“Me? Oh, I couldn’t teach kids these days. They’re animals. Don’t you watch YouTube?”
Joseph laughed. “Um, I’m pretty sure those are isolated incidences. How about working in counseling? You said you had a lot of regrets in your past. The counselors who have lived the life and walked the walk are the ones who are most effective because they’ve been there. I mean, I don’t know what experiences you’ve had, but you might rely upon the mistakes you’ve made to clear a path for the future. Unless you like just floating around in the pool and worrying about what series you’ll watch next on Amazon?”
“Are you implying that I have no purpose?” she asked, her pride taking a punch with his words. It wasn’t as if she were useless. She did stuff. But then Melanie’s words from the bridal gown shopping trip came back to her. Have you even had a job? Or was your career merely marrying wealthy men and spending their money? Or maybe it’s marathon champagne drinking? Is that what people thought about her? That she had no purpose beyond handing over her credit card or getting her nails done?
“No. I’m not saying that at all. I’m just trying to challenge you because I think you need that in your life. You were made to be of use. I see that in everything you do or touch. You enjoy the process. So this isn’t me dragging you down, it’s me lifting you up so you can see that you have a lot of talents that could be put to use.”
Tennyson had bitten her lip and thought about his words. They’d stayed with her all through dinner, through reruns of Seinfeld (because Joseph had never seen the series), and after they lay sated in her sheets, breathing hard, coming down from another amazing bout of soul-stirring, toe-curling sex. And even still, after she pulled on his T-shirt and snuggled under the coverlet, his words pricked at her.
To be of use. To have purpose. To apply her talents.
The next day she’d called City Hub Volunteers and signed up to serve as a mentor. She’d gone to an orientation and made an immediate connection with the director of the counseling center, Annette Grafton. Tennyson had even revealed to Annette her deepest, darkest, guilt-ridden sin—the abortion she’d had her freshman year of college. Annette had held her as she cried, told her that she had been brave and strong, and given her something no one had given her before—absolution.
Tennyson had never gone to confession about what she’d done, even though she’d been a “good” Catholic girl. She couldn’t seem to utter the words, not even to ask for forgiveness. She’d been too afraid to tell her parents, especially since she didn’t know if the baby was Kit’s or one of the other two boys she’d hooked up with when she returned from Christmas break her freshman year. When she got back, she’d been so hurt by Kit, she’d been determined to rinse the taste of him from her mouth. So she’d partied, slept with a few fellow students, and done her first line of cocaine. A month later, she’d tossed her cookies while painting backdrops. She continued vomiting every morning for five days straight. She stopped believing it was bad Chinese food and took a home pregnancy test.
It had been positive.
She’d been nineteen, up for a part in the university spring show, and living on student loans. Fear had turned her spit to ash and taken her to a clinic, where she made an appointment. Two weeks later she’d had the procedure that had erased her bad decision. When the director had given her a pamphlet about counseling and mental health after pregnancy termination, Tennyson had trashed it. She would be fine.
Except she started having nightmares and days when she could think of nothing but the unborn child and who he or she might have been. That guilt led to more bad decisions—she tried to drown the pain with drugs and booze. Tennyson went off the rails and lost herself for many years.
When she’d finally gotten her shit together, married Stephen, and felt the wee kicks of baby Andrew, she’d started writing the checks to the centers to help women who hadn’t been able to deal with the loss of pregnancy, whether intentional or not. It was the only way she could sleep a full night. If she could help someone else, she could somehow make her own mistake less.
She blinked as someone passed her a new bingo card.
Wow, those memories had dragged her away a bit too easily. Maybe it was easier to go to that place in her heart now because Annette had given her a space to be honest. The director had talked about her own abortions, about how she used the sadness and anxiety of her past to help others. Tennyson didn’t feel so alone after confessing her hurt. Joseph had been right—being counseled by someone who had walked the same journey was far more effective than sharing with someone who hadn’t felt the same emotions.
“Melly and Teeny, we’re going to do one more round,” Emma called back to their table. Andrew’s intended had the high flush of happiness and a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. Tennyson acknowledged her with a wave and a smile.
Melanie sighed. “I really wish they would move on to the club or wherever they’re going so I can go home.”
That was the longest sentence Melanie had used all night—and it was a grumpy one. Tennyson knew the woman was still grieving Hillary, so she hadn’t pushed her earlier at the cocktail party and lingerie shower when she sat like a bump on a frog’s ass. She’d thought maybe Melanie would be in a better mood, especially after the conversation Tennyson had yesterday with Kit. She’d gone by his office to drop the reimbursement check for the deposit on MK Bistro, the venue for the rehearsal dinner.
Kit’s assistant had looked surprised when she strolled into the office. Of course, she’d dropped in unannounced, so that could be the reason, but the woman’s reaction gave her a funny feeling.
“Can I help you?” the woman said, lifting the mouthpiece thingy so she could speak.
“Is Kit in?” Tennyson asked, repositioning her new Percy sunglasses atop her head. She wore the LALAoUNIS chandelier earrings that husband number two had bought her (with her own money) while they vacationed in Athens, along with a new floral Erdem dress with a black lace overlay. She knew she looked chic, confident, and a bit off-putting since she was carrying her red crocodile Birkin bag. Not that the receptionist would even know it was an Hermès and cost about the same as a car.
“Uh, I think he’s in a meeting.” The receptionist cast a nervous glance at the double doors leading into Kit’s inner sanctum.
Déjà vu. She’d been here and done this before.
“Don’t worry, I’ll announce myself,” she said, breezing by the desk and opening the office door. It wasn’t even locked.
Amateur.
When she walked in, she saw Kit and the heifer on the couch together. Whatever her name was had her shoes off and her feet curled beneath her tight skirt. Her forearm was on Kit’s shoulder as she leaned in, looking at whatever was on the iPad in his hand. When they heard the door open, they leaped apart, the woman tucking her hair behind her ear and uncurling her legs.
“Oh, Tennyson, you scared the bejesus out of me,” Kit said, setting the iPad on the coffee table and rising, pulling his jacket aright.
“Look at you talking about Jesus,” Tennyson drawled, looking pointedly at the woman, who was searching for her pumps with her feet.
Kit made a confused face before donning his normal grin. “What brings you here?”