“Oh, it makes me so sad to think of everyone going their separate ways,” Mimi said. “Summer always goes too fast.”
Clive entered, carrying a tray of glasses and ice and a bottle of vodka. Darcy jumped up to help him prepare the drinks and hand them out. Once she accidentally touched Clive’s hand with hers. She experienced not even the slightest physical response. Clive hardly looked at Darcy. Thank heaven, Darcy thought.
“We’re not going until the end of next week,” Susan assured Mimi.
“Susan,” Mimi said, “you said your husband was fine with you working here. What do you think he’ll say about you working when you’re back home?”
Susan lowered her eyes. “That’s a good question, Mimi. He makes some enormous amount of money—I don’t know how much because he won’t tell me.”
Mimi bridled. “Well, that’s ridiculous! You should at least have an idea of his income.”
Susan fidgeted with the rings on her fingers. Still looking down, she said, “Mimi, not every marriage is the same….”
“Yes, yes, you’re right. Forgive me for interrupting.”
“As I said, Otto supports us almost lavishly, although of course some of that—our house, our cars—are important for his reputation.”
“And for his ego,” Mimi murmured.
Susan acted as if she hadn’t heard. “So he might balk at allowing me to work outside the home when we’re back in Boston. He might think it would look as if we need the money.”
“What will you do if he doesn’t want you to work?” Willow asked.
Susan heaved a sigh. “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“Susan.” Suddenly, Mimi’s tone was serious. “Look at me. Does Otto hit you?”
Susan laughed. “Good grief, of course not. How can you ask such a thing?”
“Because you act as if he hits you,” Mimi said.
Susan blinked. “I do?”
“You do,” Darcy agreed. “Sometimes you have the saddest expression on your face. It worries me.”
“You guys are wrong!” Willow jumped into the conversation. “When I babysit the boys, sometimes I see Susan and Otto together, and he’s nice to her. I mean, like, when I see him not with Susan, he’s a robot, but he’s okay with Susan and the boys.” The girl flicked a conspiratorial smile at Darcy, as if to say: See, I’m being helpful.
Susan tilted her head. “Darcy, Mimi, here’s what I think. If you see me looking sad, I think I’m really looking tired. It’s an exhausting business, raising three boys. And I worry about them, especially about Henry, although I won’t go into that here, it’s only typical growing-up stuff. The truth is, I don’t think I’m naturally inclined to raising boys. I mean, look at me, you can tell I’ve never played baseball or even tennis. It’s hard work. Okay, I have help, I have a company that cleans my house once a week, and at home we have a couple of darling babysitters—” Quickly she smiled at Willow. “They’re not half as good as you, Willow. But, anyway, it’s not just the physical exhaustion of, oh, I don’t know, just for example let’s pick keeping them in shoes! Three growing boys, I swear their feet grow an inch every time they fall asleep. And, no, don’t suggest I pass them down. Of course their feet aren’t similar. I mean Henry has extremely wide feet and the other two don’t. Alfred has fallen arches—already, at his age! Who ever thought that could happen? So he has to wear special shoes with arch supports. Other kids make fun of him, and I get so sad for him.” Susan looked around the room. “That’s why yarn is a lifesaver!”
Mimi nodded sagely. “My dear, I see exactly what you mean.”
Willow frowned. “I don’t. I thought we were talking about Susan and Otto and sadness.”
“We are, in a way,” Darcy told her.
“When you fall in love, when you have children, you’ll know.” Mimi reached over to take Willow’s hand. “It doesn’t have to be yarn. It could be reading books or sailing or clog dancing.”
“Clog dancing?” Willow wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”
“You’ll find out yourself someday,” Mimi said. “The point is that we all need something in life that we enjoy that doesn’t need us.” She glanced at the other two women. “Am I right?”
“Well said,” Darcy agreed.
Susan nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Think of loving a pet,” Mimi continued. “No, think of loving a celebrity. Um, let me see. Willow, think of loving Justin Timberlake.”
“Wait, what?” Willow interrupted. “I don’t love Justin Timberlake.”
“Meghan Trainor,” Darcy quickly suggested.
“Fine, then,” Mimi said. “Think of loving Meghan Trainor. When you think of her, or of what’s his name, that muscular man that starred in In the Heart of the Sea—”
“Chris Hemsworth!” Willow almost shouted.
“Good. When you think of Meghan and Chris, you’re happy. You’re filled with such joy at their existence, it makes life almost magical. But if you had to be responsible for their health and safety, for what they eat every day and when their dentist appointments are and if you read in a newspaper or online that someone thinks Meghan or Chris is stupid or ugly or lame”—Mimi’s eyebrows rose in triumph as she thought to use the word lame—“you’d be sad and angry that someone said something mean, and you’d be exhausted from buying their food and cooking their meals and driving them to dentist appointments. But you’re not responsible. You can love without protecting. If you ignore a skein of yarn or drop it on the floor or even step on it, it’s not going to get its feelings hurt.”
Willow pulled on her lower lip. “So you mean you can’t love anyone without getting hurt.”
“Not quite that,” Mimi corrected. “More like you can’t love anyone without the possibility of getting hurt, and not by the person you love but by, let’s call it, circumstance.”
“But what if you get in a terrible fight? What if you’ve done something wrong?” Willow asked.
“All parents fight,” Susan said. “And no one’s perfect. No one. When you love someone, you have to accept their faults.”
“Not completely true,” Darcy argued. “You can walk away from some of their faults, especially if that includes dealing heroin.”
“Well, that’s a little extreme,” Susan said. “I mean, to bring it right back to the personal level, I’m not unaware of what a prick Otto can seem like. Excuse my language, Willow. I know he doesn’t know how to play with his sons. But I know how his parents brought him up, and I know a lot of intimate stuff about him that other people don’t know. So I love him, as they say, warts and all.”
“Thank heaven!” Mimi clapped her hands together. “I’m so glad to know that, Susan. Still,” she continued, setting her piercing gaze on Susan, “people can change. Not by, let’s say, a mile or even a yard. But by an inch.”