If You Only Knew
Page 69
I know the other moms. I know some of our old classmates, I know the country-club crowd. I know the children’s librarian, but not the other adults who work there, even though I go in at least once a week.
It occurs to me that I’d like to have more friends.
I’ll stop by Bliss after lunch, if I have time. Or not. I might do something else. Get a facial, maybe, at Vous, the day spa around the corner. Maybe I’ll buy some new shoes, the kind that Jenny wears. Not flats. No way.
Or I’ll just go home and plant the pansies the girls and I picked out the other day. That’s what the old Rachel wants to do. But maybe it’d be good to have some true Me Time.
I go into Hudson’s, the sweet little tavern that was formerly a dark and sticky bar patronized by hardcore alcoholics. There’s Jared, waiting for me, a smile on his face. “Hey, Rach!” he says, and we sit down, getting a table by the window so we can admire the mighty river.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he says.
“Of course!” I say. As always, Jared reminds me of the dogs his family used to have—Golden retrievers, always happy, always wagging. Jared is like his dad, who’s the minister of our church. Not like his mother, who has never once invited me to call her by her first name, never once acted happy to see me in town or at the club.
Jared makes up for it. He’s one of the few people I feel really comfortable with.
“Got any new pictures of the girls?” he asks, and I comply, whipping out my phone so he can admire. The girls worship him; they call him Uncle Jared, and he always manages to find strange and wonderful presents at holidays and their birthday. “God, they’re so cute!” he says. “Look at Charlotte. She looks just like you. And Grace is the spitting image of Adam, isn’t she? Aw, look at Rose! Bet she enjoyed that... What is she eating, anyway? Mud?”
“Actually, no, Jared. It’s pudding. Believe it or not, we don’t feed the girls mud.”
He grins, and we order lunch—a huge burger for him, fries and a milkshake; he’s as skinny as can be, always has been. A salad with dressing on the side for me, so I can keep my hip bones. When the food comes, he reveals the true nature of this lunch. “So, Rach,” he says, “Kimber was wondering if you’d be in our wedding. Bridesmaid. What do you think?”
“Really? Of course! I’d love to.” I take a sip of my water. “But, um, why didn’t she ask me herself?”
“She was afraid you’d say no.”
“Why would I do that? I mean, I’m a little old to be a bridesmaid, but it’s a huge honor.”
“I’m a little old to be getting married for the first time,” he says, grinning.
“Nah. It just took you a while to find the right woman.”
“She’s great, isn’t she?”
“I really like her. She’s very...sincere.”
“Yes! That’s a perfect word for her.” His smile drops a little. “The thing is, Rach, my mom kind of hates her. And Kimber’s having a tough time. She had a really different upbringing than I did, and Mom’s making sure she knows it. Kimber wants to fit in and stuff, but you can see she’s not...”
“Typical.”
“Exactly. Which is why I love her.”
“Maybe she and Jenny and I can go out sometime.”
He smiles hugely. “I was hoping you’d say that. You’re the best, Rach. Hey, she’s meeting me at the office at two. We have to do something wedding-related. Cake-tasting or something. Want to come and say hi? She’ll be so happy you said yes to being in the wedding.”
“Sure,” I say. “That’d be nice.” I pause, struck by a horrible thought. “Who else is in the wedding? Anyone I know? Anyone from work?” In a flash, I see myself posing for pictures with Emmanuelle. Maybe they’re friends. Jared likes everyone, after all.
“No one from work. Her cousin, a couple of friends. They all have tattoos. My mother is dying a thousand deaths.” He keeps talking, a lot more informed than Adam was when we got married.
Since I found out about Emmanuelle, I’ve wanted to ask Jared about her. But I can’t. It would give her legitimacy, somehow, if I had to tap my oldest friend for insider information. And to be honest, I was afraid Jared would know why I was asking, and our lifelong friendship would be tainted by pity. And then Adam’s work relationship would suffer, because it’s always been clear that while Jared and Adam get long just fine, Jared is my friend.
What you don’t realize when your husband has an affair is how much lying you’ll do, too. In the past month, I’ve lied to my mother for the first time. To my in-laws—thank God they live in Arizona. To Adam’s sister, who lives in Portugal but emails often and sends the girls lovely gifts from her travels. I’ve lied to the nursery school teacher when she asked if everything was okay, and I’ve lied to my book club friends. I’ve even lied to Jenny. Lying has become a reflex. I don’t even think about it anymore.
When we leave the restaurant, I get into the Jag. Jared grins. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you drive that thing,” he says.
“Because I never have,” I say. He gets into his BMW, and we head to Triple B. Kimber is waiting in the foyer, wearing a peasant blouse, rainbow skirt and leather vest. She has on dozens of bracelets that jingle and chime when she jumps up. Her face flushes pink at the sight of her honey.
It occurs to me that I’d like to have more friends.
I’ll stop by Bliss after lunch, if I have time. Or not. I might do something else. Get a facial, maybe, at Vous, the day spa around the corner. Maybe I’ll buy some new shoes, the kind that Jenny wears. Not flats. No way.
Or I’ll just go home and plant the pansies the girls and I picked out the other day. That’s what the old Rachel wants to do. But maybe it’d be good to have some true Me Time.
I go into Hudson’s, the sweet little tavern that was formerly a dark and sticky bar patronized by hardcore alcoholics. There’s Jared, waiting for me, a smile on his face. “Hey, Rach!” he says, and we sit down, getting a table by the window so we can admire the mighty river.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he says.
“Of course!” I say. As always, Jared reminds me of the dogs his family used to have—Golden retrievers, always happy, always wagging. Jared is like his dad, who’s the minister of our church. Not like his mother, who has never once invited me to call her by her first name, never once acted happy to see me in town or at the club.
Jared makes up for it. He’s one of the few people I feel really comfortable with.
“Got any new pictures of the girls?” he asks, and I comply, whipping out my phone so he can admire. The girls worship him; they call him Uncle Jared, and he always manages to find strange and wonderful presents at holidays and their birthday. “God, they’re so cute!” he says. “Look at Charlotte. She looks just like you. And Grace is the spitting image of Adam, isn’t she? Aw, look at Rose! Bet she enjoyed that... What is she eating, anyway? Mud?”
“Actually, no, Jared. It’s pudding. Believe it or not, we don’t feed the girls mud.”
He grins, and we order lunch—a huge burger for him, fries and a milkshake; he’s as skinny as can be, always has been. A salad with dressing on the side for me, so I can keep my hip bones. When the food comes, he reveals the true nature of this lunch. “So, Rach,” he says, “Kimber was wondering if you’d be in our wedding. Bridesmaid. What do you think?”
“Really? Of course! I’d love to.” I take a sip of my water. “But, um, why didn’t she ask me herself?”
“She was afraid you’d say no.”
“Why would I do that? I mean, I’m a little old to be a bridesmaid, but it’s a huge honor.”
“I’m a little old to be getting married for the first time,” he says, grinning.
“Nah. It just took you a while to find the right woman.”
“She’s great, isn’t she?”
“I really like her. She’s very...sincere.”
“Yes! That’s a perfect word for her.” His smile drops a little. “The thing is, Rach, my mom kind of hates her. And Kimber’s having a tough time. She had a really different upbringing than I did, and Mom’s making sure she knows it. Kimber wants to fit in and stuff, but you can see she’s not...”
“Typical.”
“Exactly. Which is why I love her.”
“Maybe she and Jenny and I can go out sometime.”
He smiles hugely. “I was hoping you’d say that. You’re the best, Rach. Hey, she’s meeting me at the office at two. We have to do something wedding-related. Cake-tasting or something. Want to come and say hi? She’ll be so happy you said yes to being in the wedding.”
“Sure,” I say. “That’d be nice.” I pause, struck by a horrible thought. “Who else is in the wedding? Anyone I know? Anyone from work?” In a flash, I see myself posing for pictures with Emmanuelle. Maybe they’re friends. Jared likes everyone, after all.
“No one from work. Her cousin, a couple of friends. They all have tattoos. My mother is dying a thousand deaths.” He keeps talking, a lot more informed than Adam was when we got married.
Since I found out about Emmanuelle, I’ve wanted to ask Jared about her. But I can’t. It would give her legitimacy, somehow, if I had to tap my oldest friend for insider information. And to be honest, I was afraid Jared would know why I was asking, and our lifelong friendship would be tainted by pity. And then Adam’s work relationship would suffer, because it’s always been clear that while Jared and Adam get long just fine, Jared is my friend.
What you don’t realize when your husband has an affair is how much lying you’ll do, too. In the past month, I’ve lied to my mother for the first time. To my in-laws—thank God they live in Arizona. To Adam’s sister, who lives in Portugal but emails often and sends the girls lovely gifts from her travels. I’ve lied to the nursery school teacher when she asked if everything was okay, and I’ve lied to my book club friends. I’ve even lied to Jenny. Lying has become a reflex. I don’t even think about it anymore.
When we leave the restaurant, I get into the Jag. Jared grins. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen you drive that thing,” he says.
“Because I never have,” I say. He gets into his BMW, and we head to Triple B. Kimber is waiting in the foyer, wearing a peasant blouse, rainbow skirt and leather vest. She has on dozens of bracelets that jingle and chime when she jumps up. Her face flushes pink at the sight of her honey.
