Chapter Thirty-Five
Present
“You two look handsome on this special New Year’s Eve,” I gush, and adjust John’s bow tie.
My eldest has always been the more disheveled of my boys.
I haven’t seen John and Andrew since Thanksgiving in Sacramento, but my time in New York has been as fruitful as I hoped it would be for jump-starting my career.
While I’ve been here, Quinn has most definitely needed my full attention to help her let Alice go after life being the two of them against the world for so long.
My other wedding-support duties included picking up the groomsmen’s presents from Ralph Lauren, grabbing the cupcakes Alice wanted from Magnolia Bakery for dessert at her rehearsal dinner, and providing a second opinion when Quinn and I returned to Bergdorf’s three times to choose Quinn’s dress for Friday night.
Most of all, what I learned over the past ten days is that I don’t ever want to be without John and Andrew during the Christmas holidays again.
If that means I have to share them with Thomas and his crumpet, I think I can manage for the sake of not losing one moment more being present in my sons’ flourishing lives.
“First time in a tux. I look pretty good, huh, Mom?” Andrew snaps his fingers and gives his brother and me a spin of showmanship, like he’s about to take the stage and croon on the Vegas strip.
The gaggle of bridesmaids huddled not far from us raise their champagne flutes to salute Andrew’s moves, and he further endears himself to them with a bashful half bow.
Just like his father, Andrew was born with entertaining charm and an insatiable appetite for accolades, and for those two reasons alone, there are a million different ways this evening could go wrong.
“This is your first wedding as grown men where the liquor is plentiful, and Alice’s friends are single.
” I smooth the satin lapel of Andrew’s jacket and then grab his chin between my thumb and index finger.
“So whatever may or may not happen tonight, make sure you can look yourselves in the mirror in the morning,” I warn sternly while I still have John and Andrew’s attention.
“And also, be able to look me, Quinn, and Alice in the eyes at brunch tomorrow at eleven.” If I had been thinking beyond how to not cry through my mascara during the ceremony, I would have brought emergency condoms to pass out to my budding men.
Weddings can easily become a twelve-hour hall pass from sound decision-making and solid judgment.
I should know—I met Thomas at a wedding reception in this exact hotel where John, Andrew, and I are standing.
“Aw, way to make it awkward, Mom.” John pretends to gag and turns away from my profound parenting advice and toward the flock of girls in their matching deep-maroon dresses, each more attractive than the next, with their unblemished, dewy skin and professionally applied smoky eyes.
Before the champagne bubbles go to all our heads, I want a few minutes alone with John and Andrew.
I’d like to tell them in more detail why I came to New York in advance of the wedding, as well as my surprise encounter with Porter back home.
Something deep inside me needs my sons to understand that I had a robust life before I became a wife and a mother, and that though I have absolutely loved being both—particularly their mother—I am now determined to recapture what I’ve lost. I want John and Andrew to know that they don’t have to worry about me—I have faced pain and change, and I am still willing to take big risks.
That is something to celebrate. And I want my boys to celebrate with me.
But the energy vibrating between John and Andrew and the beautiful young women six strides away is nothing against which a mother can compete.
Right then, I resolve to let them both go, take their own risks, and make their own mistakes in the world.
“Listen to your mother, boys.” Thomas sidles up to us by the bar, where I was having my last doting moment of the evening with my sons until he showed up to ruin it.
“And we’re out.” John picks up two bourbons off the bar, hands one to Andrew, and then grabs his brother by the jacket sleeve to head in the direction of the bridal party.
Together they beat a hasty retreat to escape what might transpire with their mother setting eyes on their lying, cheating father for the first time since our split.
“Beautiful wedding,” Thomas offers as a neutral opening line.
“It is,” I say coolly. Two can play the surface conversation game.
I am in for about four and a half minutes of amicable chitchat, all in the name of maturity, courtesy, and wedding conviviality, but then I’m out.
I loathe this man, and I don’t trust myself to make it past the five-minute marker without creating a scene.
In an effort to exude my indifference to his presence, I lean my elbow onto the bar, bumping up against an overflowing arrangement of calla lilies and ranunculus.
Thomas quickly catches the teetering narrow glass vase before it crashes to the ground.
I don’t bother thanking him; I just continue to stare straight ahead, willing Quinn to come rescue me before my promise to feign civility with Thomas today gives way.
“You look fantastic, Callie. You must be doing well.”
My head snaps at the compliment. “I do and I am,” I assure Thomas.
I want him to know he’s not telling me anything I don’t already know, but I also didn’t expect a compliment to come out of Thomas’s mouth.
Questions about the furnace that is overdue for replacement, yes.
Whether I had concerns over Andrew dropping microeconomics this semester?
Of course. Or if I thought John would pass the California bar on his first try, sure.
I had reviewed the answers to several conversation topics in my head, knowing I would have to contend with Thomas at some point this evening.
But him complimenting me in an evening gown? No.
And now that I stand here, my body strong, and my heart even stronger, I don’t want Thomas to think for a minute that I pulled myself together this winter evening because of his spring assessment of me.
I don’t want Thomas to know he had that much sway, even if he did.
What I do want Thomas to know is that who he now sees standing here with him—she is for me.
Well, for me, Dr. Kwan, and her bully receptionist, Mary Jane.
As I’m about to lay in and let Thomas know every single way his leaving me has infinitely improved my life, I narrow my eyes and study my Brit-banging husband.
Thomas looks terrible. Mr. LonGev-ity stands in front of me like he has had the life wrung out of him.
Like no amount of cold plunges, colostrum pills, cauliflower, creatine, or collagen powders could prop him up to survive whatever is bringing him down.
I tell myself not to be catty. I don’t want to be petty.
But this isn’t the first time I’ve lied to myself.
I just can’t let this choice moment pass.
Standing tall in my one-shouldered, drapey, midnight-blue goddess gown, I peek my toned leg out of the thigh-high slit and rest my left palm softly on Thomas’s face.
He lets the weight of his head relax into my hand and releases an audible sigh of relief.
“You look like shit.” I pull my hand away, and like the flower arrangement, Thomas almost topples over.
“You’ve totally let yourself go, Thomas.
It’s like you don’t care about yourself anymore.
You don’t take care of yourself anymore.
” His cruel words spoken at our dining room table come flooding back, and I fling them in his face, verbatim.
“It seems you’ve lost your appetite for life.” I deliver the final familiar blow. “What’s happened to you?” I can tell from Thomas’s expression that he thinks I might actually care. I don’t.
Thomas rubs his chin. “Life in London hasn’t turned out like I hoped it would,” he declares with defeat.
“Oh, no? Not enough vitamin D to keep your levels up in cloudy London? I could have told you that.” I spit out my lack of empathy, not bothering to wipe the droplets off Thomas’s jacket.
“Buy yourself some supplements, and swim on home in time for tea, Thomas. I have zero interest in this conversation.” I feel my phone vibrate in the clutch I’m holding.
Hopefully Quinn is trying to find me to solve some manufactured mother-of-the-bride emergency and save me from this tête-à-tête with Thomas.
As I unclasp the purse, Thomas grabs my wrist. “The baby isn’t mine.
Turns out, Eugenie was sleeping with more than one CEO candidate she was trying to place.
I was the only idiot who didn’t run when she said she was pregnant.
” I grip my purse tightly, and the buzz of my phone stops.
“Eugenie never actually told me directly that the baby was mine; I just assumed it was.”
“So the headhunter was doing exactly that: hunting head. Ha!” I peel Thomas’s fingers off my wrist one by one and down my half glass of champagne in a single gulp.
The continuing tale of Thomas’s leaving just became more clichéd than I thought.
He was willing to destroy our family solely on the assumption that he was the baby’s father.
Thomas thought he had the virility of a young man, when really what he had was the gullibility of an old foolish one.
I open my clutch to see who is texting me and if they can keep me from doing something to Thomas tonight that could land me in jail tomorrow.
7:52 p.m. (Cathy Culpepper)
Sorry to bother you on New Year’s Eve Callie but great news! The family wants the house, as is, no contingencies. Asking for a 15-day close so they can do a little work and get settled before the twins arrive. Happy New Year to us!
Right. The Colonial I never wanted. I had forgotten about the potential sale in the chaos of preparing to meet with Elizabeth and running wedding errands up, down, and across town.
In the few quiet moments I had to think, my thoughts were on Porter.
How many near misses had we shared in grocery stores, on opposite sides of playing fields, at gas stations, or most likely, public libraries?
When I was on a wait-list for obscure books, was it because Porter was the one who had them checked out?
When Thomas and I toured Regis and stepped into an English classroom, was Porter holding literary court in another one just across the hall?
Had my boys met Chap at high school parties?
My mind couldn’t escape all the sliding-doors possibilities of the last twenty years.
“I’ve given notice at my company.”
“Huh?” I snap back into the current moment, ruffled that Thomas is still there.
“I said, I’ve given notice at my company. It’s never been the right fit. Taking the job was just the easy bet to save my career.” Thomas’s explanation lamely trails off.
“Why would you give up your job?” I scoff, shocked by Thomas’s consistent ability, well into middle age, to act rashly. “Seems to me it’s the only thing you have left going for you.”
“I hope that’s not the only thing I have going for me, Callie. What I want is to come home. I want to come home to you, John, and Andrew. You are still in our house. John and Andrew are still at UC Berkeley. We are still, well, us. Nothing drastic has changed at home.”
I look to the dance floor and see John effortlessly twirl a nimble brunette under his arm and into a dip. I want to run over and warn him that this moment, this one right here, is the least complicated it’s ever going to be, so enjoy it, but don’t lose sight of what is most important—him.
“Oh, you made it very clear last spring that I was no longer me, and because I was no longer me, we were no longer us. I think the exact words you used were that ‘our life has become too predictable, too boring.’ You said you needed more out of life than me. That you needed more than this.” I poke myself in the chest so there is no mistaking what this is.
That this is me. And the truth is, a lot has changed since Thomas left.
Most notably, while Thomas got lost, I’ve been found.
“Callie, I wasn’t thinking straight. I don’t know if it was the intermittent fasting or . . .”
“You’re blaming leaving me on your eating window?” I howl, confusing even myself if I am laughing or crying.
“Callie, we’re a family. You can’t throw away twenty-five years because I made a mistake.”
“You didn’t make a mistake, Thomas. You made a choice. There’s only one person in this marriage to blame for choosing badly. You.” I’ve done what Quinn asked of me, for the sake of Alice and this evening, but now I am done with Thomas for the sake of me.
Goddammit, Quinn, where are you? I skip over Cathy’s text and send out a quick SOS to Quinn.
8:05 p.m. (Callie)
Come rescue me. At bar in back corner.
In my haste, I forget to tell Quinn what she’s rescuing me from, but she’s a smart woman, and there is only one possible answer at this wedding.
8:05 p.m. (Quinn)
Out front with an old friend. Be there in two.