Chapter Thirty-One
To say that Addison was feeling things she had never felt before was an understatement. She opened her eyes on Monday morning with what could be best described as a giddy sensation. She couldn’t remember her body ever seeming this light, and her mind this hopeful. She began to question herself—to analyze whether this mood was due to the man or the zen or maybe the clay. She was loving the clay, the feel of it in her hands, the freedom to create and destroy and then start again with no repercussions. But the man—he confused her and challenged her and excited her. Still, she refused to believe this feeling was just about a guy. She vowed to spend the day alone, sculpting and baking and finishing up sorting out the piles she had created of Gicky’s things. Gicky’s gallerist was set to arrive that Saturday, and the white elephant sale was on Sunday.
Yes, she would spend the day alone evaluating the source of her happiness. She heard the rumble of the garbage truck and ran to take her cans to the curb. And there was Ben, doing the same. One look at him destroyed her resolve.
“Want to come over?” she called out to him. Her cheeks flushed. She covered up her excitement by adding, “To taste my scones?”
Sally chose that moment to roll over and play dead, and Addison couldn’t help but take it personally.
Even with that warning, Ben lit up. He looked up at the overcast sky and approached.
The closer he got, the more charged the space between them felt.
“Let me take this girl for a beach walk first, before it rains.”
Standing there on the sidewalk, not touching him, felt brutal. It was as if they hadn’t spent the entire weekend binge-reading each other’s bodies. The longing in her was immense. She took a step back to breathe.
“All good—whenever,” she said, trying to sound casual, even though games didn’t seem necessary. She was struck by how after six weeks of flirtations and miscommunications, their coupling suddenly felt like a given, as if they were an old couple now. As if she were home.
Addison watched him walk down the block with Sally and fought the urge to follow them. She had things to do. Things just for her. She would sneak in a morning meditation in between tackling the scones. This time, she would set the oven timer for fifteen minutes. Twenty had been a disaster.
She followed the recipe exactly and put the perfectly shaped spheres in the oven, set the timer, and went out back to meditate. Within minutes of doing so, a bolt of thunder literally rocked the room. The studio darkened, and the sky opened up.
Her mind went to Ben and Sally on the beach.
She already felt possessive of them both, like they were hers. The feeling swallowed her until the timer buzzed, breaking her out of it.
Ben and Sally walked in while the scones were cooling, and stood in the doorway—soaked, but safe.
“Oh my God—come in, come in,” Addison cried.
She threw a kitchen towel at Ben and then ran off to get bigger ones.
“I should have gone home first, but I couldn’t take another step,” Ben said, apologizing for the puddle at his feet. “It came out of nowhere.”
“It’s fine. It’s fine.” Addison threw a large bath towel over his shoulders and got to work on Sally with another one. A few minutes later they were sitting at the kitchen table—Ben happily dressed in one of Gicky’s caftans, sipping tea and tasting scones, Sally at their feet.
Ben cautiously took the first bite while Addison looked on. The pressure was palpable.
“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” he asked.
“No, I want you to lie to me.”
“OK. They’re too dry. And kind of grainy.”
“I just told you I wanted you to lie to me! I’m a very literal person!”
“Sorry.”
Addison dumped the batch in the pail and all out moped.
“Want to climb into bed and watch Love Is Blind again?” Ben asked with the confidence of a sixteen-year-old girl.
She weighed whether to give in to his delightful request or to finish packing up and organizing. It was pouring out, after all—the perfect day to do either.
“Or we can finish boxing up Gicky’s stuff and then take the leftover boxes and tape to your house to do the same.”
Her cell rang, and she grabbed it. She barely got out “Hello” before the voice of Nan, the real estate agent, blasted out of it.
“Great news. I have a hot buyer coming on the ten o’clock ferry tomorrow. They’re looking for a double lot—so it’s as good as done! Have it clean, please, not that it matters.”
And she was gone.
Ben had obviously heard.
“So, you’re selling?”
She contemplated telling him how she had reached out to the real estate agent right after they had their falling-out at the block party, but the insanity of selling a house because your crush hurt your feelings seemed too great to admit.
“I’m considering my options, is all.”
“So, can you consider mine?”
“Sure. Lay it on me.”
“OK.” He looked down at the flowery caftan and tied it tightly around his waist. Addison laughed.
“Gicky offered me the house for half a mil. I have it in writing—on a clamshell.”
“On a clamshell?”
“Yes. And I don’t know if you know this, but Native Americans in this area used shells for money—wampum.”
“Oh, then it’s totally legit. Silly me!”
“I have a totally legit idea. I give you the half a million for half the house. You keep the main property and the studio. And I take the guesthouse and the property between us for a pool.”
He took in her blank expression and threw in, “That you can use!” before standing up in his caftan and doing jazz hands. Addison laughed again.
“Let’s just take it one day at a time—starting with tomorrow. I haven’t even shown the place yet.”
The imminent visit from the agent put a fire under Addison to finish up. As soon as the rain let up, she sent Ben and Sally home. Sally used the front door, while Ben escaped out the back dressed like the ghost of Aunt Gicky.
She tackled one of the last two closets left—the towel closet. It was as much a trip through Gicky’s travels as her matchbook and toiletry collections were—though bulkier. She separated the plusher towels from the threadbare ones, tossing all of those but a bathmat from the Plaza and a pool towel from the Taj Mumbai. On the bottom shelf sat a big Frye boot box that looked older than Addison. One look inside and she knew she would be sitting on that spot for at least the next hour.
It was packed with old photographs, letters, and keepsakes. She pulled out a forest-green autograph book with the words School Daze embossed in gold on top of an image of an old schoolhouse, like the one in the painting that Gicky had left for Margot. Addison admired her aunt’s perfect penmanship on the first page.
This book belongs to Gloria “Gicky” Irwin, Sixth Grade P.S. 449. Teacher: Ruth Glass
In Addison’s time, autograph books like this—or yearbooks, really—were filled with short sentiments like Stay Cool! or long diatribes from your bestie detailing every inside joke or tiff you ever had, but this was filled with adorable little ditties written in cursive. One was funnier than the next.
Your album is a garden plot
Where all kind friends sow seeds
I plant the sweet forget-me-not
Please keep it free from weeds.
Cows like clover
Pigs like squash
I like you, I do, by gosh!
And others that had stood the test of time, like:
2 good
2 B
4 gotten!
There was a cute one from her dad, just a hand-drawn heart and his name, Morty, with a backward R.
And the one that made her think the most, from Gicky’s sixth-grade teacher.
To Gloria, a nice little homemaker. Love, Mrs.Glass
And while Addison knew that all the girls probably received similar encouragement from Mrs.Glass, poor Gicky was likely already knee-deep in homemaking activities—parenting her kid brother and getting dinner on the table nightly. She had deserved more than she got from Addison’s father.
The next thing she pulled from the box really sealed the deal: a pile of cards and whatnots, neatly tied up with an old satin ribbon. She carefully pulled it loose, hoping to replicate the perfect bow when she put it back together, and was amazed to see that the pile was all Morty. She carefully unfolded a couple of letters home from sleepaway camp.
Dear Gicky,
My friend Bernie cries every night. I don’t do that, but I do miss you. Please bring me a salami on visiting day.
Love, your brother, Morty
Dear Gicky,
I passed my swimming test. I’m a minnow. Bernie is only a guppy. He cried. Please bring me Vanilla Charleston Chews and Cherry Sours on visiting day.
Love, your brother, Morty
His fifth-grade report card, filled with marks of Unsatisfactory and Needs Improvement versus his seventh-grade straight As, had her thinking about what Margot said regarding Gicky teaching Morty to read. Her disappointment in her father was really getting to her—breaking her heart. She decided to call him back. If anything was really to be learned by what happened between the two Irwin siblings, it should be not to let things come between family.
The minute Addison heard her father’s remorseful tone, it broke her resolve. What good would berating him really do? He was clearly doing that enough on his own.
“I’m sorry I was mean on our call, Daddy, I know this all must have been so hard for you, and with Gicky leaving me this house—well, I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling.”
The other end of the phone was quiet until Addison realized her father was crying. She gave him a minute to get it together. In the end, it was more like three.
“I—I—I,” he finally stammered, “I wish I could do it over again. All the emails I wrote and didn’t send. All the time, I was more concerned with who was right and who was wrong. It all feels so pointless now. What did it all matter? I never got to tell her I forgave her. I never got to ask her for forgiveness.”
“She forgave you, Daddy.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. She made a broken heart out of that soup terrine. She only made things for the people she loved.”
As she said it she thought about Shep’s claim that there was a painting for him too, somewhere. He didn’t seem to fit into the same category as the others. It gave her pause. And while she still put off having her parents visit and would always be disappointed in what had transpired between the older Irwin children, she forgave her father too.
Maybe she was on the path to enlightenment after all.
She forgot about the scones in the oven.
“Fuck me,” she cursed, while dumping a burnt batch in the garbage.
Maybe she had a ways to go on that path.
The day went by in the way it does when you get caught up in things and time passes quickly. Like one of those high-speed trains from London to Paris—whoosh—suddenly it was five o’clock.
Just as she realized the time, there was a knock on the back door. Her heart smiled, and she jumped him—all five foot nine of her leapt into Ben’s arms. His tall frame was planted so solidly in the ground, he didn’t even rock. It really turned her on.
They made love on the braided living room rug, and though, most of the time, Addison was feeling and moaning and pleasing and being pleased, the fact that she was having sex on the floor of her aunt Gicky’s living room interrupted her pleasure more than once. If she stayed, she thought, she would update the living room a bit, make it more her own. Maybe a new couch, and definitely a new rug.
“What are you thinking about?” Ben asked, staring up at the ceiling afterward.
“That I wish those people weren’t coming to see the house tomorrow.”
“It looks good.” He spun around, adding, “Even that pile of boxes looks neat.”
“Well, that’s Addie’s fault. There should be twice as many cartons. Addison would have hoovered through this place, leaving little in her wake, but Addie seems to be a sentimental fool.” She turned onto her side to face him and reintroduced herself in the vernacular of an AA meeting.
“Hi, I’m Addie, and I’m a hoarder.”
He laughed. “Hi, Addie.”
She was happy that she avoided discussing the deeper meaning of her statement. She was not ready to decide whether to stay or sell. The words from Gicky’s letter ran through her head. The part that read I hope that the house stays in my family—and you are my family. I see you don’t have one of your very own.
Then she pushed it all aside.
“I’m sorry. When you walked in the door, you were about to say something when I so rudely interrupted.”
He jumped up, remembering his grand gesture.
“Oh shit. I ordered us dinner from the market. Get dressed. It will be here any minute!”
With that, the word “Delivery” rang out from the direction of the front door, followed by Ben’s bare ass disappearing into the bedroom.
Addison zipped up her cutoffs and answered the door to the delivery boy holding a large tinfoil tray of food.
“Rack of ribs?” he asked, panning the house behind her for more mouths to feed, no doubt.
“Yes, yes. So hungry, thank you.”
The kid walked in and placed it on the counter like he had been in the house a hundred times. He probably had. Addison realized she should tip him and searched her pockets habitually. It was useless. She hadn’t touched money since arriving on the island.
“Give me a sec to find some cash, please.”
“It’s OK,” he said, his cheeks suddenly flushed. “You don’t have any of Gicky’s scones, do you?”
For fuck’s sake, she thought, duly frustrated.
“Nope, sorry to say. I do not.”
“You know, I never even tasted scones till I met your aunt. Really, I used to only eat plain bagels before that, maybe a corn muffin if they were fresh from the oven at the market. She dared me to taste one, and now I have a very diverse palate.”
Of course the delivery boy was quirky. Just like everyone else around here, Addison thought. He continued singing Gicky’s praises.
“She was pretty cool, Gicky. But I don’t have to tell you that.”
Sadness squashed her frustration. He seemed to notice.
“Don’t worry about the tip. You’ll catch me next time. And sorry for your loss,” the kid added before leaving.
Addison shook off her emotions and called out, “The coast is clear!” while pulling two plates from the kitchen cupboard.
After dinner and a delicious bottle of merlot, Addison made a fire. She had been waiting to do so since she arrived, and the night was just cool enough to warrant one. She had also bought all the ingredients for s’mores in anticipation of the occasion.
Ben was engulfed in Gicky’s bookshelves.
“Take anything you want,” Addison encouraged. “Except for that little shelf over there with that hot Fire Island author’s books. Those stay put.”
He sat down on the floor with his back against the couch and thumbed through a collection of short stories by Gay Talese. On the inside cover it read:
With admiration and thanks, Gay
“For someone who was so humble, your aunt lived some life.”
“It seems so,” Addison agreed, before plopping down in between Ben’s knees and pushing back into his chest to admire her roaring handiwork. Ben was quiet for a beat. She tilted her head back so as to see his face.
“What?” he asked in response.
“Nothing. You’re kind of quiet, is all.”
“Just thinking.”
“Just thinking ’bout what?” she pushed.
“Just thinking how I am not sitting here coming up with excuses for why I can’t stay over.”
“That’s nice. I usually would want to run by now too.”
“Well, it is your house.”
“I’m nowhere near thinking of this place as my house. I’m still in shock about the whole thing. My life changed in a minute.”
“Do you miss your job?”
“I’m not sure. You know, I never had a break like this before. I started working at the agency right after college. Well, not exactly right after. I got engaged my senior year and…”
“Wait—your senior year?”
“Yes, kind of crazy, right? We started dating sophomore year and were inseparable throughout college. My parents were so happy, a nice Jewish boy from a nice midwestern family.”
“What happened?”
“I panicked, broke off the engagement after the invites were already sent, and fled to New York. An old camp friend introduced me to Kizzy, who was interning with a headhunter while still at NYU. I was her first placement.”
“What camp?” he asked, as if that were the point of the story.
“Mataponi in Maine, you?”
“Lokanda—upstate New York.”
“Wasn’t it the best?” she gushed.
“Yes, it was, heartbreaker.”
“Don’t even joke about that. It was bad, really bad. Not only did I break my fiancé’s heart, but my mother—she took to her bed for weeks.”
“A southern lady like me?” Ben joked.
“Midwestern born and bred. But she should have been southern. Beverly is a big drama queen.”
She changed the subject again—to something sweeter.
“S’mores?” she said. Now that she had determined he was a camp person, she was even more excited to break out the ingredients.
While gobbling up their sandwiches of chocolate, marshmallows, and childhood memories smashed between graham crackers, they talked about a million different things. Ben shared a couple of funny camp stories and similar antics from his early days as a sportswriter covering minor league baseball. He spoke about boyhood days on the Jersey Shore and about meeting Julia, and their love story. Addison thought she already knew his perspective from the book, but she could see how much he had grown since then. His attitude now seemed to come less from anger and frustration and more from pure love.
She talked a lot about the Chicago suburb she’d grown up in, how she was both different and the same as her sister, and the stress of her broken engagement—which of course felt weird in comparison to what Ben had gone through.
“That sounds freaking awful,” he said. “I think I would have gone through with it just to avoid the conflict.”
“Good to know,” Addison responded. In truth, she loved his empathetic, validating responses.
When the fire died, they moved into the bedroom and crawled under the covers, where Addison snuggled into the crook of Ben’s arm to watch Love Is Blind.
Two episodes later, and they were both having a hard time staying awake. Sally was already out cold on the pile of old towels that Addison had yet to bag.
“Should I turn it off?” she whispered.
He nodded and pulled her in closer, his arms wrapped around her torso, her head resting on his chest.
“Love Is Blind is kind of stupid, no? Falling so quickly,” she mumbled.
“Preposterous,” he agreed.
They were both lying.
Addison woke up the next morning, still in Ben’s arms, and the fact that they had fallen asleep like that—without having sex, just holding each other for the entire night—felt like the most intimate act they had experienced together.
They were both surprised to see that it was still raining. Well, Addison was surprised. Ben insisted it was a sign.
“It’s Gicky crying because you are going to sell her house.”
“I’m not going to sell the house,” Addison insisted, and then waffled. “I don’t think so, at least. Maybe I should make a pro and con list.”
“That’s smart,” Ben said before diving under the covers and nibbling on the inside of her thigh. He peeked out his head for a second, announcing, “First pro. Where else are you going to find a neighbor who does this?”
She had no qualms about kicking Ben out, even after his delicious performance. The prospective buyers were due to arrive around eleven o’clock, and Addie needed to straighten the place up. She traded in her new beachy look for a more city-like outfit. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw Addison staring back at her in the heels she had arrived in. After being barefoot for over six weeks, she couldn’t wait to take her shoes off again. She kicked them aside and went out back to meditate. For the first time in weeks, she found it impossible to wrangle her thoughts, so she lit a couple of candles in the living room and waited for the prospective buyer’s arrival.
It turned out that there had been no reason for her to dress up. The first words out of Nan’s mouth were a whispered, “Make yourself scarce. People don’t like to talk in front of owners.”
She left and walked barefoot down to the beach, where Ben was sitting on a blanket reading the Times with Sally. He nudged her off to make room for Addison, and they sat there in silence, neither wanting to address the big elephant on the beach. Addison grabbed the Science section and fell into an article about butterfly migration, but found it hard to concentrate. A strange tension filled her chest. She tried to breathe through it, but it felt impenetrable. Her phone vibrated, and she took a second to think of what she hoped it would say. The words sorry, they didn’t care for it, popped into her head first, and she got that unsure feeling, like you might have when expecting the results of a pregnancy test.
It read, They’re gone. Let’s talk.
“Gotta go,” Addison said before planting a quick kiss on Ben’s cheek. His hand went right to the spot where she kissed him, and it melted her. He was so soft inside for someone so hardened.
“Should I come by later?” she asked.
She said it deliberately that way, since it bothered her a little that she hadn’t been inside his house yet. It was feeling purposeful, though of what purpose, she wasn’t sure. His response soothed her.
“Yes. I have to work today, but how about dinner? I make a mean lasagna.”
“Great. Sevenish?”
“Perfect.”
She spoke to Nan briefly. The people were very interested, and she was confident they would come back with an offer.
That night, Addie collected her extra packing supplies, some made-up boxes, and a couple of rolls of tape and headed next door. Sally and Ben greeted her on the porch. Neither hid their excitement upon seeing her. She felt…loved.
“Boxes for the white elephant sale,” she said, laying them in the corner of the porch.
“Thanks,” Ben said, unceremoniously lifting the sun hat belonging to his wife off the hook it had probably been sitting on since she passed and tossing it in the box. A casual toss, but a monumental step.
The house was cozy and simple, and permeated by the delicious smell of warm lasagna and garlic bread. Addison’s stomach rumbled loudly, and she put her hand to it, embarrassed.
“Hungry?” Ben asked.
“I guess so,” she replied, and blushed.
“Let’s eat!”
The table was already set with a big salad, the bread, and a bottle of wine. It was very sweet that he had made such an effort. She had a feeling he had not done this for his other female guests. He seemed nervous as he transferred a hearty portion of lasagna from the baking dish to her plate and watched as she took her first bite.
“It’s delicious,” she said with a smile. He poured two glasses of wine and held his up to toast.
“To my first lasagna—and yes, I lied before, to impress you.”
“Wow. I am impressed.”
“Don’t be. I just followed the recipe on the box. The hardest part was separating the noodles.”
“Next time, put a little olive oil in the water—my mom used to do that.”
Both of them ate greedily, and Ben suggested they leave the dishes and take their wine down to the Bay Beach area to watch the sunset. A bunch of teenagers were there, taking selfies and a zillion pictures of the sun’s red haze as it sank into the Great South Bay. Addison and Ben sat down on one of the swinging benches that hung from wooden pagodas, sipped their wine, and watched the sun paint the sky. Ben reached down and took her hand in his, seemingly not caring if anyone saw the subtle intimacy. The bliss of it all made Addison smile for so long that her cheeks grew tired.
At home, they bypassed the dishes and headed for the bedroom, where they made love slowly, as if it were the first time. Ben’s eyes locked onto Addison’s with an expression of utter amazement. At least that’s how Addison read it. When they were through, she lay on top of him for a long time, her head buried in his chest, their breath rising and falling in synchronicity.
They heard Sally getting into trouble at the table, and Ben realized he had forgotten to feed her. They threw on clothes and bolted to the kitchen to do so, and to wash the dishes. It all felt very domestic and comfortable. Ben stopped and wrapped his arms around her.
“I can’t believe this,” he said.
She didn’t ask for clarification. She couldn’t believe it either.
That night they made love one more time, and as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, she felt something she never had before. She felt anchored.