The Wife Between Us(20)
The idea invaded her mind like a school-yard taunt from a bully: Dollhouse Nellie.
Nellie took a gulp of wine and opened her closet door, pushing aside the wrap dress she’d been planning to wear and pulling out a pair of fitted black leather pants she’d bought on sale at Bloomingdale’s when she’d first come to New York. She winced as she sucked in her stomach to pull up the zipper. They’ll stretch, she assured herself. Still she partnered the pants with a low-cut, loose-fitting tank in case she needed to release the top button later.
She wondered if she would wear either of the items ever again. She imagined Dollhouse Nellie with a sensible bob dressed in khakis, a cashmere cable-knit sweater, and brown suede loafers as she held out a tray of cupcakes.
Never, she promised herself, digging around for her black high heels and finally finding them under her bed. She and Richard would have a houseful of children, and the elegant rooms would be softened by laughter and pillow forts and little shoes piled in baskets by the front door. They’d play Candy Land and Monopoly by the fire. They’d take family ski trips—Nellie had never skied, but Richard had promised to teach her. A few decades from now, she and Richard would sit side by side on the porch swing, linked by their happy memories.
In the meantime, she’d definitely bring along her own artwork to adorn the walls. She had several original commissions by her preschoolers, including Jonah’s marshmallow-woman portrait of her and Tyler’s cerebral painting aptly titled Blue on White.
She finished getting ready ten minutes after she should have left. She started to exit the apartment, then turned back and grabbed two ropes of colorful beads hanging on a hook by the front door. She and Samantha had each bought a strand at a Village street fair a few years ago. They called them their happy beads.
She slipped one of them around her neck, then scanned the street for a cab.
“Sorry, sorry,” Nellie called as she hurried toward the women sitting at the long rectangular table. Her Learning Ladder colleagues lined one side, and her Gibson’s coworkers the other. But Nellie could see a cluster of shot glasses, as well as glasses of wine in front of everyone, and all of the women seemed comfortable. She circled the table, giving each of her friends a hug.
When she reached Sam, she looped the beads around her roommate’s neck. Sam looked gorgeous; she must have gone for the blowout alone.
“Drink first, talk second,” instructed Josie, one of her waitress pals, handing Nellie a shot of tequila.
She tossed it back neatly, earning cheers.
“And now it’s my turn to give you something to put on.” Samantha glided a comb fixed to a giant glitter-and-tulle veil through the crown of Nellie’s hair.
Nellie laughed. “Subtle.”
“What do you expect when you ask a preschool teacher to be in charge of the veil?” asked Marnie.
“So what did you have to do today?” asked Samantha
Nellie opened her mouth to speak, then looked around. The other women all worked at low-paying jobs, yet they were splurging at a restaurant famous for its wood-burning-stove pizzas. Nellie could also see a pile of gifts on the empty chair at the end of the table. She knew Sam was searching for a new roommate because she couldn’t afford the rent on her own. Suddenly, the last thing Nellie felt like talking about was her showplace of a house. Besides, it hadn’t technically been a wedding errand. Maybe Sam wouldn’t understand.
“Nothing exciting,” Nellie said lightly. “Is it time for another shot?”
Samantha laughed and signaled the waiter.
“Has he told you where you’re going for the honeymoon yet?” Marnie asked.
Nellie shook her head, wishing the waiter would hurry up with the fresh round of tequila. The problem was, Richard wanted to keep the destination a surprise. “Buy a new bikini” was all he’d say when she begged for a hint. What if Richard was taking her to a beach in Thailand? She couldn’t endure twelve hours on a plane; even the thought made her heart pound.
In the past weeks, in two of her unsettling dreams, she’d been trapped aboard turbulent flights. In the latest one, a panicked attendant had raced down the aisle, yelling for everyone to tuck themselves into the crash position. The images were so vivid—the attendant’s wide eyes, the bouncing jet, the thick roiling clouds outside her tiny window—that Nellie had awoken gasping.
“A stress dream,” Sam had said the next morning as she applied mascara in their tiny bathroom and Nellie reached over her to grab her body lotion. Sam, always the therapist’s daughter, loved analyzing her friends. “What are you anxious about?”
“Nothing. Well, flying, obviously.”
“Not the wedding? Because I’m thinking the flying is a metaphor.”
“Sorry, Sigmund, but this cigar is just a cigar.”
A fresh shot of tequila appeared in front of Nellie and she downed it gratefully.
Sam caught her eye across the table and smiled. “Tequila. It’s always the answer.”
The next line in their routine sprang from Nellie’s lips instantly: “Even if there isn’t a question.”
“Let me get another look at that rock.” Josie grabbed Nellie’s hand. “Does Richard have a hot, rich brother? Just, you know, asking for a friend.”
Nellie pulled her hand back, hiding the three-carat diamond under the table—she always felt uncomfortable when her friends made a fuss over it—then laughed. “Sorry, only an older sister.”