Chapter Seven Augusta
Seven
Augusta
Very Suspicious
The lacy blue underwear stayed in the couch cushions for a month.
Every night before bed Augusta sat on the sofa to pump, hooked up to the machine, surrounded by bottles and tubes, and she would slip her fingers down into the crack of the sofa.
Augusta felt like she was losing her mind.
Who did they belong to? Had she come back to the house? Was Colin seeing her somewhere else?
Strangely, sex with Colin carried on like always.
He still patted her bum when she bent over to put on her shoes, he still gave a low and appreciative whistle when he saw her getting out of the shower, they still closed the bedroom door once or twice a week and had sex after the kids were asleep.
He didn’t touch her differently, he didn’t smell like strange perfume, he didn’t close his eyes and say the wrong name—I mean, even the biggest idiot in the world wouldn’t do that.
“Do you think you would know if RJ were cheating on you?” Augusta asked Fran one afternoon.
Augusta was waiting for Charlie’s chess camp to let out and Fran was picking up Hale.
Fran was wearing ratty old sneakers and a Celtics hoodie and if it weren’t for her ponytail she could have been mistaken for a teenage boy.
“RJ?” Fran asked with a laugh. “RJ couldn’t set up an affair without asking for my help. He’d have me make the dinner reservations, buy the flowers, and probably even watch them hook up to let him know he was doing it right.”
“Be serious.” Augusta rolled her eyes. “What would make you suspect?”
“I mean, I guess the usual things.” Fran shrugged. “If he changed the password on his phone or started hiding the screen when he texted.”
“That makes sense.” Augusta thought about it. Colin mostly used his phone to check sports scores and watch videos of people falling off ladders. He wasn’t hiding his screen.
“Do you remember that website Ashley Madison for cheating?” Fran asked.
“Vaguely?” Augusta said uncertainly.
“RJ’s friend was getting married and as a joke some of his groomsmen made a profile for him on the Ashley Madison site, then they had his fiancée pretend she had found it and was mad.
The guy knew it was a joke and knew she was in on it, so it was just a bachelor party gag, and nobody really thought much of it.
But then when the Ashley Madison site was hacked however many years ago all his data was released.
So anyone going through it could see his name.
Like, his employer, his in-laws, anyone.
They all thought he was trying to cheat on his wife. Kind of awkward to explain.”
“That’s horrible. I mean, that’s not even a funny joke to begin with,” Augusta said grumpily.
“I mean, it’s sort of funny? But honestly, there is zero chance of RJ sleeping with someone else.
He couldn’t deal with the germs. He had a one-night stand once in his early twenties and even though he wore a condom he was so freaked out about STDs he spent the next week getting tested for everything. ”
Augusta let the issue drop, but the whole conversation put her in a bad mood.
Of course Fran thought cheating was a funny prank.
Her parents were still married, and RJ was so hopeless he couldn’t have an affair if he tried.
But it was more than that. Somewhere, deep down, Augusta felt like Fran was uncomfortable with her questions, but she couldn’t—or didn’t want to—push her on it.
Augusta asked Bailey her opinion when she went over to drop off her old bassinet. “What percent of people do you think have affairs?”
“Um, probably everyone?” Bailey ventured.
She had reached the uncomfortable portion of her third trimester where even her hands looked pregnant.
“That’s why now, when you go on Tinder, all the married men say they are ‘ethically non monogamous.’ Because everyone wants to cheat but nobody wants to call it cheating.
” She looked a little tired, but her makeup was perfect, her blond hair clean and shiny.
“God, that’s depressing. Would you stay with someone who cheated on you?”
“Yes, but I’d never get married in the first place,” Bailey said. “At this point I really don’t think I ever will.”
“Oh, don’t say that!” Augusta’s eyes inexplicably filled with tears. “You’re still so young! You and Van could work out! Or you could meet someone divorced who already has kids, or an older guy who always wanted them!”
“Thanks, babe,” said Bailey sarcastically. “I’m not worried that I’m, like, damaged goods. I just don’t see the point. I have a job, I have money, I have the baby, and I can have sex with anyone I want.”
“God, you’re like a guy.” Augusta shook her head. She wasn’t sure she believed her.
“I don’t think men and women are all that different,” Bailey disagreed. “We all feel torn between wanting stability and freedom. I just need less stability than you do.”
“You say that like I’m some tradwife,” Augusta huffed, annoyed.
“I don’t think you’re a tradwife, I just think your dad fucked you up. You want the thing you didn’t have as a kid.”
Augusta felt like Bailey had slapped her. “That’s mean, Bailey.”
“Shit! Sorry!” Bailey reached to hug her, but her belly was in the way. “Don’t listen to me! I’m exhausted and stressed out and have no idea what I’m talking about. Sorry, babe. I’m sorry.”
Augusta forgave her but it still stung. Bailey was saying that Augusta needed Colin to be faithful because of her own father’s infidelity.
Like wanting monogamy was something only a messed-up person would crave.
And even more than that, she saw Bailey hadn’t asked the most obvious question.
She didn’t ask why Augusta wanted to know about cheating.
She didn’t ask if everything was okay with Colin.
When Augusta tried to talk to her mother about it, she only succeeded in making them both upset. “Mom?” she asked. “How did you know Dad was cheating on you?” They were in the barn by her mother’s pink house, her mother grooming her horses.
“Why are you asking this?” Annie frowned.
“Because I think Dad’s cheating again,” Augusta quickly deflected.
“Oh, Augusta.” Annie shook her head. “I really don’t care, and you shouldn’t either.” She began to brush the horse’s coat with long, even strokes.
“I just think he’s making Samantha look like an idiot. Everyone in town can see he’s cheating. It must be humiliating for her,” Augusta tried.
“Augusta, honey, I don’t really want to talk about your father’s romantic life. I’m happy for you to have a relationship, but you shouldn’t get yourself invested in him. He disappoints people.”
She felt guilty, dragging her parents into it, but at the same time, this was all sort of their fault. They hadn’t given Augusta a model for a successful marriage. She had no idea how to talk to Colin about this stuff, how to ask him if he was in love with someone else.
It was devastating. Her brother was the only person in the world who knew Colin as well as she did, and yet he was the one person she couldn’t ask.
When Augusta was sixteen, she had the worst summer of her life.
While her mother and Eben were completely fluent in French, Augusta had gotten a B-minus sophomore year, and her mother had decided Augusta needed to immerse herself in the language and do an exchange in Paris to get up to speed.
Sylvie Renault was her mother’s college roommate and she had four children, the oldest of whom was just Augusta’s age.
Sylvie was a member of the French parliament, she lived in an apartment on Avenue Montaigne in the 8th arrondissement, and she assured Annie that Augusta would tuck right into her fabulous famille and would return home in late August with a wider view of the world and a gorgeous Parisian accent.
Augusta arrived with her suitcase in June and met the family: Sylvie and Thibault, and the children, Anne-Laure, Marie, Jean-Paul, and Serabet.
Anne-Laure was skinny as a colt, with straight brown hair that hung in her eyes and thick glasses like Coke bottles.
Marie was beautiful and haughty and immediately sneered at Augusta’s white American sneakers.
Jean-Paul was ten, and he shook her hand perfunctorily before dashing over to the television where a soccer match was unfolding, and Serabet was five, pink, blond, and perpetually scowling at everything the world had to offer.
The apartment, however, was divine. It was everything you might expect from a four-bedroom Parisian palace on the fanciest street in the city.
There were oriental rugs and family heirlooms, gilded frames holding oil paintings, thick velvet curtains, and a grand piano in the salon.
Augusta could tell at first glance that Anne-Laure wouldn’t be her bosom buddy, but when it came to summer accommodations in the most beautiful city in the world, a girl could do worse.
And then, on Augusta’s second day in Paris, they left.
There had been a lot of conversation at dinner, but frankly Augusta had only understood about half of it.
Apparently, they had been talking about their family estate where they would be spending the summer.
No one of a certain class was willing to spend the summer months in the city.
Sylvie was from a well-to-do French family, and they had an estate that had been with them for generations.
It was two hours north of Paris. Her aunt lived in the main house, a mansion maintained by a staff of four, while the Renault family took one of the smaller buildings on the property, a five-minute walk through the forest.