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Sondra whisked Leo and Dorothy quickly through the party to say hello and curtsy sweetly at the guests. Alice found herself wanting to follow them into their bedrooms and curl up under the covers, their warm little bodies pressed against hers, but she had put on the flamingo dress, and it was her party, and she was not allowed to leave. Sam hadn’t called her back yet, and Alice was starting to panic. Leonard had said it was a chute, a ramp, a slide forward, and this was where she landed. Whatever she’d done, whatever decisions she’d made, they had led her here. Alice was making lists in her head, trying to piece together everything that had happened in between. The marriage, obviously, and the children. But Alice had still gone to art school—there were projects of hers hanging on the walls—and she still loved all the same things. The fridge was full of Fairway avgolemono and Zabar’s challah and lox from Murray’s, and her favorite books were still on the shelf, in the editions she’d always had. Alice smiled at everyone as they came into the apartment, feeling like a festive amnesiac. As long as no one asked her any direct, meaningful questions, she would be fine. Having been to many parties just like this one at the homes of Belvedere parents, Alice actually thought there was a good chance she could get through it talking about which of the catered snacks were the most delicious and asking people follow-up questions once they mentioned that they were in the middle of a home renovation.
The apartment filled promptly—coats were hung on proper hangers on a long metal rack in the large foyer, and caterers crisscrossed the living room carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres. The living room was full of well-dressed people, and music that Alice loved was playing from hidden speakers she didn’t know how to operate. The preppiest parents stayed in a tight knot, only as many as would fit on a sailboat. Same as it ever was.
Tommy was a good host—Alice watched him circulate around the room. He touched women gently on their backs, or on their shoulders, in a way that was neither lecherous nor patronizing. It seemed friendly, if impersonal, like someone running for office. Alice caught his eye from across the room, and he fluttered his eyelashes. Was this what she had wanted? It was something she had thought about, though Alice scarcely wanted to admit it to herself. She had been to these parties and watched the rich hosts swan around the room, full of confidence built on tennis courts and ski slopes, doing everything generously because they had so much to give. She had stared at these marriages, she had gossiped about these marriages, she had made fun of these marriages. But the way Tommy was looking at her wasn’t a joke, and the way Alice felt wasn’t a joke, either. It almost felt—to jump from time travel to fantasy, which were, after all, kissing cousins—like the part of a fairy tale where a princess finds herself falling under a magic spell and must compel herself to stay awake. Alice could see how easy it would be to sink in.
“This is a very nice party,” Alice said to one of the caterers, and plucked a glass of champagne off their tray. “Thank you.” The caterer nodded and turned to the next guest.
The jogger made eye contact with Alice from the doorway, and as soon as she’d shaken off her coat, she began to hustle across the room. Alice had chosen a spot near the window with the bookshelves behind her, which meant that she was somewhat difficult to approach, as you had to go around the sofa one way or the other, and if you chose the wrong direction, you would have to squeeze past people’s knees between the couch and the coffee table or shimmy around a side table and avoid knocking over a lamp.
Mary-Catherine-Elizabeth had excellent hamstrings and could high-step over anything. She had crossed the room in a minute flat, and picked up a tiny lobster roll on the way. Alice watched as Mary-Catherine-Elizabeth folded the whole thing into her mouth, stretching her lips wide enough that her fingers wouldn’t muss her lipstick.
“Excuse me,” Alice said when Mary-Catherine-Elizabeth was in close range. She was still chewing and stuck a finger in the air, telling Alice to wait, but Alice was already ducking around the skinny side of the couch, and snaked her way down the line of legs in front of the couch, the feathers of her skirt tickling everyone’s ankles.
There was a short line for the bathroom. Alice smiled at all the women who were smiling at her, which was everyone. The men stood in a solid clump in the foyer—dressed uniformly in button-down shirts, half of them tucked and half of them not. The untucked dads were the wild ones, who didn’t work in finance and were instead lawyers, or came from families with enough generational wealth that they didn’t need to work at all, a group that further divided into a pool of documentarians who made movies about human trafficking and a pool of greedy, power-hungry drug addicts who just wanted to make their daddies proud. Alice got a few nods and one wave. They didn’t seem to want to talk to her any more than she wanted to talk to them. Tommy was in a small group of men standing by the bar, his hand clamped on another man’s shoulder. Was that how this worked, couples just looked at each other from across the room, and then maybe had sex later, knowing that they’d each probably had a moment’s excitement talking to other people? Alice looked at her phone, willing Sam to call her back. Was Sam coming? She felt too embarrassed to ask Tommy.
Alice bumped into one of the cater waiters, nearly sending a whole tray of tiny quiches to the rug. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Emily.”
Emily straightened up, blushing. “No, I’m so sorry, I absolutely just walked into you.”
“No, I walked into you! What are you doing here?” Alice and Emily flattened themselves against the wall of the hallway to let other waiters get by.
“I’m surprised you remember my name, um, wow, I don’t know, you know, the catering is just a side-hustle kind of thing. I’m still at Belvedere.” Emily’s cheeks were magenta.
“Totally,” Alice said. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. I’m just happy to see you! How’s Melinda?”
Emily drew her chin back. “Melinda? Fine, I assume? She’s been retired for, like, two years, I think? You interviewed with Patricia when you came in with Dorothy, I remember.”
“Of course,” Alice said. “Must have slipped my mind. And how are you? How’s Ray?” Alice felt high—it was obvious that in this life, in this timeline, in this reality, she shouldn’t know anything about Emily’s private life. She would barely know Emily at all! But Alice was desperate for a real conversation.
It wasn’t possible for Emily’s face to contort or purple any more, or she would have burst into flames. “I’m fine. Ray’s fine? Did we talk about Ray for some reason? Anyway, I need to get these quiches to all your guests.” Emily skidded her back along the wall to get around Alice, who had to move out of the way of the large silver tray. The Talking Heads were playing on the invisible speakers—This is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife. The bathroom door opened, finally, and Sam stepped out.
Alice gasped, so relieved. She threw her arms around Sam’s neck and pulled her close for a hug before being stopped by the beach-ball-sized bump in between them. Alice looked down at Sam’s belly.
“Oh, wow, sorry,” she said.
Sam rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said. “It was a planned pregnancy.”
Alice grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled her down the hall into her bedroom, leaving stray flamingo feathers in their wake.
41
Sam sat down on the bed without waiting to be asked and kicked off her shoes.
“My feet are so swollen, it’s like trying to walk on two meatballs.” Sam hoisted one of her feet on top of the opposite knee and began to rub.