Her hands clasp in her lap.
“He’s so attentive—it’s one of the things I enjoy about spending time with him. And he’s had such exciting life experiences. I told him I’d like to introduce you and that we were going to be looking for a new house, too. That led to a conversation about Mitchell and his . . . his behavior. I hadn’t brought it up before because I didn’t want to come off as too needy or sound as if I hadn’t tried to be a good mother and raise him properly.”
Her face reflects her uncertainty. Her teeth worry at her lip. “He listened to everything I said. He seemed sympathetic at first. But then he got the oddest look on his face. He demanded to know why I hadn’t told him any of this before.” She swallows before forcing herself to continue. “He told me that he was hurt that I hadn’t been honest with him. That he didn’t know if he could continue to see someone who would keep so much of herself a secret.” She lets out a jagged breath.
“The worst part was the way he looked at me. Perhaps he holds me responsible for Mitchell’s actions. I know I do.”
Her lip trembles. I have the oddest urge to reach out and take her in my arms and tell her she’s not to blame. That everything will be all right. But I’m not sure how she would react. And I’m not at all sure that everything will be all right.
“It certainly sounds as if he overreacted,” I say in a measured voice. “You’re a victim, Dorothy. In many ways even more than I am.”
We sit in silence for several long moments.
“I don’t know,” she says finally. “His expression was . . . it was like a light switch turning off. He barely spoke on the way home. When I was getting out of the car, he said he’d be in touch, but he sounded so different. I don’t know what it was that I said or did. But I clearly did something wrong.”
Thirty-Four
Judith
Although I haven’t heard anything more from Ethan, I remain hopeful that he’ll come around. In the meantime, I’ve made a list of Realtors to interview, reached out to the estate sale company that Meena and Stan used, and plotted out a plan of attack and a timetable I intend to stick to. It’s such a relief to have a reason to get up in the morning. I am a woman on a mission.
I’m not yet ready to empty Nate’s closet or face his lucky ties, so I’ve decided to start at the bottom of the house and work my way up. In the basement I tell Alexa, who is no doubt stunned at being summoned after being ignored for so long, to put on my favorite playlist. Since Meena and I are serving refreshments at book club tonight and are discussing a Paris-set novel, I begin by pawing through the boxes filled with costumes and accessories we’ve been accumulating since Ethan’s and Ansley’s first Halloweens.
* * *
• • •
When I arrive at Between the Covers, Annell envelops me in a hug.
“That’s quite the mustache,” she teases, eyeing the black cardboard number affixed inside my nostrils and dangling above my mouth. A droopy French chef’s hat perches on my head. (I briefly considered dressing as the French mime Marcel Marceau, but there’s no way I’m making it through book club in silence.)
Meena has already set up the food table, which is covered with platters of macarons, éclairs, and petits fours that she picked up from a favorite French bakery. (A definite step up the food chain from my homemade body-part cookies.)
She’s wearing a pin-striped chef’s coat and starched white toque. Her mustache is drawn on in what looks like black eyeliner. We are extremely careful not to smudge or dislodge as we hug hello.
I pour champagne into plastic flutes that Meena hands out with a deep-throated and yet nasal, “Hon, hon, hon,” delivered in a truly horrible accent, which may or may not be intentional.
She hams it up, pretending to be a woman without a care in the world, but her eyes are troubled. I know she’s fretting over Frank’s vanishing act and the pall it’s cast on the realities of online dating. But we all have our secrets. If I learned anything from the tequila-induced revelations at Superica, it’s that other people’s lives look easier and less complicated only because we don’t know the burdens they carry.
Jazmine and Angela stop for pastries and champagne and stay to chat, showing off their French manicures. Chaz, Erin, and Carlotta join them along with Wesley and Phoebe, who arrive in matching black berets. Nancy Flaherty is back and absolutely thrilled with the golf skort and halter top Carlotta presents to her.
Dorothy and Sara are the last to arrive. They stop off at the register, no doubt to stuff the box with book club name entries, then come over to join us. Conversation and laughter swirl around us. Everyone offers a cheery “merci” and an extra “oui” or “mais oui” as they fill their plates and accept glasses of champagne.
When everyone has been served, Annell escorts us into the carriage house, where Meena and I settle next to each other on the window seat. Each time I check, Meena is smiling or “Hon, hon, hon”-ing, but I can feel the effort even a bad faux French laugh requires.
With no newbies in the group, we skip introductions and give ourselves a round of applause for our mostly terrible French accents. I pass a champagne bottle around the circle for refills as Annell kicks off the book conversation with insights into how deftly the three authors wove three very different characters into three separate time periods and also managed to turn the Paris Ritz into an important fourth character.
The discussion has barely ended when Angela raises her hand. “I’d like us to choose Becoming by Michelle Obama as our next read as a birthday gift for Jazmine, because it’s her favorite and our May meeting falls on her birthday.” She shoots a smile at her longtime friend. “I’ll bring the birthday cake.”
“I like eet,” Annell says in a terrible French accent. “All een favor?”
The vote is unanimous. Jazmine stands up, smiling, raising a now-empty champagne bottle aloft. “Thank you! I can’t wait to discuss it with you all. It might even help soften the blow of getting older.”
Annell is about to pull out a stack of book club name suggestions when Meena stands.
“If it’s okay, there’s something I’d like to say before we wrap up.”
“Of course.” Annell sits.
All eyes turn to Meena, who has ditched the “Hon, hon, hon” and the last vestige of her smile. “How many of you put a profile on a dating site for the first time after I presented Online Dating 101?”
Dorothy, Annell, and Chaz raise their hands. Erin’s goes up halfway.
Angela gives Jazmine a look. “You promised.”
“Sorry. I’ve been busy,” Jazmine counters.