,” he said, his voice as steady and mild as always.

“Sorry, I just…I was in here, and I just opened it.” My body was tense. I wanted him to say, Come sit on my lap, it’s okay. “I’m sorry. You look so cute in those photos though. I loved looking at them.”