“It might be easier to tell you what isn’t awful about it,” Audra said. “Which is nothing. See how easy that was?”
But then she plunged ahead anyway and outlined the awfulness for Julio: the decorating of the rooms, the painting of murals, the hanging of bunting, the making of little passports, the sewing of costumes, the preparation of the food, the endless meetings to plan all this, and then the day itself, with the overexcited children and the visiting dignitaries from the real United Nations and the stressed parents snapping at each other.
“And some of the parents are really into it,” she concluded. “Actually, all of the parents, except me. At least they pretend to be.”
Last year, Graham remembered, Audra had worked in the England Room and had had to wear a low-cut Renaissance dress while she warbled on about humanism and art, and the Italian ambassador’s assistant had stuck a rolled-up dollar bill between her breasts. (Although later he realized that it was not the act that offended Audra so much as the amount. “A dollar!” she’d said. “Not even a twenty!”) This year she’d volunteered to be in charge of the Food Committee and had sworn that she would not interact with another soul on the actual day.
“But why do you have to be on any committee?” Julio asked. “Why can’t you just blow it off?”
“Because then everyone would say bad things about me later and not invite Matthew to birthday parties and things like that,” Audra said. “It’s like if you lived in Japan and gave someone a gift using only one hand. You’re supposed to use both hands—I learned that the year I worked in the Japan Room.”
And on she went, her voice rising and falling in the normal way as she washed the fruit and vegetables, quite as though she hadn’t broken Graham’s heart.
—
Graham had found out about Audra from an unexplained charge on their credit card.
He was going back through old statements to check his interest charges and there it was: a restaurant he’d never been to—a place called Le Vin dans les Voiles—and he knew. He didn’t think it was a mistake or identity theft or an online purchase. There seemed to be no originality in the world anymore. Somehow that made it even worse.
“Audra?” he had called from his study. She was in the kitchen with Matthew, making pancakes, but she came and stood in the doorway.
“What’s up?” she asked. She had a smudge of flour on her cheek.
He didn’t get up from his desk. “There’s a charge on the credit card,” he said. “Back in December. A French restaurant in the Village.”
She opened her mouth slightly and then paused. He could almost see her considering various explanations and rejecting them. It seemed to him that each excuse was a slight ripple across her expression, a minor adjustment. Then she came and sat in the chair across from his desk.
“Oh, Graham,” she said. “I’ve wanted so many times to tell you.”
“You’re having an affair,” he said flatly.
“Not an affair,” she said, as though scandalized. “More of a—a flirtation that got a little bit out of control. His name is Jasper and he’s a photographer.”
“How old is he?” Graham asked.
“Thirty,” Audra said. “That made me feel so awful, how young he was. I felt like a dirty old man.”
Graham didn’t want to hear about how awful she felt. “And you and he had a relationship?”
“Yes, but not what you think,” Audra said. “Well, not as bad as you think, probably. It wasn’t because of you, Graham. It wasn’t because I’m unhappy with you. It was more that it was exciting. And I thought, well, I could have you and Matthew and I could have this other thing, too. And by the time I realized I couldn’t, we were too serious, and he said—”
Graham interrupted. “I don’t want to know any of that.”
He could have sworn she looked disappointed. “What do you want to know?” she asked finally.
“Is it over?”
“Yes,” she said. “It was over by Christmas. I felt so conflicted and he had this girlfriend—”
“Stop!” he said.
“Graham,” Audra said. “We were never lovers—it didn’t go that far. We almost—”
He must have winced because she stopped. “I have to get back to Matthew,” she said softly. She got up and walked toward the door.
“Why did you use the credit card?” he asked suddenly. “You must have known it would show up on the bill.”
“That was an accident,” she said. “They charged the card I made the reservation with and I didn’t know how to undo it.”
“But why use the card to even reserve the table?”
He could see in her face that this was not something he should have asked. She tilted her head slightly. “It was his birthday,” she said simply. “I wanted to take him somewhere special.”
And then she let herself out of his study, very quietly, closing the door gently behind her, like a nurse leaving a patient alone to deal with a difficult diagnosis.
—
Once, years ago, Audra had been stuck in an elevator for over three hours with a man who raised ferrets for a living and she told Graham later that she was sort of sad when the elevator began moving again, because she and the man were still getting acquainted. How ironic was it that Graham should be married to someone who loved to talk that much, and now not want to talk to her?
He had forbidden her to talk about her almost affair, her almost lover. He didn’t want to know any details, felt he could not survive if he was forced to hear any details, and Audra was a very detail-oriented person. (She knew the names of the children of the man who owned the Mexican restaurant on the corner, for example, knew the oldest one, Tiffany, was working for Senator Schumer.) So Graham refused to discuss it.
And strangely, there seemed nothing else to talk about. Which was another layer of irony, since once Graham and Audra had gone to Vermont for a week, for Christmas, to a remote farmhouse, and Audra had said worriedly, “What if we run out of things to talk about?” and Graham had had to suppress a smile.
Oh, life was thick with irony now. Sort of like baklava, layer after layer pressed down on each other, with grit in between the layers and honey glossed over everything to make it sweet. He was pleased with this analogy, or as close to pleased as he got in these days where it seemed all his emotions lay under a cool frost. He wanted to tell Audra about it. But he didn’t, because not only would she have gasped and said, “Baklava! Jesus, I’d better order some for the Greek Room,” but because he didn’t want to give her anything right now—no gift, no peace offering—no matter how humble.
—