Chapter 3 #3
No one knew exactly why she picked Peter.
Riley thought it was because of the number of zeroes on his paycheck.
Abby thought it was because Becca had wanted someone to take care of her after graduation.
But Naomi thought it was because to Peter, Becca was an A-list celebrity.
Whatever the reason, everyone, including Naomi, had hoped that she had found her continually running show in Peter.
But, the ink on their ketubah had barely dried before she was on to the next program.
“I did! And I was,” Becca said. “But then I met Amos. He’s a dancer for the Joffrey Ballet. You’d love him, Abby.”
“Does the wedding band on your finger mean nothing to you?”
“Sure it does! Just … not … all the time.”
Riley, who had been gathering clothes on the other side of the store, waved at them. “Ready!” they called, gesturing towards the dressing room.
It was well established that shopping with Riley included serving as Riley’s judging panel for potential purchases, and Naomi dutifully headed towards the dressing room.
“Coming!” she heard Abby say.
“Who are you talking to?” Becca asked.
“Riley.”
As Naomi entered the dressing room, Riley looked at Naomi. “Who is she talking to?” Riley selected a booth and entered, closing the curtain behind them.
Naomi took a seat on a bench against the opposite wall. “Becca,” she said, as Abby took a seat beside her.
“Is that Naomi I hear too? Where are you all?” Becca asked.
“We’re in Wicker Park. And you’re lucky,” Abby said. “If you had woken me up with this news—”
“Wicker Park! That’s perfect!”
“Apparently,” Naomi said, well accustomed to talking to Riley in between the sisters’ banter, “she was out philandering with another one of her—”
“Wait, what’s perfect?” Abby said over her.
“You! Being in Wicker Park! Cause I told Peter I was out with you and—”
“You what?!”
Riley held the curtain open enough to peer through and attempt to continue their separate confab with Naomi. “Wait, she was out with another one of her boy toys? I thought she was going to—”
“So did I!” Abby interjected into their conversation. Riley clucked their tongue like a disappointed parent and then disappeared back into the dressing room.
Naomi continued, “From the sounds of it, she’s not only back to it, she wants to use us as an alibi.”
“What!” Riley practically squawked.
“No! It’s not like that,” Becca said. “I told Peter I was going to hang out with Abby. I didn’t say when or where or how long. So, I want to see you for a few minutes. At least that way I won’t be lying. I’d feel so guilty otherwise.”
“Your sense of morality is a shining light in this dark world,” Abby said, sardonically.
The curtains slid open, and Riley appeared in a pair of neon yellow pants for their first judging session. Naomi wasn’t a fan, and she could tell from Abby’s face that she wasn’t either, but she left it to Abby to find the most Riley-appropriate way to give the thumbs down.
“I don’t know,” Abby said. “These pants don’t say goddess of the sun to me.”
Riley looked into the mirror, taking in the feedback. “Hmmm … goddess of the sun, goddess of the sun … you’re right, I am not a goddess of the sun in these pants.” The curtain swung shut again.
Abby looked at her phone, then Naomi, and then muted the call. “I’ve officially hit that hangover zone where I’m caffeinated, exhausted, hungry, and nauseous at the same time. I literally cannot with her today.”
Naomi put her arm around Abby’s shoulder to give her friend an empathetic but gentle squeeze. “Then I think it’s in your best interest to get some food and give in to your sister. Tell her to join us for some brunch.”
Abby gave the kind of exhale that said, “I don’t love it, but it’s the best solution given the situation.” She unmuted the call. “Okay, fine, Becca. We’re going to get brunch and you can come.”
“Yay!”
“Meet us at Tragically Hip on Milwaukee. From the looks of it,” Abby tilted her head to look at the pile of clothing on the floor of Riley’s dressing room, “We’ll be here for a while. So please … don’t rush.” She hung up, adding a groan to round out the image of her misery.
“When Becca gets here,” Riley said. “I am going to give her a piece of my mind about this whole affair business. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a little extramarital excitement, but only when I’m the extra in the marital.
Either that girl needs to end it with Peter or get her throuple on, because this sneaking around is ridiculous.
And frankly, it’s stressing me out, and I am not willing to waste my limited facial elasticity on her. ”
“I think you telling my sister to have a threesome is not really the best route to take here,” Abby said to the dressing room curtain. “How about you let me handle it?”
“You’re acting like she would listen to either of you,” Naomi said, chuckling.
At this, Abby’s chin dropped to her chest. “Touché.”
Riley had barely gone through one-third of their clothing selections when Becca arrived, as always, with a flourish.
Her sequined top, mini skirt, and high black boots left no room for error, or even, it appeared, breathing.
“Oh, you are such a darling, Abigail. What would I do without you?” Her hair, the same glossy russet waves that Abby had, was piled on top of her head in a top knot that bounced as she collapsed onto the bench beside Abby.
“What a day it’s been! Not quite what I was hoping for so far, but now that I’m here with you, I think it’s starting to turn around, don’t you? ”
Becca lived by the motto flattery will get you everywhere. Mostly, she meant it as a directive for people around her. But she also wasn’t shy about using it liberally with others because it did tend to get her where she wanted to go.
Like into her sister’s good graces.
Naomi could see Abby’s edges beginning to soften, even if it was against her will.
Becca noticed too and, apparently considering her mission accomplished, started moving on. “Hello, Naomi!” Naomi waved her fingers hello at Becca and smiled. If the Abby and Riley show was good, the Abby, Riley, and Becca show was even better. “Hello, Riley!”
A buzz from her back pocket pulled her away from the conversation.
She considered ignoring it, but then it buzzed a second, third, fourth time in rapid succession.
She slipped the phone out, expecting it to be from one of her colleagues giving her a hard time for being offline.
But it was from an unknown number. And the first two words made her feel like the air had been sucked out of the room.
UNKNOWN: Hi Kiwi.
She and her ex-husband, Simon, had started dating in high school, then taken a gap year together to live and work in Israel at a small Kibbutz right outside of Tel Aviv.
Kiwi had been one of the primary fruits produced on Kibbutz Ein Shalom.
She had always enjoyed kiwis, but farming them had turned her preference for the fuzzy fruit into a passion that bordered on obsession.
She took every opportunity to eat as much kiwi as possible, never slowing down even after a full year there.
Simon teased her mercilessly for this, nicknaming her Kiwi, a name that stuck long after they left the Kibbutz. He even placed the engagement ring in a hollowed-out kiwi when he proposed to her, the night before they flew home to America.
Hi Kiwi.
Those two words could only have been from Simon.
Except Simon wasn’t supposed to be texting her. She had a restraining order against him that laid out quite clearly that he was not allowed to be within 100 yards of her or engage in any form of communication.
But Simon had never liked being told what to do. Not when she told him to take out the garbage, not when she told him to go to couples counseling with her, and not when she told him to please, please stop hurting her.
He seemed to take pleasure in finding ways around the restraining order. Mailing letters that didn’t identify the sender, writing e-mails from dummy accounts on public Wi-Fi IP addresses, and, like now, sending text messages from unknown numbers.
She forced herself to read.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Did you go to the reunion last night? I didn’t but I kept thinking about it.
Kept thinking about you. Thinking about all the good times back then. Remember when we won that dance contest?
Wish I could have been there and danced with you one more time. I miss you. I know I shouldn’t but I do. I know you miss me too.
Three dots flitted across her phone, and then one final message rolled in.
I can see it in your eyes when I watch you.
The words burned into her vision, turning everything else around her into ash.
“You okay?” She heard Abby’s voice like she was listening through a can on a string.
Wordlessly, she handed the phone to Abby.
If Abby said anything, Naomi didn’t hear it.
Distantly, she felt Abby’s arm across her shoulders and then the sense of being guided out of the store and onto a bench.
As she sat down, the sharpness of the fear that had stabbed at her heart was overtaken by a sadness as dark, deep, and heavy as a black hole.
Simon was a mistake she would never be allowed to forget.
Every time she began to feel like her life was her own and happy days were possible, he would resurface to remind her that she would never be free.
She might be divorced from Simon, but she could never separate from the consequences of their marriage.
Those she would have to carry by herself. Forever.
That thought made tears pour out of her like a torrential downpour. The tears, like Abby’s hand rubbing her back, were all too familiar.
After a while, Abby spoke up, “I know ‘it’s going to be okay’ is the worst platitude in these moments, but it really is going to be okay. Not because of him, but because you’re not alone. We’re all here with you.”