She grins and then disappears, returning with her digital camera. “I took photos of him. Just so you could see him,” she says, clicking through highlights of their tryst at the Four Seasons. There is one picture of Trey holding a towel loosely at his waist. He has a six-pack, maybe even an eight-pack, complete with those ledge-like indentations where ripped stomach dips into pelvis territory.
“Wow. He’s gorgeous,” I say, wondering how an investment-banker-father-husband has time to carry on an affair and hit the gym that hard. It confirms something else I’ve always said, I don’t trust men who have bodies that fabulous.
Jess blushes and says, “I know! He really is I think this is it , Claudia. This is really it this time.”
“We’ll see,” I say, crossing my fingers with feigned optimism.
I don’t tell Jess about Tucker until the following Saturday morning, after Trey surprise, surprise does not tell his wife that he wants a divorce. He had his reasons, of course. They always do. Something about his son having a high fever and his wife’s beach trip getting canceled. I think to myself that it’s so unfair that shit marriages seem to have a way of limping along for decades—while perfectly good ones like mine can just end overnight.
Meanwhile Jess is telling me how she doesn’t hold the delay against him. That this just proves what a good father he is.
I guess it’s the “good father” reference that makes me think of Ben because I tell her the whole Tucker story.
Jess looks surprised that I didn’t confide in her sooner, so I shoot her a look of apology and say, “I had to digest it before I could talk about it.”
She nods as if she understands. Unlike my sisters, she’s not one to get her feelings damaged around these sorts of things. In fact, she’s not one to get her feelings hurt around much of anything. She has developed an extremely thick skin over the years, which probably stems as much from her bad luck in love as her hardass profession.
“Did you Google her?” Jess asks.
I laugh and admit that I did. “You taught me well.”
“And?”
“Nothing. She’s nowhere to be found.”
“You put her name in quotes?”
“Yup,” I say. “Nothing came up.”
“Good,” Jess says, flashing me one of her devilish smiles. “Just proves what we already knew.”
“What’s that?” I say.
“That he doesn’t have a prayer of upgrading from you.”
“Say it again,” I say.
So she does, with a little extra flair the second time.
Later that afternoon, Jess and I meet my sisters at Union Square Cafe for lunch. Jess and I were working all morning while Maura and Daphne shopped. They are loaded up with bags from Barneys (Maura’s favorite store) and Bloomingdale’s (Daphne’s favorite). I’m in the best mood I’ve been in for a long time, likely because I’m spending time with my three favorite women. I can literally feel my heart healing just being in their company.
The waitress is grinding fresh pepper on Daphne’s ravioli when Maura comes right out and asks if I’ve heard from Ben. I glance at Jess and fleetingly consider saying no. It’s not that I don’t want to tell my sisters. I’m just not in the mood to relive the whole tale. But I have a very difficult time keeping track of those sorts of deceptions. I know I will forget in several months that I didn’t tell them and will make a Tucker reference and then it will become an issue: why did I tell Jess and not them? So I just go ahead and divulge everything, down to the rainbow sprinkles and the pet store and my Google search and short conversation with Ben later that night. Daphne’s brown eyes look pained and downright teary. Daphne cries a lot. It is her natural reaction to any extreme emotion, anger, happiness, worry, fear. Meanwhile, Maura puts on her determined, competitive face. I can tell she wants more information. Sure enough, she starts firing questions. “How pretty was she?” she asks, even though I just completed a rather detailed physical description for the express purpose of preempting this line of questioning.
“I told you,” I say with a shrug. “She was attractive. She had good hair and skin. And a decent body.”
“Decent?” Maura asks. “Define decent , please.”
“It was pretty good,” I say, and then amend my statement as I consider my audience. “Actually, you probably wouldn’t think so.”
Maura’s standards are ridiculous, for herself and everyone else. She is extremely thin, and with frequent workouts with a trainer, she is also toned and fit. You would never guess that she had three children. Some might even call her too thin. Daphne thinks so, but that might be because Daphne and she look so much alike except that Daphne is perpetually trying to lose fifteen to twenty pounds. In fact, one of my sisters’ biggest arguments of the last five years came when Daphne was complaining about some bizarre diet not working and Maura said to her, “I don’t get it. Just don’t eat, Daph. Just don’t put the food in your mouth. What’s so hard about that?” To Maura, it’s not hard. I’ve never seen someone with so much self-discipline. To Daphne and millions of other Americans, it’s just not that easy. If it were, nobody would be fat.