Chapter 16
16
New York makes Theo brave.
Giddy.
A little bit delusional. He wakes to the sound of his alarm, a starfish on the sofa bed. Groggy, eyes still closed, his arms search for Evelyn. As if she’s supposed to be next to him. She isn’t. He finds her curled up on the futon, cocooned in the duvet, and when he nudges her she hisses at him like a cat. Theo runs to the bodega across the street for coffee and chai and thinks that somewhere in the multiverse, this is his life.
New York is home.
Coffee is across the street.
Evelyn is his wife.
She’s curling her hair in the bathroom when he returns with caffeine. She’s in a jade satin slip dress with ruching at one side. It’s only partially zipped, enough of her back exposed for him to deduce that she’s not wearing a bra.
“Zip me?”
“Yeah.”
Theo places his coffee on the counter immediately with this permission to touch her. Feels like he’s seventeen and Evelyn’s asked him to help with a costume. It’s so soft. Her dress. The zipper’s jammed, so he works to gently coax the satin to prevent it from snagging. His fingers skim her skin and she jerks away.
“ Shit , Theodore. You’re freezing.”
“It’s stuck.”
Once she stills, he’s able to free the zipper with a gentle downward pull before gliding it all the way up slowly, lingering in this moment. Indulging. Because he’s in New York with Evelyn and he can’t remember the last time he had as much fun as he did while learning that Topher James manages a bar in Bushwick, witnessing Evelyn throw back tequila like water, reminiscing about Slippery People. Last night, Theo felt the end-of-year fog lifting at last. December is always rough. His kids are restless. Survivor ends. Holidays are just… super fucking sad. During the school break, he finds himself trying new hobbies that never stick. Painting. Pottery. Chess. The alternative is sitting with the sadness. He and Evelyn usually deal with the December Blues together. But this past month, he felt like he barely saw her.
At this point he isn’t sure who’s avoiding who or why they’ve been avoiding each other. Theo isn’t one to read into signs, but bumping into Topher at Alejandro’s sure as hell feels like one. His former roommate may have been a catalyst, but Theo never blamed him for the aftermath of Evelyn’s surprise visit. Really, Theo had no one to blame but himself for the weeks, months, years of awkwardness that stretched between them because it was easier to be fine, to be busy, to avoid acknowledging how goddamn gutted he felt when she emerged from Toph’s bedroom.
Now?
Here?
Theo just wants to stop.
Avoiding.
“Thanks.”
His eyes meet hers in the mirror.
Eyes that match a dress that is simple and stunning.
All the time .
Even tequila-buzzed Evelyn couldn’t get the words out, but Theo knew what she was asking. He knows her . And she needed to know that even if she couldn’t ask the question, he could answer it. Easily. She pivots so she’s facing him, and somewhere in the multiverse he takes her mouth with his, unzips this simple, stunning dress, then drops to his knees, and they skip the bat mitzvah.
Instead, he watches her remove her wedding band.
Fuck.
When did he start thinking of it as hers ?
“I’ve been thinking… we don’t have to pretend here.”
“Why have we been pretending at all?”
Evelyn flushes, then shrugs. “I’ve kind of lost the plot myself. Can we stop? I mean. I suppose in exchange for unreal health insurance you can still be Mr. Evelyn Bloom at school. Though it could probably be considered workplace discrimination that marrying me changed, like, how people treat you at work. But—”
He cuts off her babbling. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Theo nods, then removes his ring. Changes into his suit, pops two Advil with his daily dose of Lexapro, then attends a bat mitzvah both jet-lagged and hungover, an ideal combination for spending the morning in a synagogue. He drifts during the service. Even at his best, he’s never able to stay present while listening to prayers in a language that he doesn’t understand. Theo’s Judaism has always been less a religious practice, more a spiritual one. Evelyn wipes a tear from her cheek as Avia is called to the Torah. Every time the rabbi calls the congregation to stand, she looks over her shoulder.
Confirms that no, Naomi is not here.
Theo isn’t surprised.
When it’s time to recite the Mourner’s Kaddish, Theo stands and recites along. Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba. You’re technically only supposed to recite kaddish for a parent during the first year of mourning. But Theo hasn’t been in a synagogue since Lori died. So as far as he’s concerned, he owes it to her. And though he isn’t religious, there’s something comforting about the ritual. Evelyn reaches for his hand and weaves her fingers through his. Presses their palms together. And then it is over and he’s seated and she doesn’t let go, not until the ceremony concludes and she’s on her feet.
“Let’s go.”
“Without saying mazel tov?”
Her eyes shift toward the bima, where Avia, Miriam, and Mateo are surrounded by family and friends. “Later.”
Having hours of time to kill before the party, Theo and Evelyn get falafel for lunch at Mamoun’s and see a movie at the Angelika. She chooses a pretentious independent film about chess that’s garnering awards buzz, then sleeps through the entire thing. After her twenty-five-dollar nap, they walk to the venue. The Bowery Hotel. It’s a short walk from the theater. Evelyn wears Theo’s wool peacoat because it’s long and her dress is short. He doesn’t mind. He misses everything about New York. Even its weather.
Miriam and Mateo greet guests at the entrance to the ball room. Mateo is a mop of gray curls, a well-tailored suit, shorter than Miriam in heels. She’s dressed in gold sequins, her arms covered in botanical tattoos wrapping around Evelyn in a hug.
“I can’t believe you came all this way,” Miriam says.
“I wanted to,” she says, her smile shy. “It’s small. Our family. You know? And Avia is awesome. So.”
Mateo chuckles. “Avia is awesome.”
Polite laughter fills the space before fizzling into awkward silence. Theo hates that Evelyn flew across the country for people who don’t seem to have anything to say to her as much as he hates awkward silence.
So he says, “Hi.”
Evelyn blinks. “Oh! Aunt Mir, Uncle Mat, this is my… do you remember Theo?”
“The plus-one.” Theo holds out his hand. “Mazels. It was a beautiful ceremony.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Miriam says, then raises her eyebrows at her niece. “Are you two…?”
“Friends.”
A wrinkle forms between Miriam’s eyebrows. “Oh. I thought… Naomi told us you got married?”
“What?”
Mateo snorts, nudging Miriam. “Told you it was bullshit.”
“Is Mom coming?”
“Supposedly.” Miriam shrugs. “You know how Naomi is. Margot’s career always comes first.”
Theo frowns.
Career?
Margot is six .
Before Evelyn can respond, another middle-aged couple in a cocktail dress and well-fitting suit pull Miriam and Mateo’s focus from their niece.
“We’ll catch up later,” Miriam promises, squeezing Evelyn’s shoulder.
“In the meantime, enjoy the open bar,” Mateo says.
And then their backs turn and there’s nothing to do but be at a bat mitzvah surrounded by strangers. Avia’s theme is Broadway at the Bowery. Theo and Evelyn are assigned to the Mamma Mia! table, seated with the nieces and nephews from Mateo’s side of the family. Lina, Samuel, and Binta, who are hilarious and loud and love to finish one another’s sentences. Evelyn flails through the small talk. Refers to herself as a glorified intern. Fellow , Theo corrects, yelling over an electropop song that’s giving him a migraine. Everything about this night is so opulent and overstimulating. Activities include a photo booth, a VR station, three caricature artists. Evelyn orders a blueberry banana smoothie from a Jamba Juice cart. Theo feels like he’s in a movie.
Back at their table, she sips on her smoothie. “I didn’t think about this part.”
“What?”
“People-ing.” Evelyn stirs her straw. “With so many… I don’t know, family-adjacent people?”
“It’s a lot.”
“Avia asked me in the smoothie line if I’m friends with her parents. Um. First of all, how dare Disneyland not be a core memory? Second, how old does she think I am?”
Theo laughs.
She lightly shoves his shoulder in faux offense. “Shut up. I just… hoped it would feel different. Being here.”
“How does it feel?”
Evelyn shrugs. “Honestly? Like a waste of time.”
She excuses herself to use the bathroom, leaving him alone. Theo’s here to be her best friend, so he stands and approaches DJ Schmuel because he can’t fix her family feelings, but he can request a song. And thirty minutes later, when it blasts through the speakers, he can take Evelyn’s hand and pull her to the dance floor because one cannot hear “Cupid Shuffle” and not do the cupid shuffle. It’s just a fact. He’s relieved when Avia and her countless friends populate the dance floor. Thrilled that “Cupid Shuffle” is timeless. Elated when Evelyn laughs. Sometimes he thinks he’d be content if that was his only purpose in life, to make her laugh. “Cupid Shuffle” becomes “Dancing Queen” and Evelyn takes his hand, pulls him closer to her, and he feels so helpless, so hopeless , as she places his hands on her hips and wraps her arms around his neck.
“I miss this.” She flushes, those three words a confession. “Dancing with you.”
He stares at her, his heart in his throat because it’s not something they talk about.
Dance.
But maybe Evelyn is done avoiding, too.
“Ev—”
“Evelyn!”
Whatever Theo is about to say is cut off and it’s so disorienting that she’s no longer in his arms. She’s wrapped in Naomi, who’s dressed in a black Gucci jumpsuit, long pink nails pressing into her back. Theo doesn’t take his eyes off Evelyn. Feels the most irrational rage , witnessing Naomi embrace her like… well, like she’s her mother .
“I can’t believe I heard that you’d be here from Miriam,” Naomi says.
“I texted you,” Evelyn says.
Naomi’s forehead doesn’t move when she frowns. “Did you?”
“Maman,” says a tiny voice. Margot. Evelyn always insists that Margot is Gen’s doppelg?nger, but Theo sees his best friend, too. “Je veux une glace.”
“Un moment, mon amour,” Naomi says to Margot, then looks at Evelyn. “We’re raising her bilingual.”
Evelyn’s eyebrow twitches. “Oh.”
“Good thing, too, because this little star had a callback for a Bonne Maman partnership.” Naomi looks down at Margot, who is reaching for her mother’s hand. “Mon chéri, this is Evelyn. Your sister.”
Margot looks up and offers a small, timid wave with her free hand.
Evelyn isn’t a sister to her, but a stranger.
“Hi.” Evelyn squats and holds out her hand. Margot places a tiny palm in hers. “Your nails are so pretty.”
“Pink is my favorite color.”
Evelyn smiles. “Mine too.”
“What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” Margot asks.
“Mint chip.”
Margot gasps. “No way .”
Evelyn’s giggle is so much .
She stands. “This is my friend, Theo.”
Theo waves. “Enchanté.”
It’s a mistake. Margot starts babbling to him in French. Theo doesn’t speak French. He nods along and feigns comprehension until Margot spots Jean-Paul at the ice cream station and runs toward her father, allowing Theo to rejoin the adult conversation as Naomi is sharing with Evelyn that they’re considering moving back to France. For Margot’s education. A waiter walks by with a tray of champagne and Naomi picks up a flute. Immediately stains the rim with hot pink lipstick.
“Jean-Paul is from Toulouse and he had the most charming childhood. We want that for Margot.”
Evelyn’s smile is saccharine. “Of course.”
Naomi’s lips press together. “Evelyn. I did the best I could for you and Immy. I hope you know that.”
“I do.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Witnessing this exchange, Theo’s at a loss. He’s used to dealing with parental bullshit, but at least Jacob’s is direct. With Naomi, it’s not so much what she says, but the way she says it. Her flat, passive-aggressive affect before she pulls Evelyn into another hug, then shifts to embrace Theo. He stiffens at the unsolicited body contact.
“It’s wonderful to see you again.”
Theo lies, “You too.”
“How long are you in town?”
“We fly home tomorrow.”
Naomi sighs. “I wish I knew. You could’ve stayed with us.”
“I texted you—”
“But I’m not surprised. I mean, I found out that my firstborn is married on Facebook .” She chuckles, then raises her glass. “Mazel tov, by the way! I’m happy for you. Of course I am.” Naomi sips. “You look good, Evelyn.” She takes a step backward, her eyes scanning, appraising. “Healthy. Have you been working out?”
Okay.
Nope.
Fuck this.
Theo’s rage is entirely rational. “Evelyn always looks good.”
Naomi looks taken aback. “I didn’t mean—”
“Maman.”
“Let me just…” Relief is palpable in her expression as she’s pulled toward Margot’s voice, emitting a tender sigh. “I have to do the toppings. Jean-Paul always messes up the sprinkles-to-whipped-cream ratio.”
And then she’s at the ice cream station. Evelyn watches Naomi and Margot. Doesn’t react. Performs indifference at Margot’s giggle as Naomi boops whipped cream on her nose. Theo has an intimate relationship with the particular pain of grieving a relationship with someone who’s still very much alive. Grieving the hope of it all. It’s awful. Theo can’t perform indifference.
Instead, he takes her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m sorry.” Evelyn kicks off her shoes as soon as they step foot in Dev’s empty apartment.
On the counter, there’s a note.
ON CALL. ANOTHER OVERNIGHT. brEAKFAST AM?
Evelyn sits on the end of the sofa bed and presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I always thought she didn’t want to be a mother. But… now I just don’t think she wanted to be our mother. Mine or Imogen’s. I tried so hard to be good for her, Theo.”
“I know.”
“And… I’m here because a part of me wanted to see her. It’s so embarrassing .” Evelyn wipes the tears from her cheeks. “Knowing something is impossible but still wanting it.” She sighs, then tucks her feet up under her. “I’m sorry I dragged you here.”
“At least we got to ‘Cupid Shuffle’?”
Evelyn snorts.
Theo sits next to her, pressing his thumb to her cheek. “It’s not embarrassing to want better from the people who are the only reason we’re even on this fucked-up planet. Also? Don’t be sorry. I’m not. In addition to cupid shuffling, I got to spend time in my favorite place with my favorite person.”
Her smile is small. “You should be here. In New York. Why aren’t you?”
Theo isn’t sure how to respond to such an infuriating question. We don’t have to pretend here , she’d said this morning as she slipped Lori’s wedding band off her finger. I don’t want to pretend here. Right now?
Neither does he.
“You’re seriously asking me that?”
“I mean. I get why you came home. Obviously. But…” Evelyn’s voice trails off. Theo’s eyes are transfixed on her lips. How glossy they are. “Being here? Seeing you here? I guess I just don’t understand why you’ve stayed in LA.”
“Don’t you?”
It surprises him, the challenge in his voice.
Her brow furrows. “You love New York.”
“I do.”
He whispers this confession, as if it’s not obvious. Silence stretches between them. He could— should —fill it with bullshit excuses. It’s what he’d do at home.
But New York makes him brave, so he continues, “It’d be impossible. Leaving again.”
“Because of work? You can find another job—”
“God, Evelyn. No. Not leaving my job . Leaving you .”
Her eyes widen.
“Ev—”
But before he can walk those words back, she leans in and presses her perfect lips against his. Wraps her arms around him and runs her fingers through his curls, her nails scraping against the nape of his neck. She tastes like vanilla. When her teeth graze his bottom lip and bite softly he moans, then braces himself for their brains to catch up to their bodies.
They always do.
But she just smiles against his mouth, then keeps kissing him like he’s a goddamn revelation. Theo’s palms stay pressed against the mattress. He doesn’t dare touch her when she climbs onto his lap and tells himself he still has an ounce of self-control when the reality is he is so far gone and it’s so sexy. Evelyn’s tongue in his mouth. Evelyn’s hands in his hair. Evelyn grinding against him, her dress hiked up to her hips, her mouth lowering to his neck as she reaches for his belt buckle, her fingers teasing him.
She pulls away.
Her eyes shift to his hands, which have sunken into the memory foam. And it’s devastating, the furrow of her brow. She bites her swollen lip and lowers her gaze. “I’m… I thought. Fuck. You don’t want—”
“Evelyn.” Theo presses the pad of his thumb under her chin, tilts it up so her eyes meet his. “I want.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Then fucking Christ, Theo. Touch me .”