Other People's Houses, page 24
“I hate you.” His voice broke. There were tears on his face, and she lifted her head to lick them off, still overcome by optimism and desire. “I hate you.” He sighed, his voice soft.
“I’m so sorry . . .” Anne pulled his face down to her breast, arching her back to press herself against him. “Please forgive me.”
He paused, his hands still in her hair. Something inside him gave way, and he bent his head to kiss her again. Twenty minutes of oblivion, God, that’s all I ask.
* * *
• • •
Afterward he turned away from her. She lay silently, curled into a ball next to him.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Anne. That was a mistake.” His voice was dry as dust again, the lawyer back in control.
She turned to him, trying to twine herself around his body. He stiffened, but she pressed against him. “It wasn’t a mistake. We’re married. Please forgive me and let me come home. I promise things will be different.”
He turned sharply. “It was fine before, Anne, as far as I knew. I had no idea there was a problem, and that’s why you can’t come home. How can I ever be sure you’re happy? How can I ever trust you again?”
Anne reached for him, but he evaded her. “I miss the kids so much. I miss you.”
Charlie sat up, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. She wanted to touch his back, unwind the stiff muscles around his neck and shoulders, but she knew she wasn’t allowed to. That moment had passed. “They miss you, too, Anne, and so do I. But you’re not the same person we thought you were. They don’t know that you chose fucking some other guy over protecting their happiness. They don’t know that you pretended to still love me . . .”
“I do love you. I never stopped loving you. I was just so . . . lonely. My therapist says I was depressed.”
“Could you not have seen a therapist before you got into bed with someone else? Could you not have chosen what other people choose? Medication and a thorough and almost certainly ineffective rehashing of your childhood?” He stood and started hunting about for his clothes, scattered on the floor. She’d seen him do this so many times, in many houses, many hotels, over years and years, she could predict the order in which he’d dress himself, the point where he’d sit down, the point where he’d no longer be tempted to get back into bed. “And why were you lonely? I was there, the kids were there, you have friends. What the fuck, Anne? Are you like the kids, requiring constant entertainment?”
He was disgusted with her—and with himself for sleeping with her. He had sunk to her level, maybe even lower. He felt nauseous; this whole thing was killing him from the inside out. He suddenly stopped dressing and flared at her. “Do you know I’ve lost ten pounds in the last two weeks? I’ve had to leave meetings and go cry in the car. I can’t cry in the bathrooms at work in case someone hears me and thinks I’m losing it. Yesterday I told them I had to leave early to pick up the kids and one of the other partners asked if maybe it was time to get a babysitter. I told him to fuck off, which maybe wasn’t the best choice, so maybe I’ll lose my job and then we’ll all be homeless and your destruction of our family will be complete. Maybe then you and your boyfriend can move back into our house and take the kids from me and then I’ll just wander the fucking streets like the total loser I am!” His voice had risen so much that by the end he was screaming, his face red and wet with tears.
Someone banged on the apartment wall, and Charlie banged back, furious, his vehemence knocking a picture down and breaking it. “We can’t go back, Anne, there’s no back to go to. See that picture?” He pointed. “We can no more fix our marriage than we can fix that glass. It’s fucked. We’re fucked. It’s done. And it’s your fault.”
She was still curled on the bed, sobbing, when he slammed the door. The breeze moved her hair across her cheek like a kiss.
Thirty-three.
The day of Iris’s birthday dawned bright and fair, as it usually did. Not just her birthday, of course, but most days in Southern California, with their dulcet winds and spangled sunshine. There’s a reason every other major city in the U.S. looks down on Los Angeles and makes fun of its supposed lack of culture, and it rhymes with bellousy. The reason Los Angeles doesn’t care what other cities think of it? It’s too busy looking at all its pretty girls in sundresses and happy people living out their dreams and eating well. Never mind, San Francisco. You can keep the fog.
Anyway, Iris’s birthday was another of those lovely days. Rosco the dog had given Iris a cashmere dressing gown, as soft and silky as a newborn’s earlobe, Wyatt had given her a chew toy in the shape of a birthday cake, and Sara had given her a hand-painted mug with MOM on it.
There was a pause as Iris unwrapped it.
“Uh . . . I like the colors you chose,” she said gently. “But I’ll be blunt: I just have the two hands.”
Wyatt went off into gales of laughter. “That’s MY present! I made that! It’s a sword!” He grabbed the mug from his mom and pointed at the third arm. “See? It’s a sword, and you have a helmet on.”
Sara also looked confused. “I thought that was her hair?”
Wyatt snorted. “No! It’s gray! She doesn’t have gray hair! It should have been silver but they didn’t have silver.” He looked at Iris, crestfallen. “They didn’t have silver, sorry.”
She hugged him close. “It is so perfect and awesome and I love you so much. Silver would have been too much, this way is more realistic. I look like a real knight this way, ready to fight and a little bit grubby.”
He smiled gratefully at her. “They probably did get pretty messy.”
“Of course! Fighting dragons is sweaty work.”
He was still concerned. “I put the names on the presents. I guess I put the wrong ones on. Rosco picked out the birthday cake toy.”
“It’s a very good choice, although I suspect he’ll enjoy it more than I will.” She took an experimental nibble on the chew toy, which made a sad noise. “It tastes like cake.” She looked at Rosco with new respect. Rosco wagged his tail and offered to take it off her hands, if it was bothering her.
Wyatt needed reassurance. “Do you like the mug as much as the pink coat thing?”
“More.”
“Really? You seemed to really like the pink thing.”
“I hadn’t seen the mug yet, and I thought it was from Rosco, remember? He doesn’t usually get things like that, his funds are so limited. I wanted to be encouraging.”
“Can I go watch TV now?”
Iris turned to her bedroom window, which looked out onto the treetops that surrounded their house. From her bed she lived in the forest. “Why don’t you have some breakfast first, and then you can call the other kids and see if . . .” Her phone pinged, and she reached for it.
Happy Birthday, you old fart, read a text from Frances. Does Wyatt want to come up here for pancakes? You can have a birthday breakfast in bed.
Yes! she texted back. That would be awesome!
Sending Milo. Have fun.
“Put on some clothes and go downstairs to wait for Milo, baby, you’re going to your auntie’s for pancakes.” Wyatt yelped and sped off, happy to spend time with his older cousins. They often let him on their computers, and were teaching him Minecraft.
Iris looked at Sara. “Is there any coffee?”
Her wife reached for the birthday mug in Iris’s hand. “Yes, AND fresh cinnamon rolls from Acme.”
Iris snuggled back under the covers. “You spoil me.”
“Well, now that Wyatt’s gone,” replied Sara, “I plan to spoil you some more.” She did a dramatic stripper slide around the bedroom door and nearly fell down the stairs. When they were done laughing, Sara went to get breakfast.
* * *
• • •
Once the rolls were finished, and the icing had been licked off of fingers, Sara rolled over onto her tummy and regarded her wife thoughtfully.
“I want to talk to you about something,” she began.
Iris nodded. “Me, too,” she said. “But you can go first.”
Sara laid her head down on the sheet for a moment, and Iris frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Sara replied. “But this stuff with Anne is making me think.” She looked at Iris. “And the other night . . . you seemed worried. Of course, it could have been a brilliant double bluff and you’re already cheating on me.”
Iris grinned. “I assure you, I’m not sleeping around. And if you are, please don’t tell me, because then I’d have to smother you with this pillow.” She picked one up and shoved it at Sara, who snatched it away, tucking it under herself. Iris watched her wife’s shoulders move, the angles of her collarbone, the curve of her lower back, and decided that whatever Sara had to say better be quick, because she really wanted to take advantage of this time alone. “Go on then, what’s up?” She mock frowned. “Am I too old for you now?” There were three months separating their ages; it had become a running joke.
Sara didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and waited for Iris to be quiet. “Look, I didn’t mention this before because it wasn’t settled, but I’ve been offered a film.”
“A film?”
“Yes. A movie. A good one.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Where?”
“China.” Sara laughed, briefly. “All the money’s in China right now, and somehow the money for this film came attached to principal photography over there. It’s fine, it’s good, it’s a real studio, real people, it’s going to be great.”
Iris sat up and pulled another pillow onto her lap, holding it tight. She leaned over and picked up her coffee cup, only to find it empty. “Is it a good part?” She needed more coffee, although maybe she’d had too much already. Her heart was really loud.
Sara sat up, too, and knelt in front of her wife. She watched the way Iris held her cup, saw the tremor in her wrists, knew she was upset. Dammit, she should have waited till after the party. “Baby, this is what I’m saying: I want you and Wyatt to come with me. It’ll be three months. He’s only in first grade, he can easily catch up, you’re not doing anything.”
“I’m not?”
Sara shook her head. “You’re taking care of Wyatt, you’re taking care of me, you’re treading water waiting for something, I don’t know what. Come with me to China, it’ll be fun.” She waggled her eyebrows. “The studio’s paying for a house. I put it in the deal.”
Iris thought about it. Why did she feel so angry? She was married to an actress, a successful one. Traveling for work was par for the course, and had always been fun even if it wasn’t quite as fun as Sara thought it was. A lot of waiting around for her to be finished for the day, a lot of taking care of Wyatt without any of her usual equipment or surroundings. But a big movie would be great for Sara, for all of them. “What does Anne have to do with this?”
Sara looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“You said, ‘this stuff with Anne is making me think’ . . . ?”
Sara smiled, relieved. “Just that it reminds me how important you are to me, you and Wyatt.”
Iris sat very still, trying to get a handle on what she was feeling, and what she wanted to say.
Sara frowned at her, “What’s wrong? I’m just saying it would be nice to be together. You’ve never been to China, Wyatt’s a perfect age to go . . .” She studied her wife’s face, a little lost about why this wasn’t being greeted with the enthusiasm she had expected. Iris had always loved to travel. “We can get a tutor there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“How long have you known about this?” Iris felt wrong-footed, as if something had just been sprung on her, but she also knew that was a ridiculous reaction. Why couldn’t she just be happy for Sara? Why couldn’t she feel good about this? She’d wanted to bring up the baby, wanted the discussion this weekend to be about her, about them. It was her birthday; it wasn’t fair.
Sara shrugged. “I don’t know, a week or two, maybe. I talked to the producer a month ago and forgot about it, mostly, you know what it’s like. It came back last week, we had some back-and-forth, I have to give them an answer on Monday.”
“You didn’t say yes yet?”
Sara leaned forward and looked closely at Iris. “No, sweetheart. Why are you freaking out? Talk to me.”
Iris took a deep breath. “I want to have another baby,” she said. “And I want to do it soon.”
* * *
• • •
An hour or two later they’d reached the silent stage. Sara was open to a baby, after China. Iris was open to China, after a baby was begun. They’d argued all through getting dressed, and now they were sitting out on the deck trying not to start the argument up again when the front door opened
Frances’s voice floated through the house. “Hey! Where are you hiding?”
Iris called out to her, and Sara got up to go greet her.
“I brought your kid back,” said Frances, who had also brought her entire family. “And a cake. I heard it was someone’s birthday.”
Iris raised her eyebrows and turned in her comfy wicker chair to see the cake. “That’s enormous!”
Frances grinned and put it down on the table. “I lost two pounds last week. I need to gain them back as quickly as possible.”
“I like your methods.”
The doorbell rang. Sara looked at Iris and shrugged a question. “Are you expecting someone?”
Iris made a face. Sara went to open the door and reappeared with Bill and Lucas. Lucas was carrying a present.
“Oh,” said Bill, looking around. “Are we interrupting something? We just wanted to drop off a present.”
Iris stood up looking surprised. “How did you even know it’s my birthday? That’s so nice of you! Come on in!” Lucas looked a little lost, but then Wyatt ran up to him and they sped off upstairs, presumably to begin disassembling something.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” asked Sara, trying to pull her shit together. All she wanted to do was pause time so she could work things out with Iris, but, of course, time was as uncooperative as it always was. You had to stay married in the brief pauses between being married, and those pauses so often had to be rescheduled.
Bill smiled, oblivious to any undercurrents in the room. He was in on the secret, of course, and was enjoying his job as first surprise guest. “That would be great.”
The doorbell rang again. Iris frowned at Sara, who was looking a little stressed. A vague suspicion started in her tummy, but it was just Charlie and the kids. Theo immediately disappeared upstairs, but Kate stayed with her dad. She was also carrying a present, and Charlie appeared to have brought a case of champagne.
“Hi,” he said, putting the cardboard box on the table. “I thought you guys might like this. I got it at work for something, can’t remember what . . .” He trailed off. “Hi, Michael! How’s it going?” He went over to chat and the doorbell rang again. When Sara left to answer it Iris turned quickly to Frances and lowered her voice.
“What’s happening?”
“How do you mean?” replied Frances, determined not to be the one who ruined the surprise.
“Frances, Sara and I are having a horrible fight because I want another baby and she wants to go to China and if you don’t tell me what’s going on I’m going to fucking hit the roof.” She took her cousin by the arm. “Spill it, Frank.”
Fair enough. Cousins first. Frances leaned in. “Sara is throwing you the world’s gentlest surprise party, and I don’t care what you two are fighting about, she’s been planning it for weeks and Wyatt is about to shit himself with anticipation, so put your argument on hold and make it work, OK?” She pulled back a bit and fixed her cousin with a firm look. “I realize it’s your party, and you can cry if you want to, but wait until afterward, OK?”
Iris looked at her and nodded.
“This block needs a good day,” added Frances. “And I pick today.”
Iris nodded again, and poured herself a glass of champagne.
This time the guests were Lili and her daughters, Annabel and Clare. Kate was excited to see Annabel, and the two of them ran off to play. Clare came over to Iris and smiled up at her.
“Hi, Iris! I’m Clare, do you remember me?”
Iris smiled. “Yes, Clare, I’ve known you since you were very small. How could I forget you?”
“Well,” said Clare, “you’re old. My mom calls me Annabel all the time, and she GREW ME IN HER STOMACH, so, you know.”
“A good point.” Iris drank some champagne. “Did you bring a present?”
“Yeah,” said the little girl. She paused. “But don’t tell Sara because I think it’s a surprise. It’s not a very good present, I don’t mind telling you, because Mom picked it. I wanted to get Sara a Game Programmer Barbie, but my mom got her a stupid jug or something.” Clare rolled her eyes. “And a piece of paper for a massage, which is just ridiculous.” This was a new word for Clare, and she was enjoying it. She said it again, with emphasis. “Ridiculous!”
“Adults!” agreed Iris, making a face.
“Right?” said Clare. She sighed a tiny little sigh, then added, “Still, I got the Game Programmer Barbie, so, you know, that was good . . . She has a headset for her cell phone and a laptop of her own. But you can’t take it off her hand I don’t think, which is weird. I mean, you’d need to put it down to pee, for sure.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, as if running the logistics of peeing while holding a laptop, but then shrugged and ran off. Iris caught Lili’s eye and shook her head and grinned as Lili mouthed Sorry and rolled her eyes.
