As they headed back to the city, she’d stared out the window of the car, taking in the scenery. There was no denying her new neighborhood’s beauty: the grand houses, the blossoming trees, the pristine sidewalks. Not a single piece of litter marred the smoothly paved roads. Even the grass seemed greener than in the city.
As they’d exited and passed the guard’s station, Richard had given the uniformed man a little wave. Nellie had seen the name of the development on an arched sign, the letters thick and ornate: CROSSWINDS.
Of course, she’d still commute into Manhattan every day with Richard. She’d have the best of both worlds. She’d meet Sam for happy hours and drop by Gibson’s to grab a burger at the bar and see how Chris’s novel was progressing.
She’d turned around to peer through the rear windshield. She hadn’t seen even one person walking down the sidewalk. No cars had been in motion. She could have been staring at a photograph.
But if she got pregnant soon after the wedding, she probably wouldn’t return to the Learning Ladder in the fall, she’d thought as she watched her new neighborhood recede in the distance. It would be irresponsible to leave the children mid-year. With Richard traveling every week or two, she’d be alone in the house so much of the time.
Maybe it would make sense to wait a few months before she went off her birth control pills. She could teach for another year.
She’d looked at Richard’s profile, taking in his straight nose, his strong chin, the slim, silvery scar above his right eye. He’d gotten it when he was eight and tumbled over the handlebars of his bike, he’d told her. Richard had one hand low on the wheel and the other reaching for the radio’s button.
“So, I—” she began, just as he turned on WQXR, his favorite classical station.
“This piece by Ravel is wonderful,” he said, increasing the volume. “You know, he composed a smaller body of work than most of his contemporaries, but many regard him as one of France’s greatest.”
She nodded. Her words were lost in the opening notes of the music, but maybe it was just as well. It wasn’t the time for this conversation.
As the piano reached a crescendo, Richard pulled up at a stoplight and turned to her. “Do you like it?”
“I do. It’s . . . lovely.” She needed to learn about classical music and wine, she decided. Richard had strong opinions on both, and she wanted to be able to discuss the subjects knowledgeably with him.
“Ravel believed that music should be emotional first and intellectual second,” he’d said. “What do you think?”
That was the problem, she realized now as she dug through her purse, searching for her favorite Clinique soft-pink lip gloss. She gave up—she hadn’t been able to find it the last time she’d looked, either—and put on a peachy shade instead. Intellectually, she knew the changes ahead were wonderful. Enviable, even. But emotionally, it all felt a little overwhelming.
She thought of the dollhouse in her classroom, the one Jonah’s parents wanted to replace with a tepee. Her students loved to rearrange the furniture in the darling little home, then move the dolls from room to room, positioning them in front of the fake fireplace, folding them into chairs around the table, and laying them down to sleep in their narrow wooden beds.
The idea invaded her mind like a school-yard taunt from a bully: Dollhouse Nellie.
Nellie took a gulp of wine and opened her closet door, pushing aside the wrap dress she’d been planning to wear and pulling out a pair of fitted black leather pants she’d bought on sale at Bloomingdale’s when she’d first come to New York. She winced as she sucked in her stomach to pull up the zipper. They’ll stretch, she assured herself. Still she partnered the pants with a low-cut, loose-fitting tank in case she needed to release the top button later.
She wondered if she would wear either of the items ever again. She imagined Dollhouse Nellie with a sensible bob dressed in khakis, a cashmere cable-knit sweater, and brown suede loafers as she held out a tray of cupcakes.
Never, she promised herself, digging around for her black high heels and finally finding them under her bed. She and Richard would have a houseful of children, and the elegant rooms would be softened by laughter and pillow forts and little shoes piled in baskets by the front door. They’d play Candy Land and Monopoly by the fire. They’d take family ski trips—Nellie had never skied, but Richard had promised to teach her. A few decades from now, she and Richard would sit side by side on the porch swing, linked by their happy memories.
In the meantime, she’d definitely bring along her own artwork to adorn the walls. She had several original commissions by her preschoolers, including Jonah’s marshmallow-woman portrait of her and Tyler’s cerebral painting aptly titled Blue on White.
She finished getting ready ten minutes after she should have left. She started to exit the apartment, then turned back and grabbed two ropes of colorful beads hanging on a hook by the front door. She and Samantha had each bought a strand at a Village street fair a few years ago. They called them their happy beads.
She slipped one of them around her neck, then scanned the street for a cab.
“Sorry, sorry,” Nellie called as she hurried toward the women sitting at the long rectangular table. Her Learning Ladder colleagues lined one side, and her Gibson’s coworkers the other. But Nellie could see a cluster of shot glasses, as well as glasses of wine in front of everyone, and all of the women seemed comfortable. She circled the table, giving each of her friends a hug.
When she reached Sam, she looped the beads around her roommate’s neck. Sam looked gorgeous; she must have gone for the blowout alone.
“Drink first, talk second,” instructed Josie, one of her waitress pals, handing Nellie a shot of tequila.
She tossed it back neatly, earning cheers.
“And now it’s my turn to give you something to put on.” Samantha glided a comb fixed to a giant glitter-and-tulle veil through the crown of Nellie’s hair.
Nellie laughed. “Subtle.”
“What do you expect when you ask a preschool teacher to be in charge of the veil?” asked Marnie.
“So what did you have to do today?” asked Samantha
Nellie opened her mouth to speak, then looked around. The other women all worked at low-paying jobs, yet they were splurging at a restaurant famous for its wood-burning-stove pizzas. Nellie could also see a pile of gifts on the empty chair at the end of the table. She knew Sam was searching for a new roommate because she couldn’t afford the rent on her own. Suddenly, the last thing Nellie felt like talking about was her showplace of a house. Besides, it hadn’t technically been a wedding errand. Maybe Sam wouldn’t understand.
“Nothing exciting,” Nellie said lightly. “Is it time for another shot?”
Samantha laughed and signaled the waiter.
“Has he told you where you’re going for the honeymoon yet?” Marnie asked.
Nellie shook her head, wishing the waiter would hurry up with the fresh round of tequila. The problem was, Richard wanted to keep the destination a surprise. “Buy a new bikini” was all he’d say when she begged for a hint. What if Richard was taking her to a beach in Thailand? She couldn’t endure twelve hours on a plane; even the thought made her heart pound.
In the past weeks, in two of her unsettling dreams, she’d been trapped aboard turbulent flights. In the latest one, a panicked attendant had raced down the aisle, yelling for everyone to tuck themselves into the crash position. The images were so vivid—the attendant’s wide eyes, the bouncing jet, the thick roiling clouds outside her tiny window—that Nellie had awoken gasping.
“A stress dream,” Sam had said the next morning as she applied mascara in their tiny bathroom and Nellie reached over her to grab her body lotion. Sam, always the therapist’s daughter, loved analyzing her friends. “What are you anxious about?”
“Nothing. Well, flying, obviously.”
“Not the wedding? Because I’m thinking the flying is a metaphor.”
“Sorry, Sigmund, but this cigar is just a cigar.”
A fresh shot of tequila appeared in front of Nellie and she downed it gratefully.