Finally one of my kids spills something. Brigid had pulled multiple flakes off her croissant and watched them float like flotsam to the bottom of the glass. But now her glass is sideways on the table. Kevin tries to be helpful by grabbing a fresh diaper from the stroller and dabbing at the mess. The result is something that looks horrifying and we need to roll on out of here.
As we assemble ourselves and rise from the table, I look back at my beautiful, ruthless friend. One of the guys at the next table makes all the body language clues that he’s about to begin chatting her up. My tribe and I can’t get out of there fast enough for him and I see the relief on his face as he figures Elizabeth is in fact mother to none. He’s irritating me. She’s irritating me. There’s something I want to tell her.
“I’m covering Henry,” I say, loving that I can shock her right back, loving that I can tell someone who knows.
“What? WHAT?” She turns her back on the lover man and gives me her full attention.
“Covering? Like with your body?”
I smirk and grab hold of my baby muffin top. “I probably could,” I say wistfully.
“Tell me. Last I heard he has an anorexic wife and a roaming eye.”
“I cover his account, you moron. He works for my biggest client. I have no idea what his personal life is like.” I lie but it’s just a smidge.
“So you two have real conversations?”
“Just about the market. Just business.”
“No. I refuse to let this happen. No. There is just too much history here. Is he still gorgeous?” Elizabeth grabs her coat, preferring to rescue me than flirt with her neighbor.
I laugh, redden a little. “Well, he’s held it together pretty well.”
“But gorgeous?”
“Okay, yes, gorgeous,” I admit.
“Has he gotten that thick middle thing that guys our age are starting to get?”
I laugh. “No, by all appearances, his middle is just fine.”
“You’re quitting tomorrow.”
“What happened to all your tough talk about women who can take it? I can take it.”
“Really?” She puts a hand on my shoulder but looks across the street in thought. For some reason I feel like I’m about to cry. It’s a muscle memory reaction; it’s being close to someone who knew me when I was close to Henry, back before she and I were wealthy and involved in incomprehensible businesses. I let just an inch of that hurt make contact with me again. To fight back tears I start to buckle things. One of the best talents a mom can have is being able to buckle baby carriers, stroller handles, and kids’ coats with one hand. My fine motor skills have greatly improved with motherhood and buckling makes for great conversation filler. It’s something to do when you need to look away.
She won’t let go of my shoulder. Even though I’m bent forward and not looking at her, Elizabeth hangs on to me. My kids grab at different parts of my lower leg and I’m being touched everywhere that invites access. It’s very loving and very suffocating all at the same time.
I think of my current life and how different and grown-up I’ve become since my time with Henry. Our life together was something I once saw in a movie. I think I liked the movie for the most part, but it’s faded from memory, with only the highlights and lowlights still on the reel. The highs and lows have narrowed in their intensity so much, becoming less and less discernible, moving toward each other until the whole memory will mercifully flatline with the passage of time.
“I’m fine,” I whisper to Elizabeth, “it’s just a lot to hold together.”
CHAPTER 34
How She Gets By
I ASK KATHRYN to meet for a drink after work, the third time I’ve asked her this week. Kathryn doesn’t seem annoyed by my repeated requests, but just keeps saying no.
“It’s just that I’d like to talk to you away from the office,” I say. “I’m a little rattled.”
“I don’t drink,” she replied pleasantly enough. “And I like to leave work at work.”
Most people would feel offended or discouraged by her constant rebuffs, but the more I know Kathryn, the more I know not to be. I think of her desk, her clean, freakish life, and her perfection in all things. Losing any control is not her style. A request like mine is just a diversion from her original game plan. I need to reason with her, to show her the simplicity of the request, and when I do, she says no again.
“But why?”
“Is this about women’s rights?” she sighs. “About you wanting me to join that group of complainers?”
“No, those women are pretty disappointed in me and we’ve disbanded. After the Gruss meeting it dissolved.”
“Very anticlimactic,” she says.
“Even Metis thinks I’ve failed ’cause the memos have stopped. I didn’t exactly get anything done at that lunch, now, did I?”
“You did okay.”
“I swear, Kathryn, this group of women seem to think I hardly opened my mouth. You were there. You saw how catatonic everyone was.”
“You were right.”
“I was right. I don’t regret a thing.”