Chapter 15
Jonathan’s outrage is sexy. Over the phone, he’s threatening all manner of lawsuits against Lorraine.
How dare she violate Cece’s rental agreement for her political beliefs!
It’s discrimination; it won’t stand! Cece’s forgotten this part of him, the part that’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to a personal injustice, real or imagined.
There was the time he got them moved up to first class on a flight when her chair’s recliner was broken, the time he extracted a formal apology from a theatergoer after he bumped into her at the coat-check line, or the time he shouted down her first landlord in Manhattan when she threatened to withhold Cece’s security deposit over a dirty stove.
Jonathan’s always been there for Cece when she needs him, and this time is no different.
Except that Cece isn’t interested in exacting her pound of flesh from Lorraine.
The town hall in three weeks will do that for her.
Right now, she needs to start packing. Only after she reassures Jonathan that this is what she wants does he drop the issue.
At first, Cece had resisted the idea of moving back in with Jonathan.
It wasn’t just about her responsibilities at Rayburn; she was worried her need for a place to stay was clouding her judgment.
Even if she knew she and Jonathan would eventually live together again, she hadn’t realized it would be so soon.
The power dynamics at play in their relationship when they first broke up were clear, nearly equal.
Sure, Jonathan made more money than her, but her actuary job had allowed her to split their expenses, except for their more extravagant international trips.
Her new situation—soon-to-be homeless, earning a pittance on an oyster farm—has the potential to swing the pendulum of power entirely to Jonathan’s side.
It isn’t something Cece’s pleased about, but then again, she doesn’t feel like she has much choice.
Not that Jonathan would ever leverage his newfound position.
He’d been nothing but generous to Cece since they’d decided to get back together.
It’s all for the better, Cece thinks, while she tapes the cardboard boxes together that she got for free from the liquor store.
Cece had messaged Morgan asking about Lacy earlier that morning.
They hadn’t left things on the best of terms last night, but Cece’s grown fond of the girl and is worried about how she’s holding up.
Hours later, Cece trying to will herself asleep, he still hasn’t responded, and she can’t help herself but fire off another communiqué—a dumb observation about the absurdity of buying new cardboard boxes for moving when that’s all anyone uses to put out their recycling.
Would you think less of me if you saw me dragging boxes out of your trash?
Monday morning, and still no response from Morgan.
They’ve officially entered silent-treatment territory.
It seems he’s taking her proclamation about them seeing less of each other seriously.
She was a fool to think they could be friends anyway, especially after sleeping together, and Cece begrudgingly acknowledges that Wynonna was right: men and women simply can’t be platonic.
Still, Cece had held out hope, delusionally, it seems. Jealousy was not a trait she had expected from Morgan, and yet, it is undeniable.
Everything had gone sideways after the two men had met and she’d been forced to break the news of her reconciliation with Jonathan.
It all felt so juvenile and small. Couldn’t Morgan understand her position? Couldn’t he just be happy for her?
Cece is saddened by the idea of leaving without saying goodbye to Morgan and Lacy.
After work, the packing goes faster than Cece anticipated, which only serves to highlight how little of a life she’s built here in New London.
Roving dust bunnies clotted with Bernard’s hair wander the pool house floor.
A lemony, fresh scent wafts in from the bathroom where Cece’s scrubbed the floor and shower with Pine-Sol, determined to leave her summer residence better than she found it.
From his perch on the bed, Bernard eyes Cece warily while she moves around the empty space, wiping down baseboards, double-checking the condiment tray in the fridge, scraping the grime from the crack where the sink meets the linoleum countertop.
The security deposit is not an insignificant amount, and Cece refuses to give Lorraine any excuse to withhold it.
There’s something else, too. Guilt. Lorraine’s the one acting like an irrational zealot, but it still doesn’t change how Cece feels, like a traitor and a coward.
They haven’t crossed paths since last week, and there’s been no movement from the main house—curtains drawn, not so much as a whisper.
Bernard’s ears perk up at the purr of an engine outside.
It must be Cece’s mother. She’s picking up the dog before Cece drives down to Stamford.
By the curb, Kim emerges from a silver BMW, eyebrows freshly plucked, heavy rouge reddening her cheeks, a tight-fitting halter top straining against her bosom.
If this weren’t her mother, Cece might find the scene comical, but Kim is very much her mother, so instead, Cece is closer to deeply concerned or potentially embarrassed.
“It’s a rental,” Kim says, sitting in the dining nook, “the closest I’m gonna get to driving a luxury car. You should see your face.”
Cece considers clarifying that her look of shock is only partially related to the car but decides against it.
She’s waiting for the avalanche of disapproving glances and comments about the cramped quarters and low ceilings, but Kim seems uninterested in picking a fight.
Cece’s decision to get back together with Jonathan has its benefits, after all.
“By the way,” Kim continues while she takes out her phone, “I can’t take Bernard just yet. I need you to watch him for a few more days.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here? To bring him home?”
“I’m on my way up to Boston. I’ll get him on my way back.”
“What about Dad?”
“He’ll be fine. He’s not infirm, you know.”
“I think you’re overestimating his ability to function without you.”
“He’s quite capable,” Kim insists.
“I don’t know if Jonathan’s apartment allows pets long term.”
Cece waits for a response while she fills two Solo cups with water from the tap. Her mom says nothing, typing furiously on her phone, sandaled foot bouncing anxiously. Cece recalls all the moments her parents cajoled her and Wynonna to get off their phones and talk to them like human beings.
In a huff, Kim fires off whatever message she’s been typing and puts her phone down. “What were you saying?”
“What’s in Boston?”
Kim flips her phone over and checks it before turning her attention back to Cece.
“I’m meeting an old acquaintance. We were friends when I was at Fordham.
You don’t have to look at me like that. What are you, the morality police now?
Nothing ever happened between us, but there was always something there—tension.
Anyway, we reconnected on Facebook. It turns out he’s a widower.
We got to chatting, and he’s invited me up to his place in Brookline. ”
Cece drains her water and studies the ceiling. Too fast—everything is happening, dissolving too fast. She finds herself amazed at the speed at which a family can fracture and fall away. “Don’t you think you’re kind of rushing things?”
Kim regards her with a patronizing look. “There’s no such thing as rushing at my age. I’ve got ten, maybe fifteen good years left, and I intend on enjoying them.”
“What about Dad?”
“What about him?”
“Are you actually getting divorced?”
“We’re taking a break. That’s about as official as he can get. You know your father.”
“And Wynonna?”
“Not speaking to me at the moment. Now, before I go, I need you to look at some photographs for me. I require your millennial expertise.”
“What kind of photos?”
“For my profile. I’m on SilverSingles and eharmony,” Kim says, and shows Cece her phone, swiping through a dizzying array of photos: oddly angled selfies, hastily cropped photos, evidence of Barry in the form of a shirtsleeve, a hand, a shadow.
Cece recoils. “Mom, this is nuts. I’m not doing this with you.”
Kim shrugs. “Suit yourself. God knows I can’t talk to Wynonna about any of this. I thought you’d be able to handle the situation with a little more maturity.”
“You can’t just expect everyone to fall in line. I mean, I support your decision to be happy, Mom, but don’t you think it’s kind of disrespectful to Dad? Moving on like this? So quickly?”
“And what would the requisite period of mourning look like to you and your sister? What’s a satisfactory length of time for me to be depressed and downtrodden?
Perhaps you and Wynonna would prefer I just become an old spinster and live alone for the rest of my life.
Then you’d never have to imagine your mother actually enjoying her life. ”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Time is all we’ve got, Cece. Can’t you see that?”
Cece can only nod.
“I need to get on the road. I really hate driving at night,” Kim says, tossing her phone in her Saint Laurent tote and standing.
“Send Jonathan my love. I’m thrilled you two are giving it another shot.
Nothing in life is a guarantee; every relationship, every marriage is a crapshoot, so you’ve gotta look at the constants and bet on those, but I don’t have to tell you that. You’re the risk analysis expert.”