“What can I tell you? Liz is right about hotel living.”
“I’d rather you not have an apartment in Atlanta,” I said, wondering why I was just finding out about this now, instead of in private.
“I know you don’t,” she said. “Do you think I want that?”
I didn’t respond, because I wasn’t quite sure I knew the answer.
“Why would he want to be governor?” Marge asked, interrupting my thoughts. “He already has all the money and power he needs.”
“Why not? He’s been successful in everything he’s done. He’d probably be a great governor.”
Even as Vivian was talking, I was still thinking about the bank account and the apartment. Marge probably was, too, based on her expression. Liz, meanwhile, was a master at keeping conversations on neutral ground. “It sounds to me like he’ll be keeping you very busy over the next few years,” Liz said.
“I’m busy all day, every day already.”
“And you enjoy it,” Liz said.
“I do. I really missed working, and it’s an exciting place to work. I feel like I’m finally getting back to being the real me, if that makes any sense.”
“It makes all the sense in the world,” Liz agreed. “I tell my clients that meaningful work is essential for good mental health.”
“Being a stay-at-home mom is meaningful, too,” I pointed out.
“No question about it,” Liz said. “I think everyone would agree with the idea that staying at home to raise a child is meaningful and important.” Then, to Vivian: “Has it been hard being apart from London?”
“I know she misses me,” Vivian answered. “But I think it’s important that she sees me working outside the home. The last thing I want is for her to think that women should aspire to being barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen as a life’s goal.”
“When were you ever barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?” I interjected.
“It’s a figure of speech, Russ,” she said. “You know what I mean. And frankly, it’s been good for Russ, too. I think he has a lot more respect for what my life was like for five years.”
“I always had respect for what you did,” I said, tired of feeling like I had to continually defend myself. “And yes, you’re right that watching London takes a lot of energy. But I’m also working, too, and trying to balance both has been the difficult part.”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed for an instant, her dislike for my comment obvious. She turned her attention to Marge again. “How are things with you? Work going okay?”
It was the kind of innocuous question that defined their relationship—a question that meant nothing and kept conversation superficial.
“Like they say, whenever we want to liven up the office party, we invite a couple of funeral directors.”
Despite myself, I smiled. Vivian didn’t.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Vivian said. “I can’t imagine staring at numbers all day and dealing with the IRS.”
“It’s not for everyone, but I’ve always been good with numbers. And I enjoy helping my clients.”
“That’s good,” Vivian said. She added nothing else and the four of us descended into silence. Marge picked at her fingernail while Liz adjusted the hem of her shorts. It didn’t take a genius to understand that the levity that had been present all afternoon evaporated as soon as Vivian had taken a seat on the porch. Even Vivian seemed at a loss for words. She stared at nothing in particular before finally, almost reluctantly, focusing on Marge again. “What time did the two of you get here today?”
“Twelve thirty or so,” Marge answered. “We got here a few minutes after Russ did.”
“Anything exciting happen?”
“Not really. It’s just a typical Saturday. Mom’s been in the kitchen all day, we went for a walk, Dad started in the garage until the ball game came on. And, of course, I teased your husband for a while.”
“Good for you. He needs someone to keep him in line. He’s been a little moody these days. At home, it seems like lately, I can’t do anything right.”
I turned toward her, too startled to speak again, and wondering: Are you talking about me or you?
Separate bank account. Corporate apartment. A possibility of up to four nights a week spent in Atlanta.
The more I thought about Vivian’s Saturday Surprises, the more I began to suspect that she brought it all up here because she knew I wouldn’t argue with other people around. Of course, once we got home, she’d say that we’d already discussed it, so there was no reason to go over it again; if I even tried, I was doing so because I wanted to start an argument. It was a win-win situation for her and left me no recourse at all, but what bothered me even more than the blatant manipulation was that Vivian didn’t seem to be troubled at the prospect of spending more days apart than we spent together. What would that mean for us? What would that mean for London?
I wasn’t sure. I had no desire to leave Charlotte, but if push came to shove, I would. My marriage was important to me—my family was important to me—and I would do whatever it took to keep us together. As for my company, it wasn’t as if I was firmly established in Charlotte, and if the possibility of a move was on the horizon, I might as well start searching for clients in Atlanta, assuming I had some sense of what Vivian’s upcoming schedule might be. The whole thing was still so vague though, so uncertain.
And yet… if I suggested the possibility of moving the family, I wasn’t sure how Vivian would respond. Would she even want that? I felt as though Vivian and I were sliding on ice in opposite directions, and the more I tried to hold on to her, the more determined she seemed to pull away. She had a desire for secrecy that nagged at me and while I’d assumed that we’d support each other in our employment challenges, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Vivian had little enthusiasm for that kind of mutual reliance. Instead of she and I against the world, it felt like Vivian against me.
Then again, perhaps I was making too big of a deal about all of this; maybe I was too argumentative and focused too much on her faults, not her strengths. Once London was in school and we adapted to our respective work schedules, things might not appear so bleak, and our lives would be on the upswing again.
Or maybe they wouldn’t.
Meanwhile, as I was pondering these things, Vivian was discussing various shows in New York with Marge and Liz. She went on to recommend that they visit a rooftop bar on Fifty-Seventh Street with a view of Central Park that not too many people knew about; I could remember taking Vivian on lazy Sunday afternoons, back when I used to believe I was the center of her world. How long ago that suddenly seemed.
Just then, London emerged carrying two servings of pudding-in-a-cloud, handing one each to Liz and Marge; she followed that with servings for Vivian and me. Despite my inner turmoil, the sight of London’s excitement couldn’t help but make me smile.
“This looks delicious, sweetheart,” I said. “What’s in it?”
“Chocolate pudding and Cool Whip,” London answered. “It’s like a soft Oreo cookie and I helped Nana make it. She said it won’t ruin my appetite because it’s just a snack. I’m going to go eat mine with Papa, okay?”
“I’m sure he’ll love that.” Taking a quick bite, I commented, “Very tasty. You’re a great chef.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said. To my delight, she leaned in for a quick hug before heading back into the house, no doubt headed for my dad’s lap with a couple more desserts.
Vivian had seen London hug me and while she offered a benign smile in response, I wasn’t sure what, if anything, she felt about being left out. As soon as London closed the door, Vivian put her dessert on the table, sugar being the enemy and all. Not so with me, Marge, or Liz. Marge was on her second spoonful when she spoke again.
“You’ve got a big week ahead. London starting school, Vivian traveling, and you’re filming commercials, right? When does that start?”