Adult Assembly Required, page 30
“I can’t,” said Polly regretfully. “I have three parties to go to, and I want to hit the middle one during a very particular window.”
Nina also shook her head. “Can’t. I need to get inside before the screaming teens arrive.”
Lili looked at Laura and raised her eyebrows. But Laura was a sticker, and she was sticking with Nina tonight.
When they reached Nina’s apartment, Nina was relieved to find Phil already inside, grooming his paws and sorting his candy. Her boyfriend, Tom, who was good with his hands and therefore a keeper, had put in a cat door. Phil had been delighted, and capturing and transporting things from outside to inside became an all-consuming hobby. He was currently working on a collection of leaves, and Nina rarely woke up in the morning without at least one on her pillowcase. During a dark but mercifully brief period, it was snails; one time she opened her eyes to see a small cellar glass snail not two inches from her nose and created motion from rest that would have impressed Newton. Leaves were a big improvement.
Nina looked closely at the floor. “Check carefully before you sit down. He brought in one of those giant cockroach things the other day.”
Laura turned to leave.
“I’m joking,” said Nina. “He’s too single-minded for that. He’s one hundred percent focused on killing all the bougainvillea.” Three of the little red leaf-pod thingies were strewn about the floor, each punctuated by tiny pairs of teeth holes. The fight had been brutal, and years of cat experience told Laura it probably hadn’t even been brief.
“Moment of silence for the fallen,” said Nina lightly, picking them up. “It’s a pity he’s not bigger. The neighbor has a lemon tree he could raid.” She looked at Phil, who paused in washing his leg, the tip of his tongue still barely visible. “He’s turned out to be such a ninja.” Phil had resumed his bath, and was struggling to balance on his butt. He gave up, and toppled to one side on Nina’s bed. Within seconds he was asleep.
Nina sighed. “Like I said, a warrior.”
She went over to her tiny kitchen and pulled a half bottle of wine from the fridge.
“I’m glad that annual experience is over,” she said, fake shuddering. “I always love the concept of these traditional things. There are loads—a spring fair, a summer festival, this pumpkin thing, Christmas caroling—but they’re better in theory than execution. I love the two weeks of pleasant anticipation, and I’m always glad I actually (a) left the house and (b) did something I said I would do, which feels virtuous.” She pulled the cork, which scared the cat, and added, “Plus a sense of contributing to the common something or other, then the genuine joy of arriving at whatever it is and smelling the same smells, seeing the same things, and getting a full, fat five minutes of deep joy.” She closed her eyes briefly, remembering, then snapped them open. “But then I can’t wait to get home.”
Laura looked at her. “You’re a little bit of an overthinker, aren’t you?”
Nina laughed. “What gave it away?”
“Why keep doing it then? You could always say no.”
“Sure.” Nina lifted up the cat briefly and sat on her bed, replacing him more or less where he had been. “But if I say yes, then I get the chance to cancel a couple of days in advance, which is one of my favorite things to do.” Nina giggled. “The only thing better than canceling plans is getting a text from the other guy canceling plans, am I right?”
“No,” said Laura. “I like doing things.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Nina. “It’s exhausting.”
“Not to me,” said Laura calmly.
Nina looked at her new friend’s profile and felt a rush of affection for her. As efficient as Mary Poppins, as honest as Scout Finch, as calm as Galadriel. Laura grinned back and Nina added impulsively, “Don’t you think maybe you should tell Bob how you feel? You know, before he goes away?”
Laura shook her head. “What’s the point? I think Polly’s right, he doesn’t seem interested anymore.” She hesitated. “I think he might be seeing someone else, anyway.”
Nina shrugged. “You don’t have any actual evidence of that, but if you want to use it as an excuse not to say anything, fair enough. I’ve used stupider excuses for sillier things.” She poured herself a glass of wine. “Besides, you should probably kiss him again, you’re an actions-speak-louder-than-words kind of person.”
Laura sighed. “Everyone says so, but I’m not sure what kind of person I am, to be honest.”
Nina sipped her wine. “I know what kind of person you are, I’ve given it some thought.”
Laura looked at her friend wryly. “No, really?”
“Yes, really. You’re the kind of person who walks into a room and makes everyone feel better.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than they were before. You’re calming. Competent. Capable.”
“Despite my crappy fashion sense and inability to drive a car like a normal person?”
“Well, first of all, your fashion sense is improving and wasn’t crappy in the first place, and as for driving, what on earth’s a normal person? What does that even look like?” said Nina. “You had a traumatic experience and you’re processing it. Jeez, give yourself a break.” She looked into her wineglass and fished out a tiny piece of cork she then flicked at Laura. “Anyway, I think you’re very brave because you keep trying, and as a very wise person once said, ‘It’s hard to be brave when you’re only a Very Small Animal.’ ”
“Who said that?” asked Laura.
“Piglet from Winnie-the-Pooh,” said Nina, and added, “I worry, on the other hand, that I’m the kind of person who radiates my inner anxiety into the world like a wireless signal. It hasn’t escaped me that whenever I join a group it isn’t long before people start leaving it. I think I put people off because I talk too much about random things.” She looked at Laura. “Everyone contributes something, and I guess I bring the awkward.” She held up one hand and waved a small, imaginary flag.
Laura reached over and patted her friend on the leg. “Honestly, I think you’re really interesting, and the fact that you talk a lot makes it easier for me not to.” Nina made a face, so Laura moved on. “What does Polly bring?”
“Unpredictability.”
“Maggie?”
“Acceptance.”
“Tom?”
Nina looked at her. “Sparks.” She grinned. “And what does Bob bring?”
Laura closed her eyes and thought about it. “Things that sound boring but aren’t.”
“Like?”
“Friendship. Kindness. Comfort. Easiness, if that’s a word.” She shrugged. “I’m not doing a good job at describing it.”
Nina laughed. “You’re doing a fine job, because I think the word you’re looking for is ‘love.’ ”
“No, don’t be silly,” said Laura.
“I’m not being silly,” said Nina. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re saying he makes you happy to be yourself, and happier still to be yourself with him. That there’s nothing wrong that can’t be handled, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
“Well . . . yes, I guess.” Laura felt tight chested. “When I leave the house every morning, I feel better knowing that at the end of the day I’ll be coming back to where he is.”
“Sounds like love to me.”
“I think love is supposed to be more exciting than that.”
“Nope,” said Nina. “I think new relationships are definitely exciting, but I also think love sometimes feels like sailing into harbor.” She finished her wine. “Like running into someone you’ve known a long, long time but never met before.”
Laura gazed at Nina.
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“And yet,” said Nina loftily, “you know exactly what I mean.”
FORTY-ONE
Laura wasn’t the kind of person who worried about crowds—being very tall has certain advantages—but when she eventually left Nina’s and stepped out onto the street, she was startled to see police cars parked at the intersections, and about forty-seven thousand people between her and the distant horizon. It was fully dark now, and dozens and dozens of kids carrying glow sticks and flashlights bumbled around at knee height while their parents tried to keep their heavily disguised offspring from wandering off. It was a lot, especially as many of them were wearing exactly the same disguise. All four-foot Elsas look very much the same, particularly from above. Laura took a deep breath and started to move steadily through the crowd, wanting to walk home in the cool, sparkling evening. She had lots to think about.
“Laura!” said a now-familiar voice, and Laura looked down to see Clare, still in her seagull hat. She appeared to be alone.
Laura crouched down so she could hear her. “Where’s your mom?”
“I don’t know,” said Clare, who looked green and worried. “She was right behind me and then she wasn’t.” Laura knew that look from years of babysitting; too much candy, sudden adrenaline spike, imminent collapse of small party.
Laura took Clare’s hands and looked her in the eye. “Hey, Clare, your mom is looking for you right now and she’s probably pretty close, so all we need to do is stand here and she’ll find us, right?”
Clare nodded. Around them rivers and tributaries of kids and parents and bags and costumes parted and reunited, but Laura held her space for Clare and waited until the little girl had regained her composure.
“You good?” asked Laura.
“Yes.” Clare nodded gratefully.
“I’m going to pick you up and put you on my shoulders, OK? Then you can see a really long way and everyone can see you. Was Edward with you?”
“No,” said Clare as she stood up and raised her arms to Laura. “He took the baby home. Bob was.”
Of course. Because she was wearing a monkey onesie with ears and Polly had insisted on coloring the end of her nose brown with eyeliner. Laura lifted Clare smoothly, turning the little girl and plopping her onto her shoulders. She barely weighed anything, and Laura held her knees and turned slowly around, a lighthouse in the center of a storm.
“Can you see Bob?” Laura asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “He was at your house earlier?”
“Yes,” said Clare, looking around. “With my aunty Rachel.”
“You said your aunty Rachel was married.”
“She is,” she said. And then: “There he is!” She giggled, clearly enormously relieved. “He has Annabel on his shoulders!” This was hilarious, obviously. Then Clare added, in the way children sometimes tell you things they simply overhear, “Aunty Rachel has an open marriage.”
Laura nearly sprained her neck looking up at Clare. “I beg your pardon?”
Clare was waving at Annabel, who had spotted them and was advancing through the crowd, kicking Bob’s shoulders like a medieval knight on her steed. “She said so. She was hugging Bob.”
“Where was your uncle?” asked Laura quickly, seeing Bob herself through the crowd, getting closer.
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in ages. What is an open marriage?” Then Bob reached them and the two girls grabbed each other into a hug, which dragged him and Laura together as well. After a second of confusion they both laughed awkwardly, and Laura was glad he couldn’t see her face while she processed what Clare had said.
Then, from beyond Bob’s shoulder, she heard Lili’s exasperated and panicky voice. “Clare! What happened? We had a plan, we had an agreement.”
Clare nodded solemnly as Laura lowered her into her mother’s arms. “I know, but the crowd tore me away.”
Lili looked at her daughter. “Really?” Relief at seeing her daughter was giving way to irritation at the frequency with which this kind of thing happened.
Clare’s lip wobbled. “It was dark and I kept thinking I had found you so I’d reach for your hand and you’d hold it but then you’d look down and it wasn’t you it was some other mom and I said sorry and it was a bit scary.” Clare hugged her mom a little tighter.
Lili hugged her back, knowing both she and Clare felt equally horrible about losing each other. Then she stood and smiled at Laura. “Thank you so much for finding her.”
“Of course, it was pure luck,” said Laura, happy to have helped and trying not to look at Bob, who was standing right there, still with Annabel on his shoulders. They’d spent hours and hours together but now she felt shy. Fantastic.
“Hi, Laura,” he said, smiling. “Always in the right place at the right time.”
“Hi,” she said, which was a start at least. “I guess.”
Lili turned to the woman standing next to her, holding a variety of Halloween costume accessories and plastic pumpkin buckets.
“This is my sister, Rachel,” said Lili. “I don’t think you two have met.” She paused. “Rachel, this is Laura.”
Laura smiled and shook the tall, beautiful woman’s hand. “Hi there.”
“Hi,” said Rachel, with the same smile Laura had seen her smiling at Bob earlier, when she was holding his hands. Bob used to be my aunty’s boyfriend, you know.
“Nice to meet you,” said Laura.
Rachel grinned at her and then looked at Bob. “What a team you two make,” she said. “Not to mention the handy lookout.” She reached up to Annabel, who bent down to hug her aunty. The image of the three of them—Bob, this woman, this child—hurt Laura.
“Anyway,” she said, starting to back away, “I’ve got to get home, so . . .” She turned to leave, narrowly avoiding squashing a ninja turtle who barely came up to her thigh.
“I’ll drive you home,” said Bob, lowering Annabel to the sidewalk.
“We’re all heading that way,” said Lili, looking tired. “We parked in Larchmont, too.”
So the procession turned and made its way through the crowd, the kids chattering the whole time. Lili and Rachel kept close behind them, leaving Bob and Laura to bring up the rear. Laura was painfully aware of him next to her, as the crowd occasionally pushed them together, but she didn’t say anything. He had spent the weekend with an old girlfriend, he was going away for a few months, and then he was going away to grad school; there was no way they were going to be a thing, and she should be grateful to have met and made friends with someone she liked so much.
That was going to have to be sufficient.
FORTY-TWO
The rest of the week passed uneventfully, and gradually the candy wrappers on the streets disappeared, replaced by leaves and occasional rain puddles. Laura found herself avoiding Bob, not wanting to bring up Rachel, or really anything at all. He was leaving, and that was that. The air between them thickened, and though both of them were perplexed and cranky about it, neither was convinced it wasn’t all in their own head anyway.
One evening Laura came home from school quite late and found Maggie sitting in the kitchen, alone. Only the oven light was on, and at first Laura didn’t see her at the table. When she flipped on the overheads, Maggie jumped.
“Oh, sorry!” said Laura. “Sorry . . .”
Maggie shook her head. “No worries. I should go to bed anyway.”
Laura frowned at her. “Are you OK?”
“Sarah called Asher today,” said Maggie. “She’s pregnant.”
“That’s great,” said Laura reflexively. She paused. “Right?”
Maggie nodded, pushing her wineglass back and forth on the table. “Sure. Who doesn’t want to be a grandma?” Her eyes welled up suddenly, and Laura walked over and sat at the table. “If she even lets me,” Maggie said.
“Why wouldn’t she?” asked Laura. “I mean, I get that you guys argued last time, but it’s been months, surely you can patch it up?” She was ready to listen.
Maggie looked at her, her eyes dry again. “It might not be patchable.” She sighed. “Quite a few years ago now, after Sarah finished college, she came to live here for a while, a month or two while she looked for work. She started an affair with one of our neighbors. He was much older, he was married, he had kids, and I was . . . critical.”
Laura stayed quiet and let Maggie talk.
“His wife was furious and devastated and so was I, as if it was happening to me. I couldn’t believe a child of mine could do something so selfish, so careless. I thought I’d raised her better.” Maggie’s voice was bitter. “I thought, in fact, it was all about me. My husband had left me, too, though not for another woman, and Sarah had been angry about it. Angry with him for leaving, angry with me for not caring more. We bickered pretty much the whole last half of her teens. When the scandal broke, and it really did, with neighbors taking sides and not talking to me . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t handle it well.”
Ruining your reputation at the tennis club . . . Laura knew what that argument had really been about.
“I tried to get her to end it with the guy, so he could maybe go back to his wife, but she pointed out not all marriages are worth saving, like mine and her father’s.” Maggie’s face was drawn. “We said terrible things to each other and then we said nothing, for over a year.” She turned up her hands. “Now it’s several years later, she and Jeff are married, they’re having a child, and you saw how we were . . . it’s still not good.”
“But she talks to Asher?”
Maggie nodded. “Sometimes. They fight, too, like you saw, but it blows over. I let her down and she won’t forgive me. I’m not sure I’ll forgive myself.” Her wineglass was empty, and Laura got up to get the bottle from where it stood on the counter.
“You know Carl Jung?” asked Maggie unexpectedly.
Laura smiled. “Not personally.”
Maggie smiled back and shook her head. “Well, Jung talked about how the heaviest burden a child can carry is the unlived lives of its parents.” She shrugged. “I’m paraphrasing.”
