The Best of Us (29 page)

She’d buried her face in her hands as she felt him sit down next to her, his movements so slow and careful that the bed had barely adjusted under his weight. He wasn’t close enough to touch her, but she’d felt his presence.

For some reason, she’d thought of their wedding day.

It was silly, but she’d wanted a storybook wedding. Her desire for that one day to be perfect overrode her practicality, and she’d willingly overpaid for flowers, for champagne, and for a reception room in a fancy hotel. But Gary hadn’t complained.

He’d bought her a beautiful ring—every other girl in her real estate office had envied it—and he’d let her spend a fortune on the reception. Gary had met her family. He understood what no one else could: that she wanted the first dance with her father while everyone watched, that she craved hearing toasts celebrating Gary’s love for her. That she needed an album containing photographs with Savannah front and center.

Gary came from a broken family, too. It was why Savannah knew it was going to be impossible for her to forgive him. He’d committed the worst kind of cruelty; he’d dredged up her old hurts along with new pain when he abandoned her.

“I hate you,” she’d said again, but this time her voice was worn and sad instead of angry.

“I know,” Gary had said. He’d aged in the past few months, Savannah had thought, noticing the new threads of gray in his hair. He’d lost a little weight, too.

“Did you break up with her, or did she break up with you?” Savannah had asked.

“I did it,” Gary had said.

“You’re lying!” Savannah had shouted. “You’re just saying that.”

“No.” Gary had shaken his head. “I left her. I moved into an apartment a few weeks ago.”

Savannah had studied his face. “I had sex with someone else tonight,” she’d said.

Gary had closed his eyes. “Okay,” he’d said.

“You don’t care that I screwed another man? He’s much younger than you! And . . . and he’s black!”

“Savannah,” Gary had said. “I love you.”

“Stop saying that!”

“Then tell me what to say!”

“Fine, you want to fix this?” she’d said. “It’s simple. Become a famous inventor.”

A furrow had formed between Gary’s brows as he’d looked at her.

“Build a time machine,” she’d said. “And go back, and un-cheat.”

She’d walked into the bathroom and slammed the door so hard that for a brief, satisfying moment, she’d thought it might shatter like a mirror.

*   *   *

Allie’s eyes flipped open at six a.m.

She felt, quite suddenly, as if she’d been electrified. What in the world had she been thinking? Not only was she acting unlike herself but it was as if a complete stranger had slipped inside her skin and taken over her life.

Allie couldn’t believe she’d been debating whether it was better to know if she was going to develop ALS. Of course she had
to know! There was no way she could live in limbo for the next few years, waiting to see if the disease would strike. She’d never been one to sit back and passively allow things to happen. The only reason she’d done so for these past weeks was that she was still reeling from the news. She’d counseled hundreds of people who were going through shock and anger and denial after a trauma—yet she hadn’t recognized traveling through those symptoms herself.

She was going to call the genetic counselor this very morning. Suddenly, she was ravenous for information. She knew she was healthy—how could she not be?—yet she needed concrete answers.

She put on tan shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top, then went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She reached into her toiletries bag and found the folded rectangle of paper. She smoothed it out and stared at the ten digits she’d recorded in a pencil topped with an eraser shaped like a gingerbread man. She’d tucked a package of the erasers into Sasha’s stocking last Christmas; Eva had gotten ones made to look like candy canes.

Allie smiled despite herself: If she had a doubt that she was making the right decision, the memory of those little rubber toys had erased it just as effectively as the gingerbread erasers had wiped out Sasha’s incorrect arithmetic sums. She needed to know, not just for herself but for her daughters. She took in a deep breath, but the tears she’d anticipated didn’t fall. She felt strong and resolute and optimistic—like the old Allie.

“Honey?” Through a crack in the bathroom door, she could see Ryan rolling over in bed. His voice was husky. “What are you doing up so early?”

She tucked the paper into her pocket and went back into the bedroom. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Come back to bed,” Ryan said. He lifted up the covers by way of invitation. She stood there, looking at him in the dim
light. His hair was too long around the ears; he needed a trim. His soft-looking stomach used to inspire tenderness in her, but the space in her heart that had been filled with love for Ryan just a few weeks ago seemed barren now.

I’m so angry with you,
she thought.
Why can’t you tell?

She was falling apart in front of him, and he couldn’t even see it.

“Als?” He was propped up on one elbow, a puzzled look on his face.

“Go back to sleep,” she said. It was a test, maybe the most important one she’d ever given.

“Is everything okay?”

He was only asking about three weeks too late.

“It’s fine,” she said. She forced herself to summon a smile.

“Okay,” he said, and then, as she’d known he would, he pulled the covers up to his shoulders and closed his eyes. And failed.

*   *   *

“Hey, babe,” Gio said in Tina’s ear. She felt him hesitate, and she remembered she’d ordered him never again to use that term of endearment.

“I was really pissed at you the other night, you know,” Tina said. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and twisted around to look up at him.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. He pulled her closer.

“It wasn’t just that you flirted with my friend,” she said. “The whole thing made me realize I haven’t been happy lately. Or maybe it wasn’t that I realized it, more that I finally admitted it to myself.”

“You’re not happy with me?” She could see hurt flare in Gio’s eyes. She knew she had to be careful; her husband could be an unusual mix of overconfident and hypersensitive.

“I’m not happy with me,” she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek and hoping it took the sting out of her words. “I love you. I love the kids. Having a big family is all I ever wanted, especially with my mom gone . . . but some days I feel really blue.”

“Like, depressed?”

“It’s not that bad,” she said. “I mean, I can get out of bed and stuff, obviously. It’s more feeling tired all the time, and overwhelmed. Do you know how long I’ve been meaning to clean out our medicine cabinet? Two years, Gio. We’ve got Advil in there that’s older than Sammy. Stuff like that. A million stupid, silly things that overwhelm me every time I think about them. I feel like I’m never going to get caught up. I just get . . . farther and farther behind. In everything, really.”

“Fuck the Advil,” Gio said.

“But it’s a symbol,” Tina said. “I see these other moms at school, and they look so together. Their minivans are spotless and they’re in exercise clothes and you just know they’ve knocked out an advanced Pilates class before whipping up chicken cacciatore, and I have no idea how they do it. It’s like they’re in this secret time-management club, and they’re not letting me in. Or, who knows, maybe they’re all just stealing their kids’ Adderall.”

“Seriously?”

“Some moms do,” Tina said. “Or so I’ve heard. But you know the scary thing? When I heard that Adderall gives you tons of energy and focus, I was like, ‘How can I get my hands on some of that?’ ”

“Babe, you don’t need drugs,” Gio said.

I need help,
Tina thought.
I need a housekeeper to come once a month. I need more adult companionship. I need to feel young again . . .

“Gio, remember that time when I left the kids?” Tina asked. “I still think about it a lot.”

Gio was silent for a moment, and she wondered how often he
recalled it, too: Tina phoning him from the minivan, weeping, saying he needed to come home . . .

It had started as an ordinary day, which was to say that Tina was exhausted by the time she’d opened her eyes. While she’d been trying to find Sammy’s shoes, the grilled cheese she was cooking for Paolo’s lunch had gotten burned, so she’d thrown it into Caesar’s dish, since they were out of dog food. But the sandwich had hit the edge of the dish, and blackened crumbs had scattered all over the kitchen floor. Then Jessica had announced that she needed to have forms signed or she wouldn’t be able to go on the school field trip that day.

“What forms? Where?” Tina had barked, looking at the clock. The school bus would arrive in twelve minutes.

“I gave them to you!” Jessica had said, her face scrunching up.

Tina had dug through the pile of mail and bills on the counter, then she’d accidentally knocked everything to the floor.

At that moment, Sammy had unscrewed the lid from his sippy cup and spilled the entire thing all over the couch—deliberately.

“Damn it!” Tina had yelled, and Sammy had stuck out his lower lip and begun to cry.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Tina had said. She’d grabbed a wad of paper towels and run to the couch.

“My forms!” Jessica had wailed. “I need them!”

Caesar had wandered over to his dish, sniffed, and rejected the burned sandwich.

“I’ll get them, okay?” Tina had snapped. Her head had been pounding.

She’d been on her knees again, searching for the forms, when the school bus roared by their house on its way to the corner stop, six minutes early for the first time all year.

“Wait!” Tina had yelled. She’d leapt up, raced to the door, and waved frantically. “Please wait!”

Then she’d felt eyes on her from across the street, and she’d looked over to see two women from the neighborhood, each carrying a sleek stainless-steel travel mug of coffee, walking their calm, happy children to the bus. Tina was quite certain those mothers had turned in the field trip forms ahead of time.

She’d looked down and realized she was wearing only an old T-shirt of Gio’s and a pair of mismatched socks she’d pulled out of the laundry basket because her feet had felt cold on the kitchen’s linoleum floor.

“I missed the bus!” Jessica had sobbed.

“Mom! Come quick!” someone else had shouted, and Tina had reached out, slowly and deliberately, and slipped the minivan’s keys from the hook by the door. She’d walked outside and gotten in the van and driven two blocks away, then reached for the phone that she’d left in the vehicle the previous night. She was always forgetting her phone, and Gio was always nagging her about it, saying she was inviting a break-in.

“Come home!” Tina had shouted when Gio answered, then she’d burst into tears.

He’d been terrified that something had happened to one of the kids, and he’d arrived fifteen minutes later, squealing around the street corner and pulling into their driveway. By then Tina was sitting on the front steps of their brick rambler, still in his T-shirt and mismatched socks. Her tears had dried up, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back inside.

“The kids,” she’d said, waving him in. Gio had rushed through the door, his face stricken, then he’d come back out a minute later.

“Tina?” he’d said. “Everything’s okay. The kids are fine.”

“It’s not okay,” she’d said. “It’s not. It’s not.”

“You’re scaring me,” he’d said.

“I never planted tulips in our yard like I wanted, and it’s
too late now,” Tina had said, and begun to cry again. Gio had moved next to her and put a tentative hand on her back, as if he was scared of her.

They’d stayed like that for a while, and then, because Jessica still needed her forms and a ride to school, and Paolo didn’t have a lunch, she’d stood up and gone inside and splashed cold water on her face and gone through the motions of the day, feeling numb inside. She’d convinced Gio she was fine, and in an odd way, she was. But only because she couldn’t afford a breakdown; she didn’t have the time.

The memory of that morning shamed her almost every single day, partly because it wasn’t an aberration. She still fought the urge to drive away, to
run
away, from the children she’d wanted to have so desperately.

“I live in yoga pants and I don’t even do yoga,” Tina said now. She swallowed hard, wondering why she was crying so much on the vacation of a lifetime. “Do you know Sammy once peed on me when he was sitting on my lap at the playground and I didn’t even go home and change my clothes? I’d already gotten the other kids dressed and I’d packed up snacks and driven everyone there and it just . . . it didn’t seem worth it, Gio!
I
didn’t seem worth it. So I went around in smelly wet-pee pants all afternoon, and do you know what the worst part was? It didn’t even bother me that much!”

She could feel Gio stroking her hair, and she sniffed and wiped her nose.

“What if we got that teenager who’s helping with the kids this week to come babysit on Saturday nights?” he finally asked. “We could go out. Just us.”

Later, when she looked back on this moment, Tina would be grateful that she hadn’t uttered the first words that had sprung to her mind:
We can’t afford it
.

She knew that sentence—an all-too-familiar one in their household, trotted out when the kids begged for a trip to Disney World or she and Gio lusted after new minivans that came with heated leather seats—would hurt her husband deeply. He worked so hard to provide for his family. She thought about their usual Saturday nights. She got into her pj’s early along with the kids, and they made pizza for dinner out of the dough she bought at Trader Joe’s. She was always asleep by nine-thirty. It was her favorite night of the week, since there was no school scramble the next morning and the kids always got donuts at church for breakfast, which meant no dishes or cooking, too.

“Just us?” she asked. “Every Saturday?”

It wouldn’t be so expensive if they hired Lia for only two or three hours, and they didn’t need to go anywhere fancy. They could still eat pizza with the kids, then go to a bar for drinks or to hear live music. But she could put up her hair, and wear perfume.