33. Every Cell of My Spreadsheet
EVERY CELL OF MY SPREADSHEET
Mark
Holy shit, this party is hilarious.
I can’t imagine having the Duboises as in-laws. I don’t think Hannah can imagine it either. Her wide eyes and rapid glances around the table tell me she’s a little freaked out. Luckily for her, they live on another continent, so she won’t have to tolerate them for more than a few days a year.
Besides, the modest twenty-room country home in the south of France, as Flip’s mom just described, doesn’t sound like a bad place to visit.
“All escargots are snails,” Madame is saying. “But not all snails can be escargots.”
“Obviously.” Flip says with a grin. He seems to enjoy his mother’s wild pronouncements. “Not every living squiggly creature deserves to be bathed in butter and garlic for your pleasure.”
“Well, I think that sounds gross ,” my daughter says suddenly. And very loudly.
Beside me, Asher chokes on a sip of my sister’s wine.
“Now Rosie,” Hannah squeaks, laying a hand on her silky hair. Rosie loves Aunt Hannah, and never misses a chance to take the seat beside hers. “We don’t yuck someone else’s yum.”
“We do if it’s a snail ,” my kid insists. “ Ew .”
Madame Dubois sniffs. “In France, children do not dine with the adults at the table. They dine in the kitchen with the au pair.”
At the other end of the table, Bridget clutches the stem of her wineglass. But her eyes are twinkling merrily. She’s obviously holding back the same bark of laughter that I am.
Our eyes lock. And by silent, mutual agreement, we each take a sip of our drink instead of saying a damn word to our daughter about this particular culinary opinion.
Because snails are gross. And because she’s barely six. And because Madame Dubois is a bully in pearls and a diamond brooch.
I catch myself smiling at my ex-wife for the first time in a long time. I guess it’s hard to stay bitter when you’re eating a sumptuous meal in a mansion on the bay. And getting laid on the regular.
Just then, Asher shifts in his chair. He hooks a bare foot under mine and pulls it closer to him.
Then he puts a hand on my knee and strokes.
I don’t dare glance at Bridget again, in case she can read the situation from my face.
Not that it really matters anymore. My attitude toward her is shifting now that she’s not the only one who has a life.
In fact, this week has shown me that it’s possible I could someday feel grateful about the way our marriage turned out.
For the first time, I’m liking this divorced life. As well as the hand on my leg.
I don’t wear a watch, so I don’t know what time it is. But I’m still counting down the minutes until everyone turns in for the night.
This time I won’t conk out early. There’s no chance I’ll miss my last night with Asher St. James. We’re going to lock the guest house door tonight and have all the sex .
Every goddamn cell of that spreadsheet is going to be kissed and licked and boinked into oblivion. The program will probably crash before we’re through.
Tomorrow, all hundred thousand employees of the Microsoft Corporation will probably feel strangely horny, and they won’t know why.
Asher nudges me with his toe. “You’re smirking,” he murmurs.
“I don’t smirk.” A waiter leans in to remove my empty salad plate. “What do you think the main course is? Something with a complicated French name?”
“If you’re lucky.”
I fake-cough into my napkin. “Posh fucker.”
And I don’t even have to turn my head to know he’s grinning.
After dinner, we all gather in the living room, where I continue my silent countdown till bedtime. Bridget and Rosie are the first to head upstairs. My own parents follow shortly after. Hannah disappears eventually too.
Then Asher gives me a meaningful glance and declares that he needs some sleep before the big day.
Flip actually rolls his eyes as Asher leaves seconds later.
Not sure what’s up with that. But I dutifully spend ten more minutes on the sofa listening to Mr. Dubois exclaim about elephant polo matches he’s seen in India.
I make myself wait a few more crucial minutes.
But then I’ve had enough. After making my excuses, I step out into the dark, easing my way around the pool deck, sex already on my brain.
I hope Asher is naked. This is it. We have no more time to waste.
I’m picking up speed when something moves in the dark on the last pool chair.
And I startle like I’ve just spotted an alligator in the bathtub.
But it’s only Hannah sitting there alone in the dark. “Mark, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Reluctantly, I slow my roll toward the guest house. My sister hugs her knees, alone in the dark. And suddenly, I suspect a disturbance in the force. “Is something wrong?”
“You already tried to tell me there was,” she says softly. “I should have listened to you.”
Oh, hell. I sit down on the end of the chair. Then I reach for my sister’s ankles and tug until her feet land in my lap. “Tell me what’s the matter, Banana. Tomorrow is your big day. You seemed really happy a few hours ago. What happened?”
“You told me this was too sudden,” she whispers. “But I didn’t want to hear it. And then . . .” She swallows hard. “And then I met Flip’s parents.”
“Oh.” My mind is spinning. “They’re a little much. But they live in Europe, Hannah. It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” She rubs a hand over her small bump. “I don’t know, Mark. It’s just like you said—I just haven’t known Flip very long. What if our values don’t line up? I’ve been so busy admiring his gray eyes and his bright smile and his really big?—”
“ Hannah ,” I caution.
“ Apartment ,” she finishes. “Geez, Mark. I wasn’t going there.”
“Sorry. Go on. I’m still not hearing a problem.”
She exhales. “Tonight, Madame Dubois asked me about my childcare plans. She wants the baby to have an Irish nanny. She said only the Irish girls are any good. And Flip agreed with her.”
“Okay, well, that’s kind of . . .”
“Racist,” Hannah finishes. “Good nannies come in all shapes and colors.”
“Hmm,” I say, buying time. It’s possible that Madame Dubois is a horrible human. But it’s also possible that she watches too many BBC period dramas to have a modern opinion on childcare.
“It gets worse,” my sister whispers. “After that, she said she hoped we’d have a boy so he could go to the Lucerne boarding school that Flip attended. At age six . And Flip said he thought that sounded nice.”
“Age six,” I repeat stupidly. Do people actually send little kids to boarding school? “Didn’t this happen in The Sound of Music ?”
“Yes!” Hannah wails. “Almost. The marriage didn’t happen, because the Captain called it off.”
“Oh,” I say slowly, processing the extent of her mayday. “But Hannah, come on. This isn’t the same.”
“Isn’t it?” she sniffs. “I screwed up, Mark. I really did. You tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen.
You said this marriage was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
It’s even worse than Crystal Pepsi. It’s more permanent than a mullet.
And I laughed it off.” She puts her hands in front of her face and sobs.
I’ve got to help her fix this.
“Hannah. Hey. Oh, hell.” My baby sister is wigging . And this is partly my fault. “Listen. I need you to listen to me right now. Can you do that?”
She wipes her eyes. “I don’t know what you could say that would make this all right.”
For once, though, I do. “In the first place, those drunk texts were more about me than you. I was in a lot of pain over my own marriage. I was really bitter about Bridget dumping me—” I stop myself and marvel for a split second. Very recently I’d been drowning in my own misery.
Funny what a few days of good sex can do for a guy’s outlook.
“You got married too young,” Hannah says glumly. “I get it. But what if I’m making the same mistakes?”
“Look,” I argue. “I have a couple of theories. Right over there—” I point at the pool shed “—I’ve hidden four casserole dishes on a shelf under some chlorine test strips. Because our own mother’s horrible impulses need to be managed with cunning and deception.”
Hannah smiles through her tears. “And I love you for it. But this is about more than ham casserole, Mark.”
I squeeze her ankle to emphasize my point. “I get that. But I think Flip manages his mother by yessing her to death. And then he does what he pleases. If I’m right, we could learn a thing or two from him.” That’s what Asher had said. And after watching the Dubois family in action, I believe him.
“But what if you’re wrong? What if he wants to ship our child off to boarding school before their first visit from the tooth fairy? Does the tooth fairy even visit European boarding schools?” Her lip trembles.
“Hannah, come on, now. Did you ask Flip if that’s what he wants? Did you pull him aside and tell him that some of the things his mother says scare you to death?”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “Not yet. I’m afraid to hear what he’ll say.”
“Don’t be,” I insist, flashing back to the night of the engagement party, the way Flip wrapped a protective arm around my sister?to shield her from me .
He’ll listen. He cares for her so much. Even if I couldn’t admit it then, I see it now.
“Look, you and Flip are not Bridget and me. You’re just not.
Even though I worry about you—which is basically my job as your older brother—you guys were never like us.
I barely knew who I was when I met Bridget.
I got myself a wife without ever asking if I wanted one.
But you and Flip were both ready to meet your forever partner.
You two were practically planning your wedding on date number three.
Nothing has changed here. You love each other. ”
She swipes at her eyes. “I do love Flip.”
“Do you trust him too?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I trust him to listen.”
“Then just go talk to him.”
She draws in a deep breath, swipes away her tears, and nods resolutely. “You’re right. My freak-out is unwarranted.”
“Yes and no. Your mother-in-law is a category-five hurricane in pearls. But that’s just life, and that needs to be managed by you and Flip together.”
“Together,” she repeats. “I need to speak to him. Right now.” She sounds like my strong, determined sister again as she pulls her feet out of my lap and stands. “God, Mark. I’m sorry to be such a drama queen. I’d blame the pregnancy hormones, but that sounds like a cop-out.”
“Hey, don’t be sorry.” I stand up and pull her into my arms. “Commitment is scary. Some people get burned. There are no guarantees. But you can’t let his mother throw you off course. She’s not the one who matters.”
“Okay. I know. I let her scare me.”
I give her one more squeeze. “Now go and tell Flip that you are not sending a six-year-old to boarding school. See what he says. I’ll bet he already agrees with you. But even if he doesn’t, I bet he’ll listen.”
“He will. You’re right.” She stands up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. “I love you. Thank you for being here for me.”
“Anytime, Banana. Seriously.”
She darts off toward the house. I listen to the door open and then close again. But I’m still standing here by the pool chair, replaying that moment.
Sometimes you just have to go after what you want tenaciously, whether it’s your forever, or just one night.