Fifteen
Fifteen
SEPTEMBER 2021
I knock and hear a groan on the other side of the hotel door. Tess turns the lock and flings it open with an exasperated “Mara, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Except it’s not Mara at her door. It’s me.
“Grant, what are you doing here?” Tess pulls her robe tighter as I take a step into her hotel room.
“We need to talk,” I say.
“You can’t come in here.” Tess blocks the doorway, pushing me backward.
“Do you want to have this conversation in the hall?” I ask.
Tess bites her lip, seemingly unsure what to do. The last thing either of us needs is some hotel guest walking by, seeing two political candidates standing together in the Ritz-Carlton hallway.
Hours earlier, the second debate was held in the grand ballroom ten floors below. I should be back in my home, a few miles down the road, but instead I’m standing in front of Tess, my eyes begging her to let me in.
“Fine,” she says, gesturing me into the room before I glance over my shoulder, relieved there is no one else around. “How did you find my room?”
“I bribed the guy at the front desk.”
“That was stupid. He’ll sell that story,” Tess quickly criticizes, before noticing the glint in my eye. A slow smile creeps across my face because I can’t help teasing her. It’s easy to slip back into our old dynamics.
She folds her arms across her chest. “What did you really do?”
“I overheard your campaign manager tell one of the staffers backstage. Something about making sure there were enough potato chips in your minibar.” My eyebrows raise. I kind of love that Tess’s junk food addiction stuck around. So much else disappeared.
“I’m glad my campaign security is so solid,” she mumbles.
I walk over to the minibar and grab a beer before sitting on the sofa in her hotel suite.
“Exactly how long are you planning on staying?” Tess asks.
I cross my leg and rest my ankle on the opposite knee. “Can you ever relax?”
“Not around you.”
I take a long sip of beer and lean forward. “Have you heard anything more?” I ask.
Tess shakes her head.
We haven’t spoken—outside of our debate—since we met for drinks in Washington, D.C. If Tess’s campaign received any other emails from the anonymous source, I hoped she would call. I’m relieved that’s true.
“My campaign knows,” I admit. “My wife too.”
Tess leans forward. “Knows what, exactly?”
“That we met before,” I say, taking another long sip of my beer. “That we knew each other as teenagers.”
“And they believed that was it?”
“No. But I didn’t tell them more,” I say.
The night Cece found out, I made it home for dinner. We sat together as a family, listening to the boys debate battle strategies for their latest video game obsession. Cece nodded and smiled at all the right times and I wondered how she did it. How did she pretend to care about a ten-year-old’s imaginary world when our reality was crumbling? I had answers for the various questions I assumed she would ask, practicing in my car mirror on the drive home. But after the boys went upstairs and Cece was done pushing around her sad fast-food salad, we sat there silently. Eventually she asked about Tess, except I could tell she didn’t want to hear my story. “Tess worked for your mother? One brief summer? That was all, right?” Cece didn’t look into my eyes, her rapid-fire words less questions and more pleas for confirmation. It was so easy to go along with it. And when Cece eventually looked in my direction, she seemed relieved that we were able to continue this lie. She left to check on the boys’ bedtime routine and I felt more regret than relief. Cece was the perfect wife. She trusted me. She believed me. I was finally ready to open up and it was clear she didn’t want to hear it. Perfection is difficult to abandon.
Sitting in front of Tess makes me wonder about that more. “Dean wasn’t here tonight,” I comment.
Tess stiffens. “His classes started.”
My eyes narrow. “Does he know?”
“No.” Tess shifts uncomfortably in the upholstered chair next to the sofa that I was occupying. “But he’s upset. Campaigns aren’t easy on marriages.”
I look down at the ground, twisting my wedding band. It’s impossible to know the inner sanctum of a marriage. The last thing I want to do is speculate about Tess’s. I’m still harboring so much anger toward her, but that doesn’t negate the amount of guilt I feel toward the innocent players in each of our lives. None of them deserve any of the pain that may be coming.
“We’re being so stupid, Grant,” Tess says, her eyes welling. “This is going to come out and it’s going to destroy us both.”
“It may not come out.” I try to keep my voice steady.
“Who would keep your mother’s photo? Who would care about our past?”
“I don’t know.” I place my beer on the coffee table and lean back. “Whoever it is, they probably want the same thing everyone always wants. Money.”
Tess flinches. “That’s not what matters to everyone.”
“Really?” It’s a challenge and Tess knows it. She doesn’t take the bait, refusing to answer any of the questions she left me to wrestle with decades ago.
“We’ve already had one debate tonight,” Tess says softly. “I don’t want to start another one.”
I reluctantly nod in agreement. Fighting with Tess brings back the worst memories of my life. The fact that it is my job now seems like cruel punishment.
Tess shifts uncomfortably as she asks, “Do you believe what you said tonight?”
Immediately, I know what she’s talking about. I lean forward. “Yes. Every word.”
Stuart and I don’t agree about much these days. He still pushes for the full story on Tess and I still deflect. But we both agree that abortion is the most critical issue to my campaign. And we knew that it would be the central issue of tonight’s debate. When the moderator asked Tess about her position, she said all of the expected things about a woman’s right to choose.
When it was my turn, I was ready with my carefully rehearsed statement. “I guess I never understood how my opponent could say abortion is a woman’s choice. My wife chooses our dinners, our vacation plans, and most of my outfits.” It was a folksy comment, but the audience laughed. I continued, “Abortion shouldn’t be a choice like dinner, and certainly not something as simple as saying it is a woman’s choice. Being a father is the greatest privilege of my life. I can only imagine what it would be like if my partner made a choice that took that gift away.” I tried to hide the cracks in my voice. Because it was supposed to be a debate about an issue, not a fight about a long-ago mistake.
Tess was quick with her rebuttal, pointing out the burdens unique to women—financial, medical, interpersonal—that childbirth brings. She spoke too quickly and I could tell that her response sounded like a recitation, whereas I hoped I connected with voters on a more personal level. At least, that was the feedback I got from my campaign. But I’m sure she has an army of people selling her false promises of victory at the same time.
I don’t agree with Tess. But the last thing she said at the debate keeps echoing in my head. “We have to trust women,” Tess had said.
Except I did. I had trusted Tess, which made her betrayal unbearable.
“We are very different people,” Tess says. She seems disappointed, and I understand. Because maybe if we agreed, we could have saved ourselves from the pain that drove us apart.
“Yes.” I nod. We are no longer on the debate stage. We are sitting across from each other in her hotel room. “Different people who both decided to run for governor. What a frustrating coincidence.”
“You really think it’s a coincidence that we’re running against each other?” she asks.
“Of course. Don’t you?”
She looks out the window, the dark night lit up with the lights of the surrounding buildings. “Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe it was fate forcing our paths to cross.”
“We have a lot of unfinished business, Tess.”
“No. We have history. That’s it.” Tess looks away and I wonder if she is trying to convince herself that there’s nothing more between us.
“You haven’t ever wondered about me? All of these years later, you haven’t ever tried to look me up? To have one last conversation?”
She swallows, her eyes finally meeting mine. “Of course I have. But then I think about the last time I saw you. It was one of the worst days of my life. I know I never want to feel that way again. I push those feelings and that speculation away. Instead, I look around at the life I have fought so hard to create and focus on that.”
“It was the worst day of my life too, Tess.”
I extend my hand across the center of the sofa. Our fingers are inches away from each other’s. Tess’s gravitational pull has always been too hard for me to avoid. My fingers float toward hers and for one brief moment, our hands connect. She recoils quickly and stands, smoothing her hair, pulling her robe tighter, polishing away our brief moment of weakness.
“If there are other emails or more photos? If anyone finds out what really happened between us, will you tell me, Grant?”
“Yes,” I answer, without hesitation. “I don’t want this out. I don’t want to win at your expense.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“I can’t stop caring about you, Tess.” I take a step forward, but she holds up her hands. I quickly nod, sensing that whatever transpired between us is gone. It has to be gone.
She walks me to the door. My hand rests on the doorknob as I ask, “Are you going to tell Dean?”
“Yes, I have to. Eventually. But it will destroy us. It doesn’t ever seem like a good time to lose the love of your life.”
I feel a sharp pain that I didn’t know is possible after so much time has passed. “You’re right,” I say. “There’s never a good time for that.”
I walk down the hotel hallway, thankful for its emptiness. When I’m inside the elevator, I slump against the door, drained from the emotions that Tess stirs. I don’t know what to do next, and every step of my life has been preplanned since birth. I glance at my watch. It’s almost midnight. Cece will be waiting, wondering why my post-debate debriefing with Stuart took so long.
When the elevator doors open into the parking garage, I’m confronted with a familiar face.
“How long?” Cece harshly whispers. “How long have you been sleeping with Tess Murphy?”
“Cece, what are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here, Grant?”
“Did you follow me?” I ask regretfully, knowing I have no place to question her actions.
“I knew something was going on. Of course, I followed you.”
I look out across the garage, wondering if there are cameras, wondering if it is as deserted as it looks, or if we have an audience.
“Get in the car, we can talk there,” I instruct, walking toward Cece’s Range Rover.
She cocks her head. “What are you concerned about, Grant? Getting caught fighting with your wife? Or getting caught leaving Tess Murphy’s hotel room? I’m just wondering where I rank in your concerns these days.”
I’ve never seen this kind of calculated anger from Cece. Not when I came home from my bachelor party so drunk I could barely stand. Not when she was delivering the twins and the doctor told her she needed to work harder.
I stare at the ceiling and close my eyes briefly. When I open them, I’m met with her icy stare. “Cecilia, I can explain.”
“I’m not an idiot. It’s pretty clear what’s going on.”
“It isn’t what you think. The last thing I want is to hurt you.”
“Really? You thought I’d be totally fine with a little extramarital affair? Is that what you thought, Grant?”
“No,” I reflexively reply. But then I stare at the concrete pillar in front of me and figure maybe it’s time to be truthful with my wife. “Honestly, I’m surprised you care.”
Her fists pound into my chest and she screams, “You are such an asshole. Of course I care. You are my husband. MY! HUSBAND!” The last words are shouted across the rows of cars, Cece’s voice cracking into a million pieces.
“I’ll tell you everything,” I say, opening her car door.
“Start talking.” She slides inside and slams the door, the sound echoing in the empty garage.
I open the passenger door. “Let’s go home. We can talk there.”
Cece whips toward me. “There is no way you are coming back to my house.”
“Our house.”
“You are unprepared for the fight ahead if you think you can sleep with another woman and then call the home where I raise my children ‘ours.’”
“I didn’t sleep with another woman. I’d never cheat on you. You know that. And they’re my kids too, Cece.”
“What were you doing in another woman’s hotel room?” Her eyes turn into slits.
I try to explain. “Talking. We were just talking.”
“You never had sex with Tess Murphy?”
I wince. “Not tonight.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? When? How many times have you slept with Tess?”
“I don’t know, Cece. But the last time was twenty-five years ago.”
“Grant.” She says my name like a curse. “Nothing you’re saying makes any sense.”
I look out the car window. “Sometimes it feels like you’ve never understood me.”
“Because you don’t talk to me!” she shouts. “Do you talk to her? Is that it? We’ve built an entire life together and you seem so willing to just throw it all away. What do you have with Tess Murphy?”
How can I explain Tess to my wife? How do I say that there’s another woman who knows me better? Even after everything that happened, sitting next to Tess in the hotel room tonight made me realize I’ll never love another person with the same intensity. “We have a connection,” I confess. “Even after all these years. It’s hard to explain.”
“Please try, Grant. I’ve been married to you for twelve years. I’m the mother of your two sons. Please tell me about your connection to the girl you dated when you were a teenager.” Cece seems to sing the last sentence, making a mockery of my feelings.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Cece,” I deflect. I also don’t want to hurt myself by admitting the truths only Tess knows.
“Too late,” she replies.
“I’ve known Tess since I was eighteen.”
“I know. She worked for your mother. You told me that.” Cecilia doesn’t try to hide her annoyance. “But what I’m trying to understand is if you’ve also had some kind of relationship with her all this time.”
“No. We haven’t seen each other since that summer. I didn’t contact Tess until the first debate.”
“Grant, this is ridiculous. I don’t know what happened that summer with Tess and I don’t care. Guess what, I had a boyfriend when I was eighteen too. And I thought I loved him too. But then I grew up and I got married and I entered into a committed partnership like an adult.”
“What Tess and I had wasn’t a summer fling. It was real. My feelings for Tess are complicated.”
“What are you saying?”
“I hate Tess. But I also need her in my life.”
“You need your high school girlfriend? You need to grow up.” Cece stares at me with a mix of confusion and disgust. I don’t blame her.
“She was never just some girlfriend.” I try to explain. “There are things about my life that only Tess understands.”
Cece recoils. “How can I understand you when you don’t tell me anything?” She swallows, her jaw moving back and forth before finding her words. “Where exactly does this leave us?”
“I don’t know, Cece. I haven’t known where we stand for a long time now. This campaign only seemed to make things worse.”
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“You need to tell me it’s over.”
I close my eyes. “Sometimes it feels like we haven’t had a relationship worth fighting for in a long time.”
She flinches and I immediately regret the harshness of my words. “And whose fault is that, Grant?”
“Mine. Ours.” Cece glares and I hold up my hands. “Mostly mine. I know I haven’t been an easy man.”
It’s hard to admit that we drifted apart. We were too busy or negligent or exhausted to put in the effort required to maintain a marriage. Because if you avoid the daily tending, one day you wake up surrounded by overgrowth and can’t find the person you fell in love with. It’s almost sadder than a scandal, because we had thousands of daily opportunities to make things better and now it’s too far gone.
There’s a softening in Cece for a minute as she says, “Remember when you took me to Gold Cup and we wore those ridiculous hats and passed around that thermos of mint juleps while the horses raced?”
I can’t for the life of me figure out why she’s reminiscing about this date, but I nod because of course I remember that day.
“It was our third date,” Cece says, staring into my eyes. “It started pouring down rain and you grabbed my hand and we ran barefoot through the fields back to your car. We were drenched and our legs were streaked in mud and you told me you loved me. I thought, this guy doesn’t know what love means. He’s had too many cocktails and he wants to see me naked. But then I thought about earlier that day when I overheard you talking to Stuart. He was being an asshole, telling a story about some idiot at work, and you defended this stranger. You told Stuart that he never sees the good in others.”
I don’t remember anything about the conversation Cece overheard, but it sounds right. Stuart is one of the most judgmental people I’ve ever met. Ruthless but right, he would say. In my experience, people’s actions reflect their past. I saw how my mother’s pain and sadness took root, growing all kinds of behavior that was easy to criticize. I try to ease my regrets by being easier on others than I was on my mother.
Cece smiles. “That’s what I loved about you, Grant. You looked for the good despite being surrounded by a lot of shit in your life. I thought to myself, this guy may not know what love means, but he’s worth showing.”
I don’t deserve any of the kind things she is saying right now. I reach for her hand, but she pulls it back quickly.
“I spent so many years trying to show you love, Grant. After a while, I realized it was pointless. You may hate your father. But tell me how you are different from him?”
I shake my head. “I am nothing like him, Cecilia.”
“Really? You don’t work long hours, avoiding your family? You don’t close yourself off from the people who are trying to love you? I know there is more to the complicated relationship you have with Richard. I don’t know why you despise a man who you have so easily become.”
“My father is a monster. You cannot compare me to him.” My voice quivers slightly.
“Why not? You say he’s a monster, tell me why. Open up to me. I’m your wife.” She spits the word like a knife slicing through the air.
“I can’t talk about my parents.”
“You shut down every conversation about your father. And you won’t even mention your mother or let yourself remember good memories. And when I’ve begged you to let the boys visit the country, to see where you grew up, you’ve said that stepping foot in that house is like walking through fire. But I have no idea why.”
“I’m sorry, Cece. I’ve never been able to share that part of my life with anyone.”
“She knows, doesn’t she? Why can you open up to Tess Murphy but not to me?”
“I don’t have to open up to Tess. She knows because she was there.”
“There for what?” Cece asks.
“There when my mother overdosed.” I don’t mean to shout, but I do.
Cece looks up, her round eyes meeting mine. “Your mother fell. She hit her head. You always said it was an accident.”
“She drank and took too many pills and then she fell.” I find my voice shaking as I continue. “The morning I found my mother’s body floating in her bathtub, Tess was there for me.”
Cece swallows. “You never told me you found your mother’s body.”
I take a deep breath as I continue, admitting my deepest scar. “It was my fault. I caused her death.”
“You can’t know that,” Cece says reflexively.
“I do,” I say, refusing to elaborate, relieved when Cece doesn’t ask for more. She’s used to my two-word answers.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“There’s so much about that time in my life I never told you, Cece. Too much. It’s my fault we’re in this place.”
“If you had let me in, I could have been there for you too,” she says, and I wonder whether she’s right.
I close my eyes. “You don’t deserve this. You deserve better than me.”
“You’re right,” she says, my worst fears culminating. Cece knows who I am, and it isn’t the person she wants.
She inserts the key into the ignition and gestures to the door. “Please get out of my car, Grant.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Home to the boys. There’s a babysitter waiting.”
I step out of the car. Before closing the door, I lean in. “Cece, I know I’ve asked too much of you. But I have to ask one thing more. This can’t get out. It would destroy my campaign to answer questions about Tess.”
“It destroyed your family, Grant.” Her chin quivers as she continues, “You’re right, you left our marriage a long time ago. And you kept the most important parts of yourself out of reach. I can’t love someone I don’t know.” She finally meets my eyes, a look of fierce determination across her face. “But I will always protect our boys. That’s why I won’t make it public. They will never hear about your messes.”
“Thank you,” I say, and carefully close the door.
The truth of Cece’s words linger in my shadow. She’s right that I never knew how to love, how to be a good husband. Ever since Tess, I’ve never known how to trust another person.
But more so, Cece is right about my father because somehow, I’ve begged my wife to stay silent and I realize I’ve never been more despicable. I’ve never been more like my father. And just like him, I’m all alone.