The Night Before(2)

A fucking smile.

I told him a lot about my job, and this made it easier to tell him very little about me.

I have an impressive résumé after jumping through hoops all my life. Princeton … an MBA from Columbia … a job on Wall Street!

“Wall Street” is one of those terms that won’t leave this world no matter how antiquated it’s become. I work in Midtown, nowhere near Wall Street, which sits at the very bottom of Manhattan. And the firm I work at isn’t quite as sexy as Goldman Sachs. I sit at a desk and read stuff and write stuff and hope to God it’s not wrong, because other people at our firm will make trades and deals upon the advice I give. Me, a twenty-eight-year-old who needs a shrink to tell her how to behave.

Jonathan Fields works at a hedge fund downtown, so he understands about my work.

That’s what he told me.

I didn’t tell him about my childhood here, running wild in the woods behind our house with the neighborhood kids. Me and Rosie—and Joe, whose family lived up the street until he went to high school and they moved closer to town.

And I didn’t tell him why I’ve stayed gone all these years.

I don’t use social media, not ever, so it’s not like he can check. I didn’t tell him my father’s last name. Lochner. Google still finds Laura Lochner and the things she did, or didn’t do—they can never decide—years ago. I’ve used my middle name, my mother’s last name, since I left this place. Heart. Laura Heart. Isn’t that ironic? Named after the one thing inside me that feels broken.

Omissions are not lies.

Rosie took Joe’s last name, Ferro, so there are no Lochners from our clan left in all of Connecticut.

I did tell him that I drive my sister’s minivan. It’s blue. And humiliating. I’m shopping for a new car, but I’ve just been so busy.

There’s a knock at the door. I open it and find Joe looking at me sheepishly. He’s still in his suit from his law office, but he’s loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt. Joe stands six foot two and can barely see through the frame of the door without ducking. His stomach bulges at the waist of pants that have grown too small. But he still manages to be handsome.

“I’m supposed to tell you to wear the dress,” Joe says, as though talking about women’s clothing has just cut off his balls.

My sister’s voice echoes from downstairs. “Wear the damn dress! The one I gave you!”

Joe smiles and hands me the glass of bourbon he cradles in his hands. “The mouth on her, I’m telling you. Our kid is gonna be so fucked up.”

I feel the smile growing and I want to cry. Joe loves my sister. She loves him. They both love Mason. Love, love, love. It’s all around me, making me regret staying away so long. But then also reminding me why I have. The love is here, but it always feels just beyond my reach.

I take a sip of the bourbon.

“Yeah, well, that was a given, right? You married a Lochner,” I say.

Joe rolls his eyes. Shakes his head. “I know. Is it too late to get out?”

“Kind of.”

Joe sighs. He glances at the dress hanging on the shower rod. “All right. Just wear the dress. And this guy—he’d better not be a douchebag or I will kick his ass so hard.…”

I nod. “Got it. Dress. Ass kicking.”

Then he adds, and my smile fades, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

I’ve returned home because of a man, a breakup, and that’s all they know about it. I haven’t had the courage to tell them more. They’re happy to have me back. More than happy. And I don’t have the stomach to see that change by revealing another bad chapter in my life. The fact that they haven’t pressed me for answers tells me they’re expecting the worst—and that they don’t really want to know. Maybe they need to believe I’ve changed as much as I do. Maybe we will now be a normal family because I’ll stop being me.

Still, I know it must seem a bit extreme, taking a leave of absence from a competitive job, a grown woman moving in with her sister, just because of that. One breakup, and with a man they’d never met or even heard of. How serious could it have been? I feel this question seeping from Rosie’s skin every second of every day.

I consider Joe’s question. Am I ready for this? I look at him and shrug. “Probably not,” I say.

Joe replies with sarcasm. “Awesome.”

We had this same conversation before I came upstairs. Joe walked in circles, wiping counters, listening to the hum of the dishwasher, feeling satisfied that he’d put everything back in order after being at work all day. (He’s neat. Rosie is not.) He’s a happy hamster running on his wheel.

Just have fun. Don’t make too much of it. I would walk across glass to be free for a night!

Rosie punched the side of his arm, and he sighed dramatically like he was nostalgic for his single life. They both like to do this. Rosie in the kitchen making me coffee, complaining about the long day ahead. Joe in the kitchen at night, just the two of us, each having a bourbon, pulling back his floppy black hair so I can see the receding of his hairline. Look! he says. Can’t you see it! I’m balding from boredom!

But all I see is the truth. I see it when they fold Mason in their arms, or steal a kiss when they think they’re alone. It’s all just talk.