Class(64)

The other difference between Karen at twenty-five and Karen at forty-five was that, in her youthful prime, she’d been dogged by self-consciousness. As a result, sex had felt more like a performance than a source of pleasure. She’d been close to thirty when she’d had her first real orgasm. And it had come as a revelation. But even then, it had seemed apart from her—a thing that happened to her rather than a thing she embodied. It was only now that Karen was in middle age, her hair silvering and the veins protruding behind her knees, that she found herself capable of feeling as if her entire being had been doused with gasoline in preparation for a match. It all seemed backward; wasn’t sex for the young?

After Karen thanked Ashley for her service and sent her home with an extra-large wad of cash commensurate with Karen’s guilt, she went to check on Ruby. She found her daughter lying on her side with her arms wrapped around her stuffed octopus, Octi. Her lips were parted, her lashes fluttering ever so slightly, her cheeks flushed. Lying there, Ruby looked like a picture of innocence. Karen wondered how soon she’d learn the truth about the world—not just about rape, murder, torture, and war, but about the ways in which people who claimed to love each other tore each other apart for no obvious reason. She also wondered if and when Ruby—not just Empriss—would begin writing “realistic fiction” about her fractured family.

Suddenly, Karen couldn’t believe what she’d done or how she could have risked so much for the temporary cessation of an animal urge. Or did Karen and Clay’s connection run deeper than biology? It had certainly felt that way. But then, Karen had never understood the concept of casual sex. It was never casual to her. In any event, Karen was determined to keep her infidelity a secret. After burying her soiled clothes in the bottom of the hamper, she stepped into a scalding shower and attempted to wash away every last trace of Clay. She was toweling off when she heard Matt come through the door. “Hey,” she said, walking out in a robe and half expecting to be condemned on the spot.

But he didn’t even look up. “Hey,” he replied blankly as he went through the mail on the kitchen counter. “How was your dinner?”

“Fine,” she answered. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing much.”

“Well, I’m going to sleep.”

“Okay,” he said. Apparently, he had no more questions.

As Karen walked out of the room, she realized that Matt suspected nothing. What’s more, it was likely to stay that way unless Clay reached out to him, which seemed unlikely. The burden of her betrayal, she realized, fell on her. Cheating had proved so easy. Keeping it to herself would be the hard part. The desire to confess stood right there, like a meter reader waiting at the front door.

Entering her bedroom, Karen glimpsed a sheet of bubble wrap poking out from under her bed—evidence of her latest online purchase, whatever it had been. In truth, she could no longer remember. By the time one of her many purchases arrived, Karen often didn’t even want whatever it was, or it failed to live up to her expectations, or it didn’t look like it had in the picture, or she’d find herself focusing all her energy and regret on the unnecessary amount of packing materials that had been used or the amount of money she’d spent that she shouldn’t have. Although she was capable of paying hundreds of dollars for a single-boiler espresso machine from Italy, Karen had a deeply ingrained cheap streak as well, which caused her to do things like go to the library and photocopy the crossword puzzle from the Sunday paper rather than pay for a subscription.

Karen lifted the bubble wrap off the floor, then sat down on her bed and began systematically to squish, row by row by row, every last pocket of air, as if, with the eradication of oxygen from that particular sheet of plastic, she would finally gain control over herself and the world. For several minutes, she fell into a mental state where no cogent thoughts entered her head, only the sound of pop-pop-pop. While the feeling lasted, it was nearly as blissful as her time in the hotel with Clay had been. But when she finished and the sheet lay flat—and then so did Karen—she felt as if the planet were careening off its axis, spinning wildly toward the sun. It was Karen’s impossible job to redirect its path before it crashed and burned. She went to the bathroom for a drink of water and an aspirin and came back. But the room kept spinning; the gods kept laughing. Matt didn’t come to bed till two a.m. Karen pretended to be asleep.

It was just another lie.



But in the morning, there was a small gift awaiting Karen. To her shock, Ruby didn’t complain about going to her new school. Mostly, she just seemed excited about seeing her mother again after a daylong absence. “Mommy Kajami!” she cried at the sight of Karen leaning over her bed.

“Hello, sweetheart—Mommy missed you so much yesterday,” said Karen. Her heart flush with an emotion that fell between love and regret, she brushed the hair off Ruby’s face.

“Me too,” said Ruby.

And after arriving at school, she scurried down the hall toward the staircase that led to her new classroom without further comment.

It was on Karen’s way to work, just as she was approaching the entrance to the train station, that her luck ran out. Walking by at the same moment was Lou. Unable to deal with the disapproval and disappointment that Karen assumed Lou would experience after learning that Karen had taken Ruby out of Betts, Karen had more or less shut out all thoughts of her in the previous week. But there was no avoiding them now. “Lou!” said Karen, for a brief moment entertaining the idea that she could tell her about Clay instead.