The Wife Between Us(53)
“When the waiter appeared, you asked for a glass of Chardonnay,” Aunt Charlotte says. “But I saw Richard touch your hand. Then you changed your order to water.”
“I was trying to get pregnant. I didn’t want to drink.”
“I understand that, but then something else happened.” Aunt Charlotte takes a sip of her sidecar, holding the thick glass with both hands, then sets it carefully back onto the bar. I wonder if she is reluctant to continue, but I need to know what I did.
“The server brought you a Caesar salad.” Aunt Charlotte’s voice is soft. “You told him you’d wanted the dressing on the side. It wasn’t a big deal, but you insisted you’d ordered it that way. I just thought it was strange because you’d been a waitress, honey. You know how easy it is for mistakes to happen.”
She pauses. “The thing is, you were wrong. I ordered a Caesar salad, too, and you just said you’d have the same. You didn’t say anything about the dressing.”
I feel my brow crease. “That was all? I mis-ordered?”
Aunt Charlotte shakes her head. I know she will be honest with me. I also know I may not like what I hear next.
“It was the way you said it. You sounded . . . agitated. He apologized, but you made it into a bigger deal than it needed to be. You blamed the waiter for something that wasn’t his fault.”
“What did Richard do?”
“He was finally the one to tell you not to worry, that you’d have a new salad in a minute.”
I don’t remember my exact exchange with the waiter—although I do recall other, more fraught restaurant meals during my marriage—but I’m certain of one thing: My aunt has an excellent memory; she has spent her entire life cataloging details.
I wonder how many other unpleasant moments Aunt Charlotte witnessed during those years and has held close out of love for me.
Although we were still newlyweds, my transformation had already begun.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
I always knew my life with Richard wouldn’t resemble my old one.
I imagined my changes would be external, though—additions to who I already was and what I already had. I’d become a wife. A mother. I’d create a home. I’d find new friends in our neighborhood.
But in the absence of the daily scramble that composed my existence in Manhattan, it was too easy to focus on what was missing. I should have been waking three times a night to breast-feed, and scheduling Mommy & Me classes. I should have been steaming carrots into mush and reading Goodnight Moon. I should have been washing onesies in Dreft and icing teething rings to soothe little swollen gums.
My life was on hold. I felt suspended between my past and my future.
I used to agonize over the balance in my checking account, the sound of footsteps behind me at night, and whether I would make it onto the subway car before the doors closed so I could get to Gibson’s on time. I worried about the little girl in my class who bit her nails even though she was only three, about whether the cute guy I’d given my number to would ever call, and if Sam had remembered to unplug her flatiron after straightening her hair.
I guess I thought marrying Richard would erase my concerns.
But my old anxieties simply yielded to new ones. The whirl and noise of the city were replaced by the incessant churning of my thoughts. My peaceful new surroundings didn’t soothe my interior world. If anything, the constant stillness, the empty hours, seemed to taunt me. My insomnia returned. I also found myself circling back home to make sure I’d locked the door when I went on an errand, even though I could see myself pulling it shut and turning the key. I left a dental appointment before I’d gotten my teeth cleaned, convinced I’d left on the oven. I double-checked closets to make sure the lights were off. Our weekly housekeeper left everything spotless, and Richard was incredibly tidy by nature, but I still wandered through the rooms, seeking a brown leaf to pinch off a potted plant, a book jutting out a bit farther than the others on our shelves to tuck back into alignment, towels to refold into perfect thirds in our linen closet.
I learned to stretch out a simple chore like taffy; I could orient my entire day around a meeting at the club for the junior volunteer committee. I was constantly checking the clock, counting down the hours until Richard would come home.
Shortly after my twenty-ninth birthday and the night at the club with Aunt Charlotte, I went to the grocery store to get chicken breasts for dinner.
It was almost Halloween, which had always been my favorite holiday when I’d taught the Cubs. I doubted we’d get many trick-or-treaters—we hadn’t the previous year since the houses in our neighborhood were so spread out. Still, at the market, I picked up a few bags of mini Kit Kats and M&M’s, hoping I wouldn’t eat more than I’d distribute. I also added a box of Tampax to my cart. When I accidentally turned down the aisle that held Pampers and baby food, I abruptly retreated, taking the longer route to the cash registers.
As I set the table for dinner, just two plates in a corner of the wide stretch of mahogany, loneliness pierced me. I poured myself a glass of wine and dialed Sam’s number. Richard still didn’t like it when I drank, but on a few days every month, I needed the consolation—so I made sure to brush my teeth and bury the empty bottle in the bottom of our recycling bin. Sam told me she was getting ready to go on a third date with a guy, and she actually seemed excited about him. I could picture her wiggling into her favorite jeans, the ones I no longer borrowed, and applying cherry-red lip stain.