The woman asked Blythe if she was one of the performers.
“I’m a member of the company, but I’m not performing tonight,” she said. Then she added, “It’s my first year.” A lame excuse. But this couple didn’t know any better.
“How lovely. Congratulations,” the woman said. She introduced herself as Nina Bishop. Her husband, Preston Bishop, told Blythe his wife had been attending the Pennsylvania Ballet since “before you were born.”
“My grandmother brought me to The Nutcracker when I was four,” Nina said. “I don’t remember it, of course, but it somehow inspired a lifelong passion.”
Something else was mentioned, something about the importance of supporting the arts, but Blythe barely heard. A man walked toward them, a young Robert Redford. It was clear he intended to join them, that he would be interrupting this talkative couple.
“Kip! There you are. I thought you snuck out on us.” Nina pulled him into their little circle. The man, who Blythe guessed was five or six years older than her, said something about leaving soon, an early day at the office. When Blythe retold the story, she would remember that Kip had started to say he was leaving but then noticed Blythe and reconsidered. In reality, Nina had introduced her to him—“She’s a dancer!”—and insisted he stay and that Blythe join them at their table. And then, and this part was true, Kip had said to her, “No offense, but I don’t share my parents’ passion for the ballet. Maybe you can help me understand what I seem to be missing?”
Her heart fluttered, the way it did when she was in the midst of a particularly difficult lift. Love at first sight? Not exactly. But there was something, a spark. Enough to help her imagine an alternative life to one lived on stage. Maybe a fulfilling life, one in which she might set herself up for success rather than failure.
A year later, when she walked down the church aisle on her father’s arm, preparing to take her vows in front of two hundred people, she said one silently to herself first. I will be a good wife to Kipton Bishop. I will make him happy.
And now, her husband was with another woman.
Blythe heard a car crunch the gravel of the driveway. She stood up, brushed off her sweatpants, and walked around the side of the house. Marin’s Saab was an extravagance to keep in Manhattan, but it made visiting home a blessedly simple two-hour drive.
“Hi, sweetheart! I’m in the garden. What do you have there?”
Marin pulled a large plastic shopping bag out of the passenger seat.
“I brought you bagels.” She looked like a walking Michael Kors ad, with her perfectly tailored navy pants, a pin-striped blouse, and half a dozen gold bangles clinking musically as she headed toward the yard. Her glossy dark hair was up in a high ponytail, her brown eyes hidden behind reflective aviator sunglasses. Blythe swelled with pride. Her baby.
“Honey, you didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” Marin knew her parents couldn’t find decent bagels in suburban Philadelphia—at least, not like in New York. Oh, New York. Though Blythe had gone through a phase of resenting the city that had lured her daughter away, she had to admit it wasn’t all bad.
They convened in the breakfast room, an addition to the house made ten years ago during renovations to the kitchen. It was an airy, open space with wide Spanish tiles and a skylight. It had a table for eight and a love seat in the corner that was Blythe’s favorite spot in the house for reading. French doors led to the garden.
Blythe brought out a pitcher of fresh-brewed iced tea. Marin set her phone on the table and scrolled through her e-mails.
“Sorry—I just need to check this quickly.”
Blythe sat across from her and waited patiently for Marin to finish tapping away on her phone. When Marin finally looked up, the first thing she said was “So why did you leave New York before I had a chance to talk to you?”
Well, that didn’t take long.
“I guess I didn’t know what to tell you,” Blythe admitted. “I had hoped we wouldn’t have to have the conversation, that your father would come to his senses. But that was before I knew the whole story.”
“Candace Cavanaugh.” Marin’s lips pursed like she’d just bitten into a lemon.
Blythe nodded glumly, then shook her head. “But it’s not just about that. At least, I can’t imagine it is. Marriages are complicated. I just thought we were past a lot of the more—” She waved her hand as if swatting a fly. “Still—it doesn’t change the important things. Your father and I are still your parents, and we are here for you. We’ll always be a family.” She tried to smile.
Marin reached across the table and took her hand. “Thanks, Mom. I’m okay. Really. I’m just concerned about you. And look, I know we’ve always been able to be honest with each other. I’m sorry I’ve been…secretive about my breakup with Greg. I wanted to talk to you. I did. I mean, I do.”
“You do?” Blythe perked up.
“Of course. Mom—you’re my best friend. But I’m trying to be discreet and I need you to be as well. The truth is, I met someone else.”
Blythe gasped. This was the last thing she’d expected.
“Who is it?”
“You won’t tell Dad about this, you swear?”
“Believe me, at this point, that is not an issue.”
“Oh, Mom. Are you two not speaking?”
“We are.” Barely. “Enough about that. Who is he?”
“It’s someone at work.”
Blythe tensed with alarm. “Oh, Marin. Please tell me he’s not married.”
“No! No, it’s nothing like that. But he’s in a senior position, so it’s kind of an issue. We’re keeping it secret. I feel weird even telling you this much.”
Blythe didn’t know what to say. There she was, assuming Marin had let her work obsession get in the way of her relationship when in actuality she’d started a new relationship—at work! Oh, she hoped Marin knew what she was doing.
“Please don’t get mad at me for asking this, but are you sure you needed to break up with Greg? I hate to say it, but people do have flings and it’s not necessarily something to end an engagement over.” Or a marriage, for that matter.
Marin shook her head quickly. “It was the only thing to do. Being with this new man…it made me realize what a mistake I was making by committing my life to Greg. I don’t love him, Mom. At least, not enough.” The unspoken words were loud and clear: Not the way I love this new guy.
“And this man at the office—he feels the same about you?”
Marin beamed. “I think so.”
Blythe had never seen her look so happy about a man. Not ever. She was positively glowing. Marin’s reticence fell by the wayside, and she went on and on about this new man’s good looks, his long-lashed dark eyes, his faint British accent. The way his sharply analytical mind worked. His brilliance.