On Second Thought
Page 66
“Really?” Ainsley smiled at me, delighted. “What do you remember? Oh, shit, the guy almost hit me. Watch it, idiot! Where are we going, anyway?”
I directed her to a rooftop bar in SoHo where I’d photographed an engagement party. The views of the city were breathtaking, and we managed to get a table by some miracle. The crowd was too sophisticated to be overly rowdy, so we could really talk.
“Should we call our worthless brother and see if he wants to come?” Ainsley suggested.
“Nah. Let’s just have it be us sisters.” I paused. “Do you think he’s worthless?”
She shrugged. “Not really. Not to you.”
It dawned on me that Sean was pretty worthless where Ainsley was concerned. I started to apologize for him, then stopped, as always torn between loyalty to my family of origin and sympathy for Ainsley, the outsider.
“Ooh! A lavender martini! I’m definitely getting that.”
For a very long time, I’d seen Ainsley’s übercheer as a character flaw, hiding some shallowness. Now, suddenly, I saw how thick her skin was, how much energy and strength it took to be so forgiving, and so happy, and so...nice all the time.
“This is so great,” I said. “Thanks for making me shower.”
We ordered a martini apiece and some appetizers. Tomorrow, I was photographing a newborn baby and his parents in one of those let’s all get naked and remind this child how he got started and then hide the portrait once he turns six shoots. I could use a drink.
The waiter brought our food, and we devoured it in true O’Leary fashion. One of the things about grief—my appetite sucked, and I was looking a little skeletal these days. But tonight, I was hungry, and the food tasted like food.
“It’s so pretty here,” Ainsley said, looking over SoHo, the pretty cornices on the building across the way, One World Trade Center looking a bit like a narwhal, its antenna piercing the low-hanging clouds. “We should do this more.”
“We should,” I said, and unlike a thousand times in the past when I’d said just that, it felt real this time. Like we’d really do it.
“So. Tell me about my mom,” she said, folding her hands.
I took a sip of my drink. “Well, she was really pretty, which you already know. And so nice. She never bossed Sean and me around when we went over, and she always made something fun for dinner.” Was this the first time I’d ever told her this? Shame on me.
“Like what?”
“Oh, macaroni and cheese, but the homemade kind, with these crazy curly noodles. And she bought special place mats for us. Sean’s had the solar system on it, and mine had these cute chickens on it.”
“Did she like you? I mean, she was pretty young to be a stepmom.”
“She was great. She was like this cool aunt. Not like Aunt Patty, who tells you about her irritable bowel syndrome the second she sees you.”
“Yeah, I know way too much about her colon.”
“Michelle really loved you,” I said, remembering. “She’d hold you for no reason, even if you were asleep. And she shared you. She let me play with you and hold you, and she always took pictures of the two of us, and the three of us, and the next week, there they’d be, in a frame.”
“What happened to them?” Ainsley asked.
I frowned. “I don’t know. I thought you had them.”
“No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”
We both sat in silence, thinking the same thing. Of course our father didn’t know. He couldn’t find the butter without help. That left my mother, and it was totally in her character to toss the photos from her husband’s other wife, other life.
Ainsley looked away. “I guess if Candy threw them out, I... I don’t know. She’d have her reasons.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She’d find some way to justify it, but she’d only do it because she was so jealous. Your mother was lovely, and it drove my mom crazy.”
Ainsley’s eyes widened. That’s right. I’d done it; jumped the breach and said what was true. Because Ainsley had been so wonderful these past horrible weeks. She didn’t just say words; she came through, damn it. I took another sip of my drink, enjoying the buzz and the honesty it seemed to bring out. “I don’t blame Dad for leaving.”
“Don’t say that,” Ainsley said. “He cheated on Candy. That wasn’t right. And she took him back—and took me in. That was superhuman.”
“She could’ve done better by you, Ainsley.”
“She did well enough. I mean, she doesn’t hate me. And I don’t hate her.” She paused. “I kind of love her.”
“I loved your mom, too. And I love you, too. Even if you are Dad’s favorite.”
We looked at each other for a second, then laughed. “No more booze for you,” Ainsley said. “Look at you, getting all sappy.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “I love you, too.”
“Believe me, I can tell.” I was a little buzzed, but I meant it. Why were we just doing this now? Why hadn’t we always been close?
Because you couldn’t be bothered, that’s why. Because you and Sean liked to act superior with Ainsley. Because you were always jealous of her.
I’d do better now.
“Hey, did you hear?” I asked. “Mom and Dad are getting a divorce.”
“Not this again.”
“She wants to come live with us.”
“God, no. I mean, not that I get a say, but...”
“Don’t worry. I already turned her down.” My drink was gone. “Have you heard from Eric?”
She closed her eyes. “He keeps emailing me to fact-check his cancer journey. And his parents are starting to turn. Judy said she was proud of him the last time we talked.”
“She once told me he was regarded as the Christ child when he was born.”
“That sounds about right.” Her smile was a little sad.
“You know what we should do? Let’s go to his house. Your house. He’s in Alaska now, right?”
“Um...I think so. He started another blog, but I’ve been superstrong and haven’t read it.”
“Come on,” I said, pulling out my wallet to pay for dinner. “Let’s spy. It’ll be fun.”
Forty-five minutes later, there we were, sitting two houses down from her place. The house was dark.
“Let’s go inside,” I said. “We can take a few things that are rightfully yours.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Look at you. Little Miss Perfect, committing a crime.”
“You still have a key, don’t you?”
“Hell’s yes, I do.”
It was awfully dark (which was good, since we were breaking and entering). I followed her up the walk. She peeked in the garage. “No car,” she reported.
A second later, we were inside. “Don’t turn on any lights,” Ainsley said. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”
“Won’t the car parked on the street tip them off?”
“Oh, shit, yes,” she said, giggling. “Then again, who doesn’t drive a white Prius? It’s like Wonder Woman’s jet. Practically invisible.” She turned on the flashlight on her phone and shone it around. “I guess he hasn’t left yet.” There were piles in the living room—backpacks and hiking boots and climbing gear. “Look at all this crap. And from a guy who was never allowed to climb a tree in case he broke a bone.”
I directed her to a rooftop bar in SoHo where I’d photographed an engagement party. The views of the city were breathtaking, and we managed to get a table by some miracle. The crowd was too sophisticated to be overly rowdy, so we could really talk.
“Should we call our worthless brother and see if he wants to come?” Ainsley suggested.
“Nah. Let’s just have it be us sisters.” I paused. “Do you think he’s worthless?”
She shrugged. “Not really. Not to you.”
It dawned on me that Sean was pretty worthless where Ainsley was concerned. I started to apologize for him, then stopped, as always torn between loyalty to my family of origin and sympathy for Ainsley, the outsider.
“Ooh! A lavender martini! I’m definitely getting that.”
For a very long time, I’d seen Ainsley’s übercheer as a character flaw, hiding some shallowness. Now, suddenly, I saw how thick her skin was, how much energy and strength it took to be so forgiving, and so happy, and so...nice all the time.
“This is so great,” I said. “Thanks for making me shower.”
We ordered a martini apiece and some appetizers. Tomorrow, I was photographing a newborn baby and his parents in one of those let’s all get naked and remind this child how he got started and then hide the portrait once he turns six shoots. I could use a drink.
The waiter brought our food, and we devoured it in true O’Leary fashion. One of the things about grief—my appetite sucked, and I was looking a little skeletal these days. But tonight, I was hungry, and the food tasted like food.
“It’s so pretty here,” Ainsley said, looking over SoHo, the pretty cornices on the building across the way, One World Trade Center looking a bit like a narwhal, its antenna piercing the low-hanging clouds. “We should do this more.”
“We should,” I said, and unlike a thousand times in the past when I’d said just that, it felt real this time. Like we’d really do it.
“So. Tell me about my mom,” she said, folding her hands.
I took a sip of my drink. “Well, she was really pretty, which you already know. And so nice. She never bossed Sean and me around when we went over, and she always made something fun for dinner.” Was this the first time I’d ever told her this? Shame on me.
“Like what?”
“Oh, macaroni and cheese, but the homemade kind, with these crazy curly noodles. And she bought special place mats for us. Sean’s had the solar system on it, and mine had these cute chickens on it.”
“Did she like you? I mean, she was pretty young to be a stepmom.”
“She was great. She was like this cool aunt. Not like Aunt Patty, who tells you about her irritable bowel syndrome the second she sees you.”
“Yeah, I know way too much about her colon.”
“Michelle really loved you,” I said, remembering. “She’d hold you for no reason, even if you were asleep. And she shared you. She let me play with you and hold you, and she always took pictures of the two of us, and the three of us, and the next week, there they’d be, in a frame.”
“What happened to them?” Ainsley asked.
I frowned. “I don’t know. I thought you had them.”
“No. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”
We both sat in silence, thinking the same thing. Of course our father didn’t know. He couldn’t find the butter without help. That left my mother, and it was totally in her character to toss the photos from her husband’s other wife, other life.
Ainsley looked away. “I guess if Candy threw them out, I... I don’t know. She’d have her reasons.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She’d find some way to justify it, but she’d only do it because she was so jealous. Your mother was lovely, and it drove my mom crazy.”
Ainsley’s eyes widened. That’s right. I’d done it; jumped the breach and said what was true. Because Ainsley had been so wonderful these past horrible weeks. She didn’t just say words; she came through, damn it. I took another sip of my drink, enjoying the buzz and the honesty it seemed to bring out. “I don’t blame Dad for leaving.”
“Don’t say that,” Ainsley said. “He cheated on Candy. That wasn’t right. And she took him back—and took me in. That was superhuman.”
“She could’ve done better by you, Ainsley.”
“She did well enough. I mean, she doesn’t hate me. And I don’t hate her.” She paused. “I kind of love her.”
“I loved your mom, too. And I love you, too. Even if you are Dad’s favorite.”
We looked at each other for a second, then laughed. “No more booze for you,” Ainsley said. “Look at you, getting all sappy.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “I love you, too.”
“Believe me, I can tell.” I was a little buzzed, but I meant it. Why were we just doing this now? Why hadn’t we always been close?
Because you couldn’t be bothered, that’s why. Because you and Sean liked to act superior with Ainsley. Because you were always jealous of her.
I’d do better now.
“Hey, did you hear?” I asked. “Mom and Dad are getting a divorce.”
“Not this again.”
“She wants to come live with us.”
“God, no. I mean, not that I get a say, but...”
“Don’t worry. I already turned her down.” My drink was gone. “Have you heard from Eric?”
She closed her eyes. “He keeps emailing me to fact-check his cancer journey. And his parents are starting to turn. Judy said she was proud of him the last time we talked.”
“She once told me he was regarded as the Christ child when he was born.”
“That sounds about right.” Her smile was a little sad.
“You know what we should do? Let’s go to his house. Your house. He’s in Alaska now, right?”
“Um...I think so. He started another blog, but I’ve been superstrong and haven’t read it.”
“Come on,” I said, pulling out my wallet to pay for dinner. “Let’s spy. It’ll be fun.”
Forty-five minutes later, there we were, sitting two houses down from her place. The house was dark.
“Let’s go inside,” I said. “We can take a few things that are rightfully yours.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Look at you. Little Miss Perfect, committing a crime.”
“You still have a key, don’t you?”
“Hell’s yes, I do.”
It was awfully dark (which was good, since we were breaking and entering). I followed her up the walk. She peeked in the garage. “No car,” she reported.
A second later, we were inside. “Don’t turn on any lights,” Ainsley said. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”
“Won’t the car parked on the street tip them off?”
“Oh, shit, yes,” she said, giggling. “Then again, who doesn’t drive a white Prius? It’s like Wonder Woman’s jet. Practically invisible.” She turned on the flashlight on her phone and shone it around. “I guess he hasn’t left yet.” There were piles in the living room—backpacks and hiking boots and climbing gear. “Look at all this crap. And from a guy who was never allowed to climb a tree in case he broke a bone.”
