Table for Seven

december





a tasting menu

SEARED FOIE GRAS WITH A RED WINE AND SOUR CHERRY REDUCTION

SEARED DIVER SCALLOPS WITH BLOOD-ORANGE SAUCE

VEGETABLE TERRINE

SLOW BAKED DOVER SOLE

DUO OF BEEF

CARAMEL AND SEA SALT ICE CREAM





THE DECEMBER MEETING OF the Table for Seven Club was canceled. Audrey called Fran and Jaime and invited them to meet her for dinner at the Lemon Tree on the night the club would have met. The restaurant was owned by one of her regular clients, Heather, and her husband, Juan, who was the chef.

Audrey arrived at the restaurant first. Heather greeted her warmly, and sat her at a large corner table. Audrey sipped a glass of ice water while she waited for the others to arrive.

Fran got there next, looking wan and wearing a yellow dress that didn’t suit her.

“Sorry,” Fran said, sitting down across the table from Audrey. “One of those nights.”

“It’s okay. Jaime’s late, too,” Audrey said. “Is everything okay?”

Fran looked defensive. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You look tired,” Audrey said.

“That’s probably because I’m exhausted.” Fran pulled out her cellphone and began frantically scrolling through her text messages. Apparently not finding what she wanted, she dropped the cellphone on the table, and raised a hand to the waiter.

“I’d like a glass of the house Merlot, please,” Fran said.

“I thought we might order a bottle,” Audrey said.

“Sure,” Fran said. “Whatever you want.”

Audrey waited for Fran to cancel the glass of Merlot. When Fran didn’t call back the waiter, Audrey prompted. “Do you still want the glass?”

“What?”

“If we’re getting a bottle, do you still want the glass?” Audrey asked patiently.

“Oh, right. I guess it’s too late now,” Fran said, as the waiter appeared with her glass of wine.

Audrey stared at her friend, wondering what was going on. Fran seemed distracted and possibly even depressed. She looked terrible, too. Her skin was sallow and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Audrey asked, leaning forward across the table and touching Fran’s hand.

“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Jaime said, arriving at the table out of breath.

“Hi, Jaime,” Audrey said, smiling up at her.

Fran glanced up and frowned. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

“There is a right and a wrong way to take that,” Jaime said, sitting in the empty seat next to Fran.

“You look like you’ve lost fifteen pounds since the last time I saw you,” Fran said.

Fran was right. Jaime had always been slim, but now she looked positively emaciated. She was, as usual, perfectly groomed—her blond hair sprayed into place, her makeup perfectly applied, her pink Lilly Pulitzer dress setting off her tan skin—but her eyes had a sad, haunted look and her face was hollowed out.

Audrey looked from one friend to the other, and finally said, “Okay, you two, what’s going on?”

Jaime and Fran exchanged uneasy looks.

“Actually, I do have some news,” Jaime said.

“Me, too,” Fran said, with a deep sigh.

“Okay, hold on. I think we’re going to need some wine before we get into it. Or at least, Jaime and I still need wine,” Audrey said, gesturing for their waiter.

“Give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready for a refill,” Fran said.

Audrey ordered a bottle of Chardonnay from Sonoma County, which the waiter promptly brought back to the table. He uncorked the wine, and poured a glass for Audrey, who took a sip, although she was now so worried by her friends’ general weirdness that she barely paid attention to the wine. She nodded to the waiter to go ahead and pour for the table.

“Have you had time to look over the menu?” the waiter asked, once the wine was poured.

“I have, but they haven’t,” Audrey said. “But I was going to suggest we try the tasting menu. Heather recommended it.”

“Fine with me,” Jaime said, pushing her menu to the side, and looking relieved to have the burden of making a decision lifted.

“Me, too,” Fran said.

Once the waiter had left, Audrey raised her wineglass. “Cheers,” she said.

“Cheers,” the other two said, and they clinked their glasses together in a dispirited way.

“What’s going on with you two?” Audrey asked again.

“You go first, Fran,” Jaime said.

“No, you,” Fran said.

“You’ve had a head start on the wine,” Jaime said, nodding to Fran’s mostly empty glass of red.

“And I need at least another glass before I can get into it,” Fran said.

“Me, too,” Jaime said.

“Oh, for God’s sake. One of you had better start talking!” Audrey said.

“Why don’t you start, Audrey,” Jaime suggested. “Tell us your news.”

“I don’t have anything to share. It’s the same old with me. Work, work, and more work.”

“How’s Kenny?” Jaime asked.

“We’re not seeing each other anymore,” Audrey said.

“That’s too bad. I liked him,” Jaime said. “Although I guess he wasn’t the most exciting guy in the world.”

“Exciting is overrated. But Kenny and I didn’t even have basic chemistry.” Audrey shrugged. “I’ve told you before, I’m not cut out for romance.”

“That’s not what Leland said,” Fran said.

“That’s right. I forgot about that, with everything that happened,” Jaime said.

“What are you two talking about?” Audrey asked.

“The night Leland died—right before he died—he said something about how you weren’t the type of woman who should be alone,” Fran said.

Audrey stiffened. “I think I’ve been getting along okay,” she said.

“He didn’t mean it as an insult. Just the opposite. I thought what he was saying was that you were the sort of person who would love well, and it would be a shame not to share that with another person. Isn’t that how you took it?” Jaime looked at Fran for confirmation. Fran nodded.

“How did my love life—or lack of a love life, I should say—become the subject of the dinner party conversation?” Audrey asked. This idea, that the others had been talking about her, made her uneasy.

“It wasn’t,” Jaime said. “Leland said something about it to Coop. We just overheard him.”

“He said it to Coop?” Audrey asked more sharply than she intended.

Jaime nodded. “I got the feeling that Leland wanted to test out his matchmaker skills on you and Coop.” She smiled for the first time that evening and gave Fran a sly glance. “Didn’t you get that impression, Franny?”

Fran shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”

“Really? I thought Leland was being so obvious! I thought he was basically telling Coop to ask Audrey out,” Jaime said.

Audrey could feel her face flush red, and she stared down at her wineglass.

“I guess that just goes to show that no one’s right all the time. Not even Leland,” Fran said.

Jaime cocked her head to one side. “Why’s that?”

“Coop and Audrey went out on a date once. They didn’t hit it off,” Fran said.

“Seriously? I didn’t know that,” Jaime said, looking at Audrey.

“Actually, it was a bit more involved than that,” Audrey said.

“What?” Fran asked, finally looking focused and alert. “What does that mean?”

“I guess you could say that Coop and I had a bit of a fling,” Audrey admitted. She took a sip of her wine. “Although I’m not sure how Leland figured that out. I wonder if Coop told him?”

“You had a fling with Coop?” Fran asked, staring at Audrey.

“I don’t blame you. He’s really sexy. What happened?” Jaime asked, her eyes round with interest. She took a sip of her wine and nibbled at a piece of buttered bread.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Their waiter appeared again, brandishing a tray with three small spoon-shaped bowls. “An amuse bouche from the chef to start your meal. This is a Thai lobster bisque.” He set the bowls down in front of them, said, “Enjoy,” and whisked off again.

“Mmm,” Audrey said, after tasting the soup. “This is excellent.”

“Audrey!” Fran said. Audrey looked up, surprised by the sharpness of Fran’s tone. “What happened with you and Coop?”

Audrey sighed. “Honestly, I wish I hadn’t brought it up. I don’t really feel like talking about it.”

“But you did bring it up, so now you have to give us the details,” Fran said.

“No, she doesn’t,” Jaime said, glancing curiously at Fran. “Although, of course, we’d very much like to hear them, if you want to tell us.”

But Audrey was looking at Fran, frowning. “Fran, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, every time Coop’s name comes up—especially in connection with me—you start acting weird,” Audrey said.

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do. First, you told me he was gay. Then you basically told me he was a male slut. Then you insisted that he and I would have nothing in common. And now you look completely pissed off,” Audrey said.

“I’m not pissed off. I just don’t know why you’ve never mentioned this fling before,” Fran said. Her face flooded with color, and she looked away.

“Do you have feelings for Coop?” Audrey asked quietly.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“I’ve wondered whether you might have a crush on him,” Audrey said.

“Yeah, I actually wondered about that, too,” Jaime interjected.

“You did? You both thought that?” Fran asked.

Jaime nodded. “You get really animated when he’s around.”

“Oh, God,” Fran said. Her cheeks flushed. “I do?”

“Yes,” Jaime and Audrey said together.

“Great. That’s just great. I’m officially mortified,” Fran said.

“But is it more than that? More than a crush?” Audrey asked.

Fran didn’t respond. Instead, she sipped her wine, while still staring fixedly at the bread basket.

“Fran?” Audrey said gently. “Is that why you’ve been so against him and me getting together?”

“You’re not together though, are you?” Fran asked. “You said you had a fling. As in past tense.”

Audrey cleared her throat, knowing that what she was about to say might hurt her friend. But she didn’t see any way around it. “Actually, it was in the past. But Coop came to see me recently. I told him that I didn’t think it would work between us. But since that day, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. And I’ve been wondering if I pushed him away because I’ve been afraid.”

“Afraid how?” Jaime asked her.

Audrey lifted one shoulder. “Like I said, I’m bad at relationships. I don’t have a good track record when it comes to picking good guys. But I don’t want to go through life like that, afraid of becoming involved with someone. It’s no way to live,” Audrey said.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Jaime said. She squeezed Audrey’s hand. “You deserve to be happy.”

But Audrey was looking at Fran, who still seemed intent on not making eye contact with her. “What do you think, Fran?”

“Of course I think you deserve to be happy,” Fran said.

“No, I know that. But what if being with Coop is what makes me happy? How do you feel about that?” Audrey asked.

Fran finally looked at her then, and Audrey could see the pain in her friend’s face. “Does he make you happy?”

Audrey nodded. “Yes,” she said simply.

“Then you should be with him,” Fran said. Her eyes glittered with tears.

“Franny, what’s going on?” Audrey asked, leaning forward.

“It’s nothing,” Fran said. “Excuse me.”

Fran got up so quickly her wooden bistro chair nearly toppled over. She fled in the direction of the ladies’ room.

“Should I go after her?” Jaime asked anxiously.

“Give her a minute,” Audrey said, knowing that if it were her, she’d want the chance to compose herself—to get the tears under control, to be able to speak without sobbing—before anyone attempted to comfort her.

The waiter arrived with their first course and cast a concerned look in the direction of Fran’s empty chair.

“It’s okay, she’ll be right back,” Audrey assured him.

“Here we have a nice foie gras with a sour cherry reduction,” the waiter said, setting the three small plates down. He refilled their wineglasses, draining the last of the bottle. “Would you like another bottle?”

“Yes, please,” Audrey and Jaime said together, and then looked at each other and laughed.

“I think tonight the wine counts as medicinal,” Jaime said.

“I agree. Although we may be taking a taxi home,” Audrey said. “Unless we can talk Mark or Will into coming to pick us up.”

The smile vanished from Jaime’s face. “We won’t be calling Mark.”

“Uh-oh,” Audrey said. She realized it was the first time Jaime had ever opened up to her. Maybe they were friends, after all. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s wait until Fran gets back, so I only have to say it once,” Jaime said. “So, you and Coop, huh?”

“Maybe. I don’t know if he’s still interested,” Audrey said.

“I thought you said he wanted to get things started again?”

“He did. But that was a few weeks ago. And I turned him down. I don’t know if he’ll want to give me another chance,” Audrey said.

“Just tell him how you feel,” Jaime said. “Tell him what you told us.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” Audrey said.

“You just said you didn’t want to go through your life being afraid,” Jaime said.

“Baby steps,” Audrey said. “First thing is to identify the problem. Then I’ll work my way up to doing something about it.”

Fran returned to the table at the same time the waiter arrived with their fresh bottle of wine. She sat down and waited for him to open the bottle and depart. Fran’s eyes were red, but she otherwise looked composed. The tears were gone, and she’d freshened her lipstick.

“Sorry about that. You didn’t have to wait for me to eat,” Fran said.

“Are you okay?” Audrey asked.

“I will be.” Fran smiled weakly. “I guess I’m going to have to explain, aren’t I?”

“Only if you want to,” Jaime said. She tasted the foie gras and closed her eyes. “Oh, my God. This is heaven. It’s like meat butter.”

Audrey laughed. “Meat butter. That sounds like something Leland would say.” She sampled her foie gras and sighed happily. “Forget men. Maybe I should focus my attention on mastering charcuterie.” When neither Fran nor Jaime laughed—in fact, they both became unusually quiet, like a pair of hermit crabs snapping back into their shells—Audrey looked at them, bewildered. “Okay, you two. Spill it.”

Jaime drew in a deep breath and put down her fork. “I might as well tell you. Mark and I are getting a divorce. He’s been having an affair with his ex-wife.”

Fran’s mouth gaped open, and Audrey inhaled audibly.

“How did you find out?” Fran asked.

“I found them together at her house,” Jaime said.

“You suspected something was up?” Audrey asked.

“No, I had no idea. I went over to Libby’s house to pick up a school project Emily needed. And I found them there together.” Jaime swallowed hard, but remained composed. “Libby answered the door wearing Mark’s shirt.”

Fran and Audrey both gasped.

“No!” Fran said.

“Are you serious?” Audrey asked.

“Unfortunately, yes, I am serious. I’ve asked Mark to move out, and I’ve already hired a divorce attorney,” Jaime said.

Fran shook her head, looking amazed. “You seem so together.”

“Do I? Well, that’s funny, because I feel like I’m falling apart,” Jaime said. She paused, as a shudder of pain passed over her features. For a moment, Audrey thought Jaime might cry, too, but she took a deep breath and pulled herself together. “I’ve gotten so used to pretending everything’s going to be okay—you know, for the kids’ sake—that maybe I’ve managed to delude myself into believing it.”

Fran put an arm around Jaime’s shoulder and squeezed her.

“You’ll get through this,” Fran said.

“I know. I’m going to be fine. It’s Ava and Logan that I’m worried about. Divorce is so hard on children,” Jaime said. Her voice broke, and she looked near tears again. She held her wineglass out to Audrey. “More Chardonnay, please.”

Audrey poured wine into Jaime’s glass, filling it almost to the top. Jaime smiled weakly.

“Is there any chance you and Mark can work things out?” Audrey said, wondering if she would be able to forgive a straying husband.

“Could you?” Jaime asked, echoing Audrey’s thoughts.

“To be honest, I don’t know. But some couples manage to get past affairs,” Audrey said.

The foie gras was so excellent that despite the difficult conversation, all three managed to clean their plates. The waiter whisked away the empty dishes. If he noticed how traumatized first Fran, and now Jaime, looked, he was tactful enough not to say anything.

Once the waiter had departed, Jaime leaned forward to answer Audrey’s question. “I might be able to forgive a one-night stand. Something that happened while he was drunk and out of town. But a long-term affair with his ex-wife?” Jaime shrugged helplessly. “I don’t see how we get past that. I could never trust him again. And it’s not like he can cut off contact with Libby, even if he wanted to. There’s Emily. They’ll always be connected through her.”

“The same way you’ll always be connected to Mark through Ava and Logan,” Audrey said.

“And to Libby, too. Don’t forget, her daughter is Ava and Logan’s sister. It’s such a mess,” Jaime said. She shook her head. “I’ve always hated the term divorcée. It makes my skin crawl. But that’s what I’ll be from now on—a divorcée.”

“I may be right there with you,” Fran said.

“Are you still thinking about leaving Will?” Audrey asked. She tried hard to keep all judgment out of her voice, but it was difficult.

“No. But now he’s thinking of leaving me,” Fran said. She smiled without humor. “This is quite the night for bombshells.”

Audrey and Jaime stared at Fran.

“Why would Will leave you? He adores you,” Jaime said.

“He used to adore me,” Fran corrected her. “Now he can barely stand to look at me.”

“What happened?” Audrey asked.

They were interrupted again by the appearance of the waiter with their second course.

“Seared diver scallops in a blood-orange sauce,” the waiter said, setting down the three small plates.

“Oh, yum, I love scallops,” Fran said. “I wish I was the sort of person who stopped eating when they’re in a crisis. I swear I just get hungrier. I’ve put on seven pounds in the past three weeks.”

“Fran, stop stalling and tell us what’s going on,” Audrey said.

“Oh, my God, you have to try this,” Fran said, infuriatingly. She pointed to her scallops with her fork.

Audrey sighed, but took a bite. “Wow,” she said, as the flavors exploded in her mouth. The smooth buttery scallop, chased by the bold citrus of the oranges.

“I know, right?” Fran said. Then, catching Audrey’s look, she said, “Okay, fine. I guess Coop will probably tell you anyway, so you might as well hear it from me.”

Audrey felt a shiver of misapprehension. That sounded ominous. Had something happened between Fran and Coop? And suddenly Audrey wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear what Fran was about to say.

“Tell me what?” Audrey asked cautiously.

“I pretty much threw myself at Coop,” Fran said flatly. “And he turned me down, so nothing happened. But Will found out about it. And, as you can imagine, he’s furious.”

Audrey felt like she’d spent the entire night staring open-mouthed at her friends, and now found herself gaping once again, this time at Fran. Jaime was staring at Fran, too, although her eyes were narrowed.

“You cheated on Will?” Jaime asked. There was a sharp edge to her voice. Audrey realized that Jaime was probably not in a forgiving mood when it came to infidelity at the moment.

“Actually, I’m only guilty of attempted adultery. Like I said, Coop turned me down,” Fran said. “And between the humiliation of being rejected and my husband threatening to leave me, I think I’ve been punished enough.”

“Sorry,” Jaime said quietly. “I didn’t mean to sound judgy.”

“No, I deserve your judgment. I would judge me, too,” Fran said. She pushed her curls back from her face and sighed unhappily.

“How did Will find out?” Audrey asked.

“Believe it or not, he followed me to Coop’s apartment,” Fran said.

“Why?” Audrey asked.

“He wanted to find out if I was having an affair. If that’s the reason why I told him I wanted to separate,” Fran said.

“Was it?” Audrey asked.

“Well, I wasn’t having an affair, so technically no. But I had convinced myself that I was in love with Coop. That I would be happier with him than I could ever be with Will. So I guess I was cheating on him emotionally, in a way.”

“Do you still want to leave Will?” Jaime asked.

Fran shook her head. “When Coop turned me down, it was like I suddenly woke up to reality for the first time in months. I realized I was pretending this entire relationship was taking place—or about to take place—when it couldn’t have been further from the truth. And I finally saw how stupid, how incredibly stupid, I’d been. I don’t want to lose Will. I was just bored and looking for some excitement. I was such an idiot.”

“But you didn’t actually cheat,” Audrey said.

“Not for lack of trying,” Fran said.

“But it’s really not the same thing,” Jaime said. “Trust me. There’s a big difference between finding out your spouse is interested in someone else and finding out that they’ve slept with them.”

“I don’t know if Will’s going to be able to forgive me after everything I’ve put him through,” Fran said sadly.

“Your marriage is stronger than that,” Jaime said.

“You just said that you wouldn’t be able to forgive Mark,” Fran said.

“Did you miss the part where I said he was sleeping with his ex-wife? That’s a little different than having a crush on someone.”

“And did you miss the part where I said I asked Will for a separation and then tried to seduce Coop?” Fran asked. She glanced at Audrey, as if suddenly concerned how this would go over. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were involved with him.”

“I know. Don’t worry,” Audrey said. She sighed and sipped her wine. “Wow, we are in good form tonight. Is it the curse of the Table for Seven Club? Two marriages on the rocks, one floundering romance, and one … well, one Leland.” Audrey felt a pang of sadness.

“The dinner party club had nothing to do with it. Mark didn’t screw around with his bitch of an ex-wife because of our dinner party club,” Jaime said.

Fran’s eyes widened and she gave a brief clap. “Bravo. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before. I’m impressed.”

“I swear all the time,” Jaime said.

The other two looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“In my head,” she clarified. “Hey, I have two children under the age of four. My life is G-rated.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s why my husband decided he needed to f*ck someone else.”

The waiter appeared at just that moment with the next tray of small plates. At Jaime’s words, he stopped dead and looked horrified.

“Oh. Sorry,” Jaime mumbled.

“This is a therapy group. We’re working out some anger issues,” Fran explained.

“Very good,” the waiter said, somewhat stiffly. Jaime giggled and then coughed to cover it up.

“What are we having next?” Audrey asked the waiter.

“A vegetable terrine,” the waiter said, setting down the plates. Each contained a pâté, made up of three layers—one red, one green, one white. Then he checked the bottle of wine, and distributed the remnants among the three glasses. “Would you like another bottle of wine?”

“Yes,” all three women said at once. And then they started laughing. It was the sort of half-drunk, hysterical laughter that once begun is hard to stop. The waiter made a hasty retreat, muttering that he would bring them another bottle immediately. This just made the three laugh even more, until Jaime had a coughing fit and Audrey’s eyes began to tear up.

“We,” Fran said, “are officially a mess.”

“To us,” Audrey said, raising her glass.

“To us,” the others said, and they clinked their glasses together before feasting on the vegetable terrine.



JAIME WAS LYING IN bed, reading her latest book club selection, when Mark came in. His hair was ruffled and he looked unusually somber.

“Are you sure about this?” Mark asked.

He’d already carried out three suitcases of belongings. Only a garment bag with his suits was left, slung over the back of a linen upholstered wing chair. Jaime had asked him to move out all of his things after the children had gone to sleep. She had told them that Daddy would be living somewhere else from now on—Mark had taken out a lease on a sterile furnished condo with a view of a golf course—but she thought that actually seeing him move his belongings out of their house would be more traumatic for them. Maybe she was deluding herself, but the one thing she was slowly learning through this mess was to trust her instincts.

Jaime put her book down and looked at Mark.

“About your moving out?” she asked. He nodded. “Yes, I think it’s for the best.”

Jaime realized she sounded stiff and cold. But it wasn’t like there was a Martha Stewart guide on how to make separating from your cheating bastard of a husband a Good Thing. And besides, trying to create the perfect life had not exactly paid off for her so far. Why not add a bit of her own emotional mess to the pile?

“I’d be willing to go to marriage therapy,” Mark said.

Jaime stared at him, wondering if he had any idea how obnoxious he sounded. As though consenting to marital therapy was some huge favor he was willing to throw her way.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” Jaime said.

“But what about Logan and Ava?”

“What about them?”

Mark sighed. “Do you really think splitting up our family is in their best interest?”

“Did you think of that when you were f*cking Libby?” Jaime asked.

Mark flinched at the expletive, which gave Jaime a rush of pleasure. Good, she thought. An ugly act deserves an ugly word.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Mark said. “It was a mistake. An enormous mistake.”

“Are you apologizing?” Jaime asked.

“Yes, of course,” Mark said.

“Because it didn’t sound like an apology. ‘It was a mistake’ is not the same thing as ‘I’m sorry.’ Which you have yet to say to me.”

Mark walked over to where Jaime lay in the bed, the blankets pulled around her like armor, and sat down on the edge of the mattress. He took her hands in his and looked at her earnestly.

“Jaime. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry about everything. If I could go back and undo it, I would. I love you. I love Logan and Ava. I love our life together,” Mark said, his tone humble and his expression earnest. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Tears flooded Jaime’s eyes, hot and salty.

“No,” she said, her voice harsh. “What I want is for none of this to ever have happened. And unless you are capable of building a time machine, so that you can go back and not have an affair, then we are done. Over. Through. And don’t you dare throw our children’s happiness at me. If you cared about them, if you cared about me, you would never have done this in the first place.”

Mark looked anguished. “I know how stupid I was. But please give me another chance. I won’t bring up the kids if you don’t want me to, but please give me another chance for us. For our family.”

He looked at her pleadingly. And for a moment, Jaime wondered if she was doing the right thing. Divorce was hard on everyone, especially the children. It was messy and expensive and often destructive. And Mark had offered to go to marital counseling, which was completely unexpected. It was the sort of thing he’d always scoffed at in the past.

And yet … and yet. As Jaime looked at this man, her husband, she realized that nothing would ever be the same between them again. Even if they went to counseling, even if she found a way to forgive him—something she wasn’t at all sure she’d be able to do—she’d always be wondering in the back of her mind if he was going to do it again.

“I’m sorry, Mark,” she said, her voice as gentle as his had been a few moments earlier. “Our marriage is over. But I would really like to work with you to find a way to divorce that doesn’t cause any extra trauma to our children.”

Mark’s face hardened. Jaime recognized the stony fix of his features; it was exactly how he had looked every time she had offered an opinion, or—even worse—a criticism of his relationship with Emily.

“Fine,” he said, standing abruptly. Mark turned and picked up his garment bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “If that’s what you want.”

“None of this is what I wanted,” Jaime said.

“You know, you aren’t exactly blameless yourself.”

Jaime’s mouth fell open. “Are you saying it’s my fault you had an affair?”

“There were a lot of problems in our marriage.”

“Like what?”

“Your attitude toward Emily, for one.”

“I love Emily,” Jaime said.

“You’ve always resented her. Do you think I didn’t notice?”

“That’s not true. I resented the fact that you have never invested as much time in Ava and Logan, but that has nothing to do with my feelings toward Em,” Jaime insisted.

“Bullshit,” Mark said. “And do you think it’s easy being married to someone who expects—no, demands—perfection at all times? The house, the kids, me—we all have to live up to your unrealistic expectations. People aren’t perfect. Kitchens get messy. Kids spill juice. Husbands make mistakes.”

Jaime gaped at Mark for a few beats, before being able to splutter, “That’s not what this is about! This isn’t about my mistakes—it’s about yours!”

“They’re not unconnected,” Mark said.

“That’s just a typical lawyer’s argument. You can’t win the argument, so reframe it. Well, I’m not playing this game with you anymore. Just go. Seriously. Leave,” Jaime said, hurling the words at him.

But long after Mark left, and Jaime lay there, listening to the house vibrate with silence, she thought of what he’d said to her. If that’s what you want.

“None of this is what I wanted,” Jaime said again, her mouth twisting. “None of this.”



WHEN FRAN ASKED WILL to have lunch with her, she half-expected him to say no. He’d been icily distant for weeks, leaving rooms when she entered, giving curt answers to any questions she posed to him, continuing to sleep on the sofa.

“This can’t go on,” Fran finally said to him one evening, after the girls were in bed. “I found Rory sleepwalking again. And Iris has been having stomach pains. You and I need to sit down and talk. We need to figure things out.”

Will had hesitated, but finally nodded. “Do you want to do this now?” he asked.

Fran felt a stab of fear. It was one thing to worry that Will might leave her; it was another thing to get confirmation.

“No,” she’d said, chickening out. “I’m too tired right now. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Over lunch. I know. Let’s go to the Café Rouge.” It was a small French bistro, a favorite locale for their rare date nights. Fran held her breath, waiting for Will’s answer.

But just when Fran was sure Will was going to refuse, he’d shrugged and given a stiff half-nod, and said, “Sure. I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”

And then he’d retired to his couch-bed and ignored her for the rest of the night.

Fran agonized over what to wear. She wanted to look pretty, but—considering the circumstances of their estrangement—didn’t want to look too suggestive. Excessive cleavage might just remind Will that she’d thrown herself at his best friend. But she also didn’t want to show up in her work scrubs. Fran finally decided on her favorite dark rinse jeans and a peacock blue cashmere sweater that Will had given to her for Christmas a few years ago, which she packed in a bag, so she could change at work.

She arrived at the Café Rouge first. The waiter recognized her from their previous visits and seated her in a private booth, near the back of the restaurant.

“Would you like anything to drink while you wait for your husband?” the waiter asked.

Fran hesitated. She had a feeling that if she ordered wine, she’d end up glugging down too much, and right now she needed to keep a clear head.

“Iced tea, please,” she said.

The waiter brought her the tea, and Fran had nearly emptied the entire glass before Will arrived, looking flustered.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he said, sliding into the booth across from her. “There was a meeting at work that ran way over, and I couldn’t get away.”

“It’s fine,” Fran said, although the wait had been agonizing. For a while, she’d wondered if he was going to stand her up.

Will picked up his menu and scanned it. “What are you having? I’ve never had lunch here before.”

“I haven’t, either,” Fran said. “But I thought the quiche sounded good. Roasted red pepper and feta.”

Will nodded. “I think I’ll have the steak sandwich with pommes frites.”

“That sounds perfect. I’ll have the same thing,” she said, putting down her menu.

The waiter appeared and took their order for the steak sandwiches. They waited in silence while the waiter went to get another iced tea for Fran and a Coke for Will.

When they both had their drinks in front of them, Fran took a deep, shaky breath, and said, “I’m so sorry.”

Will nodded, staring down at his Coke. “I know you are,” he said. “And I appreciate that.”

Fran felt a rush of hope. “Can you forgive me?” she asked.

Will looked up at her, and the expression Fran saw there caused her blooming hope to wither and blow into dust. Even despite the lack of passion in their relationship, she’d always known Will adored her. It had shone from him, even when he was exasperated or under the weather. But now, as he looked at her, his eyes were blank.

“I don’t know if I can,” Will said.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but Fran blinked, determined not to fall apart. Look at Jaime, she thought. She had kicked Mark out of the house, hired a divorce attorney and a part-time nanny, and next week was starting back at the realty office where she’d worked before her marriage. And despite all of these seismic changes, Jaime was taking the whole thing in stride. No, it was more than that—she seemed to be coming into her own, both toughening up and relaxing the over-the-top expectations she’d always put on herself. When Fran had stopped by Jaime’s house for a glass of wine a few nights earlier, there had actually been dirty dishes in the sink.

“Dirty dishes?” Fran had said, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. “I think you’re going to have to turn your Little Miss Perfect badge in.”

Jaime had shrugged, lifted her glass of wine in a toast, and said, “I think I can live with that.”

“That’s my girl!” Fran had said.

There was the occasional crack in this tough facade. That same night, Jaime had gotten a little weepy when she reported Logan’s offhand comment about seeing Emily’s mom when he was visiting his dad.

“I guess they’re still seeing each other. It’s like he can just slide from one marriage to the next, and then back again,” Jaime had said.

“You know you’re better off without him,” Fran said.

Jaime shrugged. “No doubt. But it’s still disturbing. It’s like he wants to pretend our marriage never took place, and just go back to the way things were. Mark, Libby, and Emily. The perfect little family.”

“Except that he can’t erase it. There’s Ava and Logan now.”

“That’s the one good thing to come out of this mess. Mark’s actually spending more time with them, now that he has to plan when he sees them.” Jaime sighed, and tossed her long hair back over her shoulders. “And he is a good dad.”

“When he’s not f*cking his ex-wife,” Fran amended.

“Exactly,” Jaime said, and they’d both laughed.

Now, sitting across the table from Will, wondering if her marriage was truly over, Fran hoped that she could channel some of Jaime’s bravado.

“The thing is … I didn’t actually cheat on you,” she said.

Will’s face hardened. “Not for lack of trying,” he said, the words a whiplash.

Fran held up her hands in a sign of surrender. “Granted. And I was completely wrong to do what I did. And if it makes you feel any better, I made an absolute fool of myself.”

“No, it doesn’t really.”

Fran suppressed the urge to sigh. “What I’m trying to say is that in the end, nothing happened. I didn’t have an affair.”

“But you wanted to,” Will said.

Fran nodded. “Yes,” she said. There was no point denying it. That was exactly what happened. She had wanted to have an affair. In a sense, it had been an emotional affair, even if Coop hadn’t been an active participant, simply by the amount of emotion and energy she’d put into thinking about him. She’d been ready to walk out on her marriage, on her family for him. “I am very sorry. I would promise that it will never happen again, but I know my word isn’t worth much to you right now.”

“No, it’s not.”

“But I love you. Please tell me we can fix this,” Fran said. Tears filled her eyes again, and this time she couldn’t blink them back. They welled up and spilled over her lashes.

Will looked at her and then down at his Coke.

“It’s not like I’m completely blameless. You were unhappy for a long time. I should have seen that,” Will said.

“I should have talked to you about it,” Fran said.

“And I should have been investing more energy into our marriage,” Will said. “If I’d spent as much time working on us as I spend on my combat bots, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Oh, God, no, that would be annoying,” Fran blurted out. Then she gave a shaky laugh while wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I couldn’t stand that much quality couple time.”

A corner of Will’s mouth turned up. “Okay, half as much time.”

“Maybe a quarter,” Fran compromised.

“I don’t spend that much time working on the bots,” Will protested.

“Will. You have a disturbingly large army of combat robots in our garage. All of which you’ve built by hand,” Fran said.

“Maybe it’s time for a new hobby,” Will said.

“No … no. You just need to be you,” Fran said.

She was about to reach across the table, to put her hand on his, but the waiter chose that moment to arrive with their steak sandwiches. Fran leaned back to make room for the plates, and then there was an extended wait while the server asked if they wanted fresh ground pepper on their sandwiches (an odd question, Fran thought, considering they hadn’t yet tasted them), and if they needed anything else. When he finally accepted that they were fine and departed, Will seemed distant again. He dipped a pomme frite in the small dish of ketchup, and popped it in his mouth. He had always been a fries-first kind of a guy, Fran thought. She liked to eat her food together, alternating bites of sandwich and fries, while Will would often polish off entire side dishes before moving on to the entrée. In another, less strained time, she would have remarked upon this to him, and he would pretend that it was a criticism and act offended, all the while enjoying there was someone who cared enough to notice his idiosyncrasies.

Instead, she said, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“What do you think about seeing a marriage counselor?” Will asked carefully, not looking up from his lunch.

“Okay,” Fran said, keeping her voice neutral. The truth was she hated therapy, and couples therapy in particular. “Do you think we need one?”

Will looked up at her. “Well, yeah. Don’t you?”

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” Fran said quickly. “But I just sort of hoped we could put this behind us. That we could move forward, with the understanding that I’ll have to earn your trust again.”

“And then what? What if six months from now, you feel like leaving again?”

Fran shook her head vehemently. “No. That was a terrible idea. Childish. I was just playing out this stupid fantasy I had of a different life.”

“Well, that happened for a reason,” Will said. “There must be something missing in your life that you were trying to fix.”

Fran bit into her steak sandwich, quickly leaning forward so that the juices wouldn’t drip onto her sweater. She barely tasted the food, but wanted a minute to think. Her plan for this lunch had been to throw herself on Will’s mercy and beg for a second chance. But, at the same time, she knew he was right—she had been unhappy. That was something that probably should be addressed if they were to move on.

“I think what I was feeling—what I’ve been feeling for a long time—is that my entire life had become about working, and helping the kids with homework, and doing laundry. There hasn’t been any excitement, any passion. Nothing to look forward to, other than more of the same,” Fran said.

Will sat up, his back stiffening. “I work hard, too. And I do a lot to help out around the house,” he said.

“I know. It isn’t a contest. But I thought you wanted to know what I’ve been missing.”

“Which is what?”

“This,” Fran said, gesturing to the restaurant. “This is the first time we’ve had lunch together at a nice restaurant, just the two of us, in ages. And it took a crisis to get us here. I want to have date nights. I want to go on a vacation, just the two of us.”

“You know money has been tight,” Mark said.

“I know. I’m not saying it has to be all filet mignon and trips to Paris. We could go have a picnic on the beach, for all I care,” Fran said.

“The problem with that is that it always sounds good in theory, but then sand gets in the food. And flocks of seagulls end up stalking you for leftovers,” Will said.

Fran stared at him. “Really?”

“Sorry,” Will said. “No, I do hear you. You want romance.”

“I want you,” Fran said. This time she did lean over the table and put her hand on his arm. “I want to spend time where it’s just you and me. Time apart from the kids, and the household chores, and paying the bills, and the monotony of everyday life.”

Will nodded. “Okay,” he said. “That’s something we can definitely work on.”

Tears filled Fran’s eyes yet again. “Really?” she said. “You’re not going to leave me, then?”

Will put his hand on top of Fran’s. And this time, when he looked at her, it was the way he used to. With love.

“Fran,” he said gently. “You’re my life. You and the girls. I couldn’t live without you.”

“I can’t live without you, either,” Fran said, now full-on blubbering. She used the crisp white napkin to wipe at her eyes and nose, while wondering, What is it with me and crying in restaurants lately? She held up one hand to Will, and with the other dug in her purse for her compact. “Wait, don’t look at me. I know I’m all red and splotchy.”

“You are. You’re red, and splotchy, and you’re snotty, too,” Will said. He smiled at her, and Fran wondered if his eyes were extra shiny because he was tearing up, too. “But I love you anyway.”

“You do?” she sniffled.

“I do,” he said, and he lifted her hand and kissed it.



THE SUN WAS SETTING in ribbons of pink and orange as Coop steered his boat back toward the dock. It had been a good day out; he’d caught three red snapper early, which were now in the cooler, and then had spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the sun with a beer, Bear at his side, contemplating his life. He had spent most of his adulthood doing exactly what he wanted, when he wanted. He’d dated more than his share of beautiful women, had professional success in a job he enjoyed, and had the love of a good dog.

This introspection led him to an inevitable conclusion: He had been the world’s biggest schmuck.

He was forty-six years old, well past the age when most men married, had kids, bought a house. They carved turkeys at Thanksgiving and decorated Christmas trees and hid chocolate eggs for Easter egg hunts. They watched bad sitcoms tucked up on the couch with their wives’ feet on their laps. They slowly lost the hair on their heads, and grew it back in their noses and ears, and displayed the pottery pencil holders their kids made them for Father’s Day on their desks. Was it boring and unoriginal and suburban at times? Undoubtedly. But it was a life full of textures and memories, and—above all—a life filled with love.

That was the sort of life he wanted to have with Audrey, he thought. Unfortunately, she was even more damaged than he was. She was so hung up on her late marriage, she had yet to realize that her life was still going on.

“But what can I do? I can’t force her to be with me,” Coop said out loud.

Bear looked at him, adopted the pose of the concerned listener—his brown furry head cocked to one side, his eyes fixed on Coop.

“I know what you’d say if you could talk,” Coop said. “You’d say I didn’t exactly go all out trying to win her over. I mean, I did tell her I love her. But I didn’t make the big gesture. I didn’t hire a sky writer or propose during a nationally televised sporting event. I didn’t even bring her flowers.”

Bear’s tongue unfurled from his mouth, and he began to pant.

“Yeah, I know. Audrey doesn’t seem like the big gesture type. In fact, I’m pretty she she’d think sky writing was tacky. But most women like to be wooed, right? It just seems like there’s a fine line between continuing to woo a woman who’s turned you down cold—twice, no less—and stalking,” Coop continued.

Bear yawned and lay down on the padded boat seat, his head resting on his paws.

“I hear you, buddy. I’m boring myself. And I’m also questioning my sanity, considering I’m looking for love advice from a dog.” The dock came into view, and Coop drove slowly toward it, obeying the speed law and staying in the designated lane for boat traffic.

He basically had two choices. He could either take one more run at Audrey—and this time with a little more flair than just barging in on her at work and blurting out that he was in love with her—or let it go and move on. The first option was scary. But the second was worse.

“I guess I’ll go with the big gesture,” Coop said, although by now Bear was asleep, snoring softly, and thus unable to offer any more canine advice.

The question remained: What should he do? The person he would normally have gone to for advice was Fran, but that was out of the question for obvious reasons. He hadn’t even been able to bring himself to talk to Will since the night Franny had come over and offered herself up to him. There was no way Will would find out about it—he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him, and he sincerely doubted Fran ever would, either—but Coop still felt guilty about it. He must have led Fran on without realizing he was doing it. Either that, or he just oozed sex appeal, which, now that he thought about it, was hardly his fault.

Where is all of this excessive, out-of-my-control sex appeal when it comes to Audrey? Or is she somehow impervious to it? Coop wondered.

Coop pulled up to the dock, cut his motor, and deftly jumped out of the boat to moor it to the dock. There were quite a few people milling around, who, like him, were coming back from late afternoon tours. Coop was too busy settling in his boat to pay them any attention.

“Hi,” a voice said.

Coop looked up. He blinked. Audrey was standing there, a large black scarf wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the evening chill. She was holding a leash, at the other end of which was a familiar-looking bulldog.

“Nice dog,” Coop said.

Bear jumped out of the boat, padded over to the bulldog, and gave him a thorough sniffing over, which the bulldog tolerated amicably.

“This is Winston,” Audrey said. “He belonged to Leland.”

“How did you end up with him?”

“Neither of Leland’s sons could take him, so I offered. I’d been thinking about getting a dog, anyway. And he’s good company, although he has an awful snoring problem.”

“And you just happen to be out taking Winston for a walk on the dock?”

“No.” Audrey hesitated. “I was looking for you.”

“How did you know where to find me?” Coop asked.

“I asked the manager at your apartment building. Fred, right? Fred said that this is where you keep your boat,” Audrey said. She frowned. “Actually, you should probably have a talk with him about it. He really shouldn’t give out information about tenants to complete strangers.”

Coop made a mental note to give Fred a very large tip at Christmas.

“I’ll do that,” he said. “But how did you know what time I’d be here? I had no idea when I was coming in, so there’s no way Fred would know.”

“I’ve been waiting.”

“For how long?”

“A while.”

“A long while?” Coop pressed. Happiness began unfurling inside of him.

“Define long.”

“Hours?”

“Look, why does it matter?” Audrey asked. She was starting to look flustered, and she drew her black scarf around her.

“It’s the big gesture,” Coop said. “Waiting on the dock for a sailor’s return.” He grinned cheekily. “It’s almost poetic.”

“And I’m starting to regret it,” Audrey said, rolling her eyes. She pointed over her shoulder. “Maybe I should leave you and your ego alone?”

“No, don’t do that,” Coop said, stepping closer to Audrey. “I was just coming to find you.”

Her eyes were large and, in the waning light, so dark they almost looked black. Coop brushed her hair back from her cheek, and tucked it behind her ear. He took it as a good sign that she didn’t bat his hand away.

“You were?” she asked softly.

Coop nodded. “I was coming to make the big gesture. It was going to either sweep you off your feet or get me arrested for stalking.”

Audrey’s lips twitched. “What was this big gesture?”

“I have no idea. I was going to improvise on my way over to your place,” Coop said.

“Wow. That’s really not at all impressive,” Audrey said.

“No, it was going to be good. Like, climbing-up-the-side-of-your-building-with-a-bouquet-of-roses good,” Coop said.

“That would probably land you in the hospital with a broken back,” Audrey said.

“I see your point. Maybe I would have thrown stones at your window, and then when you came out, serenaded you,” Coop suggested. He took another step closer to Audrey and put both hands on her waist.

“Can you sing?”

“Not at all.”

“Hmm.”

“I think you should be more supportive of my big romantic gesture,” Coop said, leaning forward, so that his nose was only inches away from hers. Her cheeks were pink from the cool air and her lashes were very long.

“I think you should come up with a better idea.”

“I could recite poetry. ‘She walks in beauty like the night.’ That sort of thing.”

“Mmm, I like that,” Audrey said. “How does the rest of it go?”

Coop hesitated. “Actually, I have no idea.”

Audrey laughed. Coop leaned forward and kissed her. He felt Audrey relax into his arms, warm and light, a perfect fit. After a long, long time, he leaned back and looked down at her.

“Give me some time, and I’ll come up with something better,” he said. “Wait, I know. How about a trip to Paris?”

“I was going to suggest a bottle of wine and a nice dinner of whatever you caught out there today. But now that Paris is on the table, maybe I should set my standards higher,” Audrey said, grinning up at him.

“You got it,” Coop said. “All of it.”