Finding Bliss (15 page)

“Will you marry me, Chloe, and let me give you the family you deserve?”

I nodded fiercely and answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

Tyler opened the box and unveiled an infinity band of emerald-cut diamonds. It was the most magnificent piece of jewelry I’d ever seen. He placed the ring on my shaky finger, and I leaped into his lap and held on to his neck for dear life while I sobbed with joy. My infatuation with him had never waned. I was as head over heels right then as I’d been the first time he touched me on that very dock.

“All I’ve ever wanted was you,” I said, pulling back. “Please don’t put yourself down. I hate when you do that. You’ve already made me so happy, and I can’t imagine moving forward in life without you. I don’t ever want to be without you.”

He tightened his grip and rubbed my back with firm strokes. “I love you, Chloe. Your legs, your face, your hair, your vanilla-scented shampoo, your insane job. All of it.”

“I love you, too, so much.”

His lips met mine, and I was as excited as if he was kissing me for the first time. My heart beat with anticipation as he pressed me down onto the dock with the weight of his body.

Something about being at the lake filled both of us with a renewed sense of discovery. Tyler paused to gaze at me. His hands slowly traced my neck and jawbone as he regarded me with a combination of familiarity and curiosity. He stood and led me to the house. As soon as we stepped inside, I pulled him to the guest room off the kitchen where I’d lived for three weeks so long ago. Nothing had changed. He threw me onto the white bed, and we made love like two young college kids on summer break.

We spent the weekend there snuggled up in front of roaring fires and stuffing our faces. That Saturday we drove into town and picked up food from the local gourmet market and sat on the patio with wine and beer and cheese and talked for hours about what kind
of wedding we would have. How long we should stay in our apartment. How many kids we’d have, and how much fun it was going to be trying for them. After Tyler’s accident, when we’d first moved in together, we had talked occasionally about getting engaged one day. Even back then both of us were eager to get married and start a family, but I insisted I needed to get through law school and pass the bar first. Tyler had also wanted to feel more settled in his own career before getting married. It killed me to think he still felt trapped and unhappy with his job. His already strained relationship with his father had taken yet another hit when he’d broached the subject of switching jobs with him recently. He wanted to go to film school and get into commercial production like his cousin Mitch, but Tyler’s father was insistent on his going to business school and reviving his grandfather’s meatpacking business.

I used our time at the lake that weekend to encourage him to talk to his dad again. Dr. Reed had controlled Tyler’s life for as long as he could remember, and defying his parents was nearly impossible for him. Their love was always conditional; something he’d begun to realize after the accident. It was difficult for me to watch him vie for his parents’ respect at the age of twenty-six. It reminded me of the days when I babysat Sammy and Sarah, and they would write stories or make drawings and try to goad their parents away from their cell phones for even a moment to show them their accomplishments.

“Mommy is going to love this one!” Sarah would say to me, adding extra red glitter to every creation because it was her mom’s favorite color. “Maybe she’ll put this one up in her office?” She’d hope. Four hours later, I’d find the drawing torn in half on the floor of Sarah’s bedroom. And no matter how much I gushed and squealed, it could never make up for her parents’ disregard. I knew all too well that children of every age needed validation from their
parents, and whether those parents were delusional recovering alcoholics or inconsiderate socialites, learning to thrive without it was an arduous process.

Sunday night, our last night at the lake, we sat on the dock wrapped in blankets.

“I really think you should talk to your dad again,” I said.

“I know you do.”

“I’m not trying to be annoying, but if you’re unhappy, then I’m unhappy. And I know you want me to be happy, right?” I teased.

Tyler leaned forward and kissed me. “Very much so.”

T
yler and I were married the following summer on that very dock. It was a small ceremony with fifty guests including Grace and Jack and her parents, Tyler’s extended family, and a few friends. Cam declined due to a “work thing,” but promised to send a gift within the allotted year’s time.

I’d asked Grace’s father, Ethan, to do me the honor of walking me down the aisle. A large, handsome man who adored his wife and his family and represented everything I ever hoped for in a husband, he was the embodiment of honesty and integrity.

I wished my mother could have been there, but she’d insisted on staying in Miami. She assured me that she would’ve loved to come, but that the authorities would most certainly be waiting to ambush her at the airport. She’d moved into an assisted-living facility in Florida where she employed a woman named Vivian to come in once a day to help with minor chores and errands. She refused to leave her house other than to check on her brother, who was being treated at a nearby hospital. I’d been down there only once to visit her since the move. We’d sat in her apartment for two days watching television and eating takeout because she wouldn’t let me take her to a restaurant. I’d sent her an invitation to the wedding and offered to send her a plane ticket, but she was unwavering in her decision to stay put. She did, however, send me a white cotton cardigan from Dillard’s.

The ceremony was held at the base of the Reeds’ hill, overlooking the lake, and the reception took place at the Grand Geneva Resort where we were staying for the weekend along with many of the guests. Tyler’s mom had been reticent to let us use the house for any of the festivities without her input, so my wedding had quickly become her wedding.

“We wouldn’t want our guests in the direct heat, would we?” she asked and insisted on handing out parasols to everyone when they arrived.

She’d ask me questions as if my opinion carried any weight, but in reality every question was simply a declaration of the only opinion that mattered. Hers.

“You don’t really want to serve ranch dressing with the crudités, do you?”

“You’re not going to wear flip-flops on your weddin’ day, are you?”

“Bless your heart, you didn’t really think wildflowers were fit for a bridal bouquet, did you?”

I nodded and bit my tongue for most of it. As long as I was standing at the end of that dock with Tyler next to me, I didn’t care what was on my feet or in my hands.

I had convinced myself that Tyler’s parents were pleased with our union. Either that, or they’d simply learned to put a good face on it. Mrs. Reed had thrown us an engagement party at their country club where I actually overheard Dr. Reed bragging about my career path to one of his friends. He never said much to me, but he regularly asked about my job and listened to my answers with great sincerity and pride once I was officially a Reed.

Since our jobs only allowed for a short honeymoon, we flew to Cancún for a long weekend. Tyler and I drank margaritas and ate more guacamole than I’d thought humanly possible in those four days. We wore very little clothing, spent mealtimes in the hot tub,
bedtime on the beach, and joked about how appalled his mother would’ve been with our lack of decorum.

To say that my job was demanding was an understatement, but I loved what I did. Having a front-row seat to other people’s familial and marital drama was not only a fascinating study of human nature but also an opportunity for me to give those people some justice. It was more rewarding than I ever thought possible. Soon after I’d passed the bar exam and begun working full-time, Tyler had a heart-to-heart with his father and began taking film school classes at night while working at McCutcheon during the day. The year of our engagement we were like two ships passing in the night. Tyler had wanted to double up on his courses so that he could get his degree and start a business with his cousin Mitch, so e-mails and texts were our main source of communication during that time. Though I didn’t get to see him as much as I would have liked, I was thrilled to see him on the road to finding his passion. When we did have a little downtime together, he talked to me at length about his courses and what he was learning. About the type of business he and Mitch wanted to create, and about the work they’d be able to produce.

Mitch was his first cousin on his mother’s side, and four years older than Tyler. I met him and his girlfriend Hollis for the first time at our wedding. They were both creative types. Hollis was a jewelry designer who sold her wares mostly at art festivals and online. She had a degree in metalsmithing and art history, and was for sure the type that would hold a bouquet of wildflowers at her wedding one day. Mitch worked as production designer and graphic artist for an ad agency in Chicago, and was eager to get Tyler up to speed so that they could go off on their own.

That fall, after our wedding, Tyler finally quit his job at McCutcheon Meats, and he and Mitch opened their own commercial production company called It’s All Relative. Mitch got a loan
from the bank, Tyler used some money from our wedding, and I invested $10,000 from my personal savings account. His parents made no secret of what a bad idea they thought it was, but since Dixie Reed cared more about appearances than anything else, Tyler soon became the most celebrated and accomplished commercial director in the Midwest whenever she spoke of him. If all else failed, he had her counterfeit praise to fall back on.

The first two years of our marriage came with the typical challenges and rewards. We argued over what kind of dining room table to buy, and then made love on top of it once it arrived; we fought over who should do the grocery shopping, and then fed each other Chinese takeout at midnight. We worked too hard, too long, too late, and slept until noon on Saturdays, bickering over which one of us should do a Starbucks run. I excelled at work, and began to make a name for myself in my field. I built my client list, won all but two of my cases, and had referrals coming in from all over the state. It’s All Relative began to grow its client base as well, and went from four employees to twenty-four in the course of eight months. We stayed in our apartment in the city for as long as we could stand it, but soon began itching for a bigger place. I had doubled my salary, and wanted us to start a family and own a home in the suburbs. We’d talked often over the years about what kind of parents we’d be.

“I’ll be the disciplinarian,” I’d say.

Tyler rolled his eyes. “The second they thrust their bottom lips out, you’ll burst into tears and give them whatever they want.”

I nodded slightly. “I do hate it when kids cry. But you’re going to be a pushover too; I’m sure of it. Especially if it’s a little girl.”

“So then I’ll have two girls running me around in my own house?”

“Damn straight.”

“You’re right: we do need a bigger place.”

Tyler would be the fun Dad who’d wrestle his kids and tickle them until they couldn’t breathe. The type that would volunteer for every coaching opportunity available to him—but not badger his kids like his own father had. I knew he was eager to be a good, attentive father, and even more so to have a son. We were both excited for the opportunity to prove to ourselves that we knew what good parenting looked like, despite our lack of examples.

So the week before my twenty-ninth birthday, we moved out of our apartment in the city, right back to where we’d come from, into a four-bedroom Cape Cod in Glenview. We hired painters and hung drapes. Shopped for new furniture and towels. I had the two smaller bedrooms upstairs painted in pale yellow and kept them unfurnished. We did the kitchen in a bright apple green and the foyer in a shade of flannel gray. I bought new hand towels for the guest bathroom on the first floor, and we finally found a place for some of our more unwieldy wedding gifts, such as the crepe maker and eight-piece fondue pot. Anytime I’d run to the grocery store, I’d come home with flowers and fill vases in every room. It was a small gesture, but it allowed me to create the dream home I’d never had growing up. By Christmastime we were settled in, and decided to host a small holiday-housewarming dinner. We invited Tyler’s parents, Grace’s parents, Mitch and Hollis, my paralegal Robert and his wife, Madison, and of course Grace and Jack, who’d married a year after Tyler and me.

That day I set our brand-new dining room table with the glassware and flatware we’d registered for. I made my first beef tenderloin, and Grace’s mom, ever so thoughtful, brought two side dishes so that I wouldn’t feel overwhelmed in the kitchen. I tore up loaves of sourdough bread and put them in a basket next to a dish with room-temperature butter. I lit candles in a pair of tall silver candlesticks that had been a wedding gift from one of Dr. Reed’s colleagues. It was the most elegant party I’d ever hosted, and I was pretty damn proud of myself.

The evening went off without a hitch.

That is, until Mrs. Reed had too much to drink.

“Oh my stars! Beef tenderloin; aren’t you ambitious,” she said, taking a bite. “You know that Williams Sonoma offers a cooking class on all the
basics
. Wouldn’t that be fun for you?”

Grace lifted her napkin to her mouth to hide her smile.

“My schedule is a little demanding, but that does sound…fun,” I said.

“And Chloedear, the color in the kitchen is such an interesting choice. It looks vereh fresh, but I would’ve thought it better for a bathroom. You must really like green.”

“I guess I do,” I said. “It
is
very fresh.”

She rested her utensils on her plate and folded her hands in her lap. “I have a copy of the
Better Homes and Gardens
color guide that I’ll bring over; it’s no trouble at all,” she continued. “Also, I saw the most lovely bedroom set at Ethan Allen; it’s their Quincy collection, and would look wonderful upstairs.”