Chapter 10 Beck #3
“Also, he’s cheating on me.”
“Shit,” Beck says. She mentally thanks her past self for turning Oscar down all those years ago.
“Very much first-world problems, I know that,” Jasmine says.
“A cheating husband is a big problem, Jasmine. You get to be upset about it,” Micah tells her.
Jasmine nods, her face sad. “When Lydia was born, I swore to myself my kids would have everything I never did. It hasn’t worked out the way I pictured.
My oldest is a spoiled, entitled brat. Lucy doesn’t really fit in anywhere yet, and I’m worried she’s going to become really isolated.
And Lyra, the youngest, is wonderful but just exhausting.
She talks constantly and runs around and probably has ADHD or something.
We have a nanny, which makes me feel like a bad mother, since I don’t even work. A failure on every front.”
“But you were doing so well in New York, weren’t you?” Beck asks. “Princeton, a hotshot job at a big investment firm, if I remember correctly . . .”
“No,” Jasmine says. “I had an entry-level job, and in that world, who you know is more important than what you do. Frat bros, the kids of people whose houses are next to each other on Nantucket, all that. I didn’t have that kind of pedigree, but I hoped my daughters would.
Instead, if Oscar leaves me, they’ll lose the only life they’ve ever known.
Not just the level of privilege, but”—her voice stops with a sudden sob—“but their father. Because he’s not the type of man to make time for his children or even be generous with child support.
Did you know the husband’s lifestyle usually improves after a divorce?
And the wife’s free-falls.” She takes a second to blow her nose on a napkin.
“Anyway, I’m sorry. It’s so Bonfire of the Vanities. ”
“Never saw it,” Micah says.
“Read it instead,” Beck advises. “The movie was horribly cast.” She leans over and gives Jasmine’s shoulder a pat. “Sorry, Jasmine. That sounds really, really hard.”
Jasmine gives her a grateful glance, her eyes wet. “Thanks. So don’t believe my Instagram.”
“I don’t have an account,” Beck says.
“Freak.” Jasmine manages a weak smile.
“You never wanted kids, Beck?” Micah asks.
“Can’t say that I did. I mean, I wasn’t solidly against them, but I wasn’t yearning to be a mother.”
“Me neither,” Micah says. “But once he got here, you know . . . all the rumors are true. He made me a better person and all that.” She swallows. “He kind of saved me from myself. We always got along really well. But recently . . .” She stops, takes another swallow of bourbon and says nothing more.
“Any deep, dark secrets you want to share?” Beck asks.
“Other than getting knocked up two weeks before graduation? No.” But her eyes shift away.
“Oh, you can tell us,” Beck says. “We’re the Core Four.”
“I really can’t,” Micah says. “If Audrey knows, she might slip up and say something, and my life would be over.”
“Not that you sound melodramatic or anything,” Beck says.
“And Audrey’s not here right now,” adds Jasmine.
“Even so,” says Micah. “Here. I drink too much. Is that a dark-enough secret?”
There’s something bigger there, Beck senses. “Will we get to meet your son this weekend?” she asks. “And see James?”
“Yes to James, no to Logan.” She pauses. “My son is currently not speaking to me. We had a . . . disagreement. Which I will not discuss, so please don’t ask.”
“Okay,” Beck says. She stretches her leg and winces as her knee makes a loud crack.
“Does it always hurt?” Micah asks quietly.
Beck is about to say no, but then remembers they’re being honest. “It’s always there. Sometimes it’s awful, like when it rains for days or if I overdo it by walking up too many flights of stairs. Today it’s just stiff because I sat for so long. I’ll be better tomorrow.”
Micah nods. Mr. Littlejeans jumps on her lap and begins to purr.
Jasmine gets up. “I’m having another. Anyone else?”
“Sure,” Beck says. “Can you get me one and a glass of water, too? Because of my poor broken leg?”
Jasmine laughs and says yes. A minute later, she’s back with a little tray of glasses and slices of lemon on a dish.
“Is this how they do it in Greenwich?” Micah asks.
“No. In Greenwich, the maid would bring in the tray.” She sits back down. “Circling back to Audrey . . . I don’t think we should overload her with too much of anything. She was tuning in and out tonight, did you guys notice?”
Micah’s eyes fill with tears. “Yeah. I mean, we’ve seen each other once or twice a year since she moved back here, like at the fireworks on the Fourth of July or the tree lighting. But it’s just ‘Hi, how are you, must run.’ All that time when we could’ve been friends again, fucking wasted.”
“I hear you,” Beck says. “But it’s water under the bridge. Let’s do whatever we can to give her a good weekend. We’ll be the Core Four once more.”
“Cheers to that,” Micah says, and the three of them clink glasses, sip their drinks, then sit in silence, the past flickering through the room like the shadows cast by the firelight.