He’s right. The closest neighbors are a quarter-mile away and there are trees on all four sides of our property. We make love on the grass. Afterward, we lay half-clothed in our own yard. I giggle.
“I hope we don’t get a FedEx delivery.”
Greg laughs. “It could be the highlight of the driver’s day.”
“Do you actually want to have another baby?” I ask. Do we want three kids? Three plane tickets to Disney, three college tuitions, three seems so much more than two. We always said we’d be done at two.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess lately I’ve been thinking about our life. I can’t believe how lucky I am. I never thought I’d end up like this. I always expected to be alone. And poor. Struggling or something.” He pulls me to him. “My life has exceeded my expectations in so many ways. Because of you.” He kisses my forehead.
I love the way I feel in his arms, small, protected. We lie there for another half-hour before we get up, dress, and return to our chores that now seem so much less like chores. Briefly, I look around, wondering if anyone saw us. Doubtful. I say something to Greg, and he waves my concerns away.
A few hours later, we are showered and dressed with weeded gardens, cut grass, and a cleaner house. My parents drop off the girls, and I start dinner. Drew arrives amidst screaming excitement from Hannah and mimicked excitement from Leah.
Over dinner, all three of us make conversation. Sometimes Greg is reserved around Drew, but tonight, he is gregarious and jovial. He hands Drew a cigar, and I feel, for the first time, hopeful they will become friends. Parts of the evening, I feel like an outsider. I pout about that, as I’m not used to it. Greg is affectionate with me, more so than usual when we are around other people. He and Drew drink whiskey, a rarity for both men. Before bed, Drew reads the girls a bedtime story, and Hannah cannot believe her good fortune that Drew will be there when she wakes up in the morning.
We take our drinks outside, where Greg starts a fire in the fire pit. The men polish off half a bottle of Crown Royal. I stick to my white wine. I’m tipsy, but the men are drunk. Greg waves the white flag early, leaving Drew and me to put out the fire. Greg kisses me goodnight, a little longer than normal, and whispers in my ear that he loves me.
Drew and I stay up, drinking and talking. We debate about politics. Drew is staunchly liberal, active in his causes. Our debates are usually heated, but Drew is much more knowledgeable, as I have little time to give to others. This infuriates him, as he sees my selfish suburban bubble life as unappreciated good fortune. He says I am ignorant of struggle. I say he is ignorant of systemic abuse. He is angry in a way I’ve never seen him. He is also drunker than I’ve ever seen him.
“You are selfish and oblivious to the big world around you,” he says, his arm swinging wildly. He knocks over a citronella candle on the patio table, and the wax snakes its way toward the edge.
“I don’t think that’s true,” I say, stung by his accusation. “Yes, I’m absorbed in my life. I have two small children. I have to be. More people should be focused on their kids. Maybe there’d be less need for social do-gooders if more people raised their children properly.”
“That’s a completely oblivious thing to say. It discounts any extenuating factors. But that’s how you are. Your life revolves around you. You don’t account for how other people feel.”
“Other people like who? Like homeless men on the streets of New York? No, I do not frequently account for homeless drunks on city streets when I make my daily life decisions.”
“Other people like me, for instance.” A beat. The air has shifted. Somehow we are no longer talking abstract politics. Things have gotten personal.
“What does that mean?”
“You have no idea how I feel, for example. You invite me to every holiday, every birthday party, to come here and sit and watch you and your husband either love or hate each other, depending on his moods. And I come. I laugh in all the right places and shake Greg’s hand when I’d really love to sock him in the face. And I do that because you expect it. You have no clue what it costs me.”
I grip the arm of the chair. I know deep down that what he is saying is true, but I’ve never acknowledged it, either to him or myself.