“I don’t know,” he said. “I was just thinking, you know, if you moved in, we could get a dog, maybe? My friend from college just adopted this Siberian husky, it’s so badass. It looks like a wolf.”
“So, you want us to move in together just to get a dog?” Alice was trolling him—Matt was trying. She could see it, still, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to step out of the oncoming traffic or just let it flatten her. Who knew how she would feel once he actually said the words? Maybe it would feel different than she thought it would, and maybe it would feel good knowing that someone once had wanted to ask her the question, because maybe no one else ever would.
Matt used the corner of his napkin to dab his forehead. He was beginning to look ill.
The server came back and asked if they knew what they’d like, and then launched into a ten-minute explanation of the menu. Alice and Matt both listened and nodded. When he was done, Alice asked where the bathroom was, and walked down another pitch-black hallway to an unmarked door that led to a large communal sink surrounded by stalls. It felt like a bunker, like she was now deep underground. She splashed water on her face and a woman appeared out of nowhere to hand her a towel.
“This would be a great place to murder someone,” Alice said. The woman recoiled. “I’m sorry, it’s really nice, it’s just so dark. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. My boyfriend is going to propose, I think.”
The woman smiled nervously, perhaps weighing exactly how likely it was that Alice was actually a murderer.
“Anyway, thank you,” Alice said. She pulled two dollars out of her wallet and put them in the woman’s tip jar.
Back upstairs, they ordered, then ate. Each dish tasted like it had taken a very, very long time to make. Alice was still hungry. When the table had been cleared, Matt looked up at Alice as she leaned back in her chair. “It’s so good,” she said. “Everything was so good.”
“Okay,” Matt said. The train was leaving the station. He pushed back his chair and bent over slowly, until his hands were on the floor, and then lowered one knee, and then the other. Alice watched in horror as he actually crawled a few steps before straightening his back and scooching forward on his knee. He reached for her hand, and Alice extended it. “Alice Stern,” he began. “Will you order takeout with me and argue about Netflix for the rest of our lives?” Did that even sound good to him? He was still talking. “You are so smart and so funny and, just, really funny, and I want to marry you. Will you marry me?” Had he even mentioned love? Was she funny? What if she wanted to do something other than order takeout and watch television? She had actually thought it was going to be harder to say no. There was a ring in his hand—a beautiful ring that Alice had no interest whatsoever in putting on her finger.
“Matt,” Alice said. She leaned down so that their faces were nearly touching. The restaurant was loud and dark enough that only the people at the closest tables saw what was happening, which made Alice want to go back to the bathroom and apologize again to the woman, and to say, Oh, thank god for this dark, murderous place. “I can’t marry you. I’m so sorry, but I can’t.” He blinked a few times and then pushed back onto his heels and maneuvered awkwardly back into his chair.
“Shit, really?” he said, though his face looked more relaxed. Alice didn’t think he wanted to get married any more than she did. His mother called him on the phone every single day—his older sister did, too. Alice could imagine the pressure on a young, successful man. It was the plot of most novels, wasn’t it? To take a bride? It was the plot of most novels and most people in her socioeconomic stratum: college, job, marriage. Matt was on the tardy side, but still well within normal. Men had more time, of course.
“Really,” Alice said. There was a plate of a mysterious dessert on the table—she hadn’t noticed. It was green and round, wetter than a cake. Flan, maybe, or some sort of pudding. Alice dug in. It tasted like creamed grass. She took another bite. “I think you’ll find the right person. I think it’s great that you want to get married, I do. It’s just not me.”
“There was this girl—this woman—from high school who keeps writing me on Facebook. We went to prom together. She just got divorced.” Matt picked up his spoon and dragged it around the edge of the pudding. “This is kind of weird.”
“I think she sounds perfect.” Alice took one last scoop, straight from the middle, where the grass was deepest. All her life, Alice had wondered if she was doing things wrong, if she was in some way defective, or backward, but maybe it was just that she was exactly like her father, and better off alone. Maybe, she thought, cheering to the notion, her mistake had been assuming that somewhere along the line, everything would fall into place and her life would look just like everyone else’s. At the center of the pudding, hiding, was a dollop of cream. “Ooh, look,” she said. “I won!”
10
As usual, Alice had set up appointments back-to-back all day—there was no way around it. There were too many families on her list to spread them out; it would have taken months. But she did schedule Raphael Joffey as the last child of the day, because that way, if the interview ran long, no one would complain or feel slighted. Alice had also observed over the years that for appointments scheduled in the middle of the day, there was a much higher percentage of absent fathers, whereas if the appointments were either at the very start or end of a day, both parents were more likely to participate.
Tommy hadn’t emailed—it was the wife, of course. The mother. Hannah Joffey. It was always the mothers. There had been no acknowledgment of a personal connection, that Alice was a human whom her husband had once known, and that they had known each other inside these very walls. So many things were automated these days, maybe his wife thought that she was corresponding with a computer, some sort of virtual assistant. Hannah had used the word we, though, and so Alice was expecting all three of them, the whole family. Her office was mostly tidy—after each child and set of parents left, she had a few minutes to finish her notes and put away the puzzles and games and paper and crayons.
Emily knocked on their shared door and then poked her head in from the hallway. Alice had told her the basics (high school friend, big crush, some sloppy make-out sessions, early and devastating heartbreak), which was probably a mistake, because now Emily was too excited.
“They’re here. Want me to bring them in? Or do you want to get them? He’s hot, just so you know. I mean, old. Older than me. I mean, he’s your age. But he’s hot. Would do him, for sure. Okay.” Emily widened her eyes. “Want me to bring them in?”
Alice exhaled. “I’ll get them. You go sit in a corner somewhere and be quiet.” Emily nodded.
Alice was wearing a dress, which she didn’t often do. It was burgundy, vintage, and made for a disco queen. No mother at Belvedere wore anything like it—they all wore the same things, the same brands of jeans, the same brands of shoes, the same workout clothes, the same puffy down coats in winter. Alice wasn’t interested in that. She wanted Tommy to look at her and think, Oh fuck, what did I miss? She wanted that almost as much as she wanted to see him and not have the exact same thought. Alice wanted him to be in a suit, boring, with doughy cheeks and receding hair. He wasn’t anywhere on the internet—Thomas Joffey barely existed, except in the file she held in her hand. Alice smoothed out the skirt of her dress and walked out to the waiting room, already smiling.
* * *
? ? ?
The child was facing her, on the far side of one of the low tables. He was driving a car around the perimeter of a puzzle and making exploding noises. His parents were both kneeling in front of the table, their backs to Alice. It looked like they were praying at the altar of a tiny god. The boy looked up at her through his long dark bangs and froze.