The Golden Couple(8)
Marissa reaches for another glass and fills it with freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, then glances at the spelling list on the counter.
“Song,” Marissa prompts Bennett, who sits atop a kitchen stool, eating Kashi cereal topped with fresh blueberries, which he seems to be pushing aside with his spoon.
“S-O-N-G.”
“Perfect.” Marissa turns the turkey bacon sizzling on the stove. “How about strong?”
She keeps quizzing Bennett on the -ong words as she sprinkles a quarter cup of grated Gruyère in the omelet she is preparing. Usually breakfasts such as these are reserved for Matthew’s birthday, Father’s Day, and the occasional lazy Sunday. But this is the third day of her efforts to make amends.
It has been easy to follow Avery’s instructions and avoid talking about their session because Matthew has barely been home.
She hopes his silent fury is beginning to burn out.
“Wrong,” Marissa prompts Bennett as Matthew’s footsteps approach the kitchen. Marissa slides the omelet onto a plate alongside three slices of bacon and sets it down on the counter, then turns to greet her husband: “Good morning.”
“Hey, guys!” Matthew’s voice is jovial, but he turns his back to her as he ruffles Bennett’s hair. “I’m driving you in today, kiddo. Run and grab your backpack.”
“You are?” Marissa asks as Matthew grabs a single slice of bacon. She always takes their son to school; Matthew doesn’t even know the car-pool rules. “You need to drop him off at the south—”
“We’ll figure it out. I’ll wait for him in the car.”
Bennett reappears in his coat with the backpack that always looks so big on his narrow shoulders. She hugs him, holding on a moment longer than usual and breathing in the scent of the tangerine-vanilla shampoo she just started carrying in her boutique.
“Bye!” she calls out, watching as he climbs into the back seat of Matthew’s Land Rover.
During the ten seconds her husband spent in her presence, the welcoming ambience she’d carefully cultivated—the brewing coffee, the bouquet of violet hydrangeas on the counter—was irrevocably altered.
“I love you,” she says, even though she knows neither of them can hear her.
Marissa remains perfectly still at the window in the suddenly silent kitchen, watching, until the car disappears from view.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Marissa slides her key into the lock of her boutique and the door glides open. She steps inside Coco and inhales a slow, grounding breath.
The landscape of her personal life is jagged and frayed, but all the pieces in this intimate, elegant space are in place. Located just a few miles from their home, across the D.C. line, the boutique carries a medley of luxury goods: everything from antimicrobial, cushioned yoga mats to baby-soft cashmere hoodies—items her customers didn’t even know they needed until they became cherished possessions.
She can hear her lone employee, Polly, in the back room, unpacking the boxes, which arrive several times a week from far-flung locations, containing hand-painted trays from Santa Fe, or wildflower honey from Vermont, or fragrant bath salts from Paris. Usually, Marissa doesn’t get into the boutique until after 9:00 A.M. But Matthew’s surprise declaration left her with an extra forty-five minutes that would have been spent taking Bennett to school. She’d felt too unmoored to stay in their home alone.
Marissa hired Polly just a month or so ago, after her former assistant accepted a managerial job at Saks. Polly opens and closes the shop almost every day, which allows Marissa to be on-site only during the time that Bennett is in school. Marissa knows being able to craft her own schedule is a luxury, but it isn’t as idyllic as it sounds. She still has to respond to emails at all hours—especially because many of her suppliers are in different time zones—and she often attends to ancillary tasks, such as following up on delayed shipments or uploading new photos to the store’s website or Instagram, from the bleachers of Bennett’s baseball games or in the early morning when she’s the only one awake in the house. In a sense, she’s always on call.
Marissa moves an antique perfume bottle an inch to the right as she passes a display table, calling out, “Good morning, Polly.”
“Marissa!” Polly steps out of the back room, holding a mug of tea with a red-and-white-striped paper straw. “You’re here early. We finally got in those gorgeous hurricane globes, but two are broken.”
“Wonderful.” Marissa rolls her eyes. “How difficult is it to wrap things properly?”
“I’m sorry—should I send them back?” Polly looks stricken, as if it were her fault.
“No, no, I’ll handle it. Sorry, rough morning. Ignore me, I’m grumpy.”
“Everything okay?”
“I just didn’t sleep well.”
“Well, you look awesome. As always. Love your shirt.”
Marissa gazes down at her navy blue blouse; she’s forgotten what she’s wearing. “Thanks. Matthew gave it to me for Christmas.”
Polly is young and eager, and usually Marissa welcomes Polly’s many questions, knowing she wants to learn the ropes. Marissa doesn’t mind explaining the ins and outs of owning a small business. But today, she craves quiet. The second session with Avery is tonight, and Marissa can think of little else. Just before she left the house, she sent Matthew a text reminding him, but he hasn’t replied. What if he doesn’t come home in time?