He remembered this feeling, this lightness, this joy, this inability to not smile. It was a thing young people enjoyed, and Anton realized with a thud that he had not felt this way in a very long time. Not, as a matter of fact, since he had left Carine. For years, all he had remembered were the arguments and the fights and the disagreements. But she had also given him this giddiness, this skipping, dancing feeling. He had thought it was his, but she had bequeathed it to him. He had been a serious boy and now he was a serious man. But he missed what he had been with her for that brief while.
“I’m sorry to barge in here like this,” he said. “It just felt—wrong, you know, to not stop.”
“I would’ve never forgiven you,” she said. “But what brings you here? A fund-raiser or something?”
He lifted his shoulders in a dismissive way, not answering, looking around the room instead. “So . . . you said you have kids? Are they home?”
She nodded, still smiling. “They’re asleep. I just put them to bed a while back and then got on the computer. First time all day.”
“And you found me.” He was aware how that sounded, a little flirty, but he didn’t care.
“And I found you,” she said, and did he imagine that her voice was a little husky? She opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted: “So, can I see them? Do they look like you?”
She laughed. “A little bit.” She considered his request and then got up. “Sure. But you’ve got to be quiet. They’re light sleepers.”
As they went up the stairs, he noticed she hadn’t mentioned a husband. He was curious but decided not to ask. Because he wanted to sleep with her tonight. The realization hit him with such force that he actually gasped. She looked back. “You okay?”
He nodded, unable to speak. You’re just tired and confused, he told himself. Just reacting to the weird day. You don’t even know Carine anymore. And you have a girlfriend at home. Who is probably frantic with worry by now.
But there was a stirring in his stomach as they reached the landing, and it didn’t go away when Carine took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “This way,” she said, and led him to the nursery.
They stood in the doorway watching the two sleeping boys. “How can you tell them apart?” he whispered, and she laughed and shrugged. “A mother knows.”
He nodded. “I guess.” And then, “Although I can’t believe you’re a mom. You don’t look a day older . . .”
She hit him playfully on the shoulder. “If only.”
“No, honest. You look great.” He swallowed, allowing her to see desire that was making his eyes bright. “Really great.”
To his chagrin, Carine burst into silent laughter. “Upon my word, Anton. I do believe you’re flirting with me. Me, an old married woman.”
It was the gentlest of letdowns, but it stung. “You’re married?” he blurted out.
She shot him a quizzical look and then pointed with her chin toward the bedroom. “Did you think the stork brought those two?” She laughed and then stopped, and her eyes widened. “Oh God. You thought—I get it. You thought I had kids on my own? Jeez, Anton.”
“No, Carine. I mean, I didn’t think anything. When you wrote, you never mentioned a husband.” He knew he was blushing, and he peered down the darkened corridor. “Is he home? Your husband?”
She laughed again. “Mike? I wish. No, he’s ten thousand miles away. In Afghanistan.”
Anton blinked. “Wow. What’s he doing there?”
Even in the dark, he could see her looking at him carefully. “He’s stationed there, Anton. He’s a medic in the army.”
Suddenly, Anton longed for it to be midnight, for it to be another day, because this day held too many shocks. “You? You’re married to a military guy? You . . . my God, you were the most anti-military person I’ve ever met. A total peacenik. What happened?”
He must’ve raised his voice, because one of the boys stirred, and Carine held up a cautionary finger to her lips. She watched her son for a second and then motioned Anton to follow her down the stairs. She led the way wordlessly, but this time they went into the living room, his earlier lust dulled by fatigue and awkwardness. Anton noticed how elegant the room was, the Oriental rug on the hardwood floor, the expensive-looking sofa where she motioned him to sit. Carine waited until he did, then turned on a floor lamp before settling in a rocking chair across from him. “So?” she said, a smile in her voice. “I’ve thrown you for a loop, huh?” She ran her hand self-consciously through her short hair.
He forced the same lightness into his voice. “I’ll say. Carine Biya, campus radical, married to a guy in the military?” He waited for her to respond, but when she didn’t, he asked, “What happened?” This time he was unable to keep the incredulity—and yes, the faintest tone of reproach—out of his voice.
Carine shrugged. “I fell in love,” she answered simply.
A million thoughts scampered through Anton’s mind. That’s it? he wanted to say. You, the woman I put up on a pedestal, the woman so righteous in her political beliefs, whom I defended to all my friends even while I was secretly appalled by what came out of her mouth, you, that woman, that Carine Biya, turned out to be a mere mortal who fell in love like the rest of us, who threw it all away and settled into this bourgeois suburban life? Anton leaned back in the couch and closed his eyes for a moment. Apart from his father, Carine had been the person he’d admired most. Even when he’d disagreed with her, he had admired her for having the courage of her convictions, for the principles with which she seemed to live her life.
“Whoa, Anton,” Carine was saying. He opened his eyes and saw that she was sitting forward in her chair, a worried frown on her beautiful face. “Jesus, man. What the hell? You’re acting like I told you I went and married Osama bin Laden.”
“That would’ve surprised me less.” The words shot out of his mouth, and he thought he must have looked as shocked as she did. They stared at each other for a moment and then she giggled. “You son of a bitch,” she swore, and then they were laughing madly, and for the first time since he’d gotten there, the air between them turned easy and friendly.
“Sorry,” he spluttered, but she shook her head. “Was I really that bad?” she asked, and he rolled his eyes. “Terrible,” he said. “You were incorrigible. You were Malcolm fucking X.”
She hooted with laughter, then rose in a swift motion and walked across the living room. She picked up a photo frame and walked toward him, wiping the glass on her blouse as she did. She handed it to Anton. “This is Mike,” she said. “This is my husband.”
The picture that had formed in Anton’s head ever since Carine had announced she was married was that of Denzel Washington, and so he felt a jolt of surprise when he saw the man in the picture. Mike was white. He was a good-looking guy, he’d give her that. Thick dark hair, a strong jaw, and warm gray eyes peering from behind rimless glasses, a thoughtful look on his face. Without the military fatigues, Mike could’ve passed for a humanities professor. Anton forced a smile onto his face. “So this is Mr. Right, huh?”
Carine took the picture frame out of Anton’s hands. “It is,” she said, and it was as if there were a blush in her voice.
“How long will he be away?”
She made a face. “Who knows? He’s on his fourth tour.”