Open House(55)

“Emma,” I hear a low voice say.

A gust of cold air hits my face. It’s Dean. He’s standing alone, or at least alone amid a bunch of people, seeming not to be talking to any of them.

“Hi,” I say, praying Josie isn’t close enough to see him talking to me.

“Hi,” he says back. I didn’t even know he knew my name. His long lashes are blinking, and as I stare into his eyes, a jolt of adrenaline hits me, and I want to be away from him. “I need to go,” I say, trying not to be too rude. “I need to get a beer,” I lie, to soften the fact that he’s the last person I want to be hanging out with right now.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks.

“Um,” I say, stalling, because even just a conversation with someone Josie is hooking up with seems like a bad idea.

“Maybe somewhere private?”

“Sorry, no,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to see if Josie’s seeing this. But I don’t see her and Noah anywhere. “I really can’t, I need to . . .”

“Get a beer, right,” Dean says, “you said so.” There’s an edge to his voice, but it’s obvious he’s trying to tamp it down when he says, “It’ll only take a minute.” He starts to inch away from the party. In the moonlight I can see how perfect his smile is. He looks so much older than most seniors, like he should be out in the world, not partying in the woods with plastic cups. “Come on,” he says, and my feet start following him toward the trail. “Fine,” I say, “but only just a minute. Because I really need to get back to my friends.” Another lie—I can’t seem to stop. I open my mouth to protest leaving the party, to ask if we can just stay here, but then he reaches back and surprises me by taking my hand.

“Only a minute,” he promises.





FORTY-SIX

Priya

Priya lay in the dark with Elliot. He was on the cusp of sleep, his chest rising and falling a little more slowly. Brad’s mom was still downstairs, and Priya could hear the clanking sounds of her loading the dishwasher. She stroked Elliot’s hair and leaned in to gently kiss his temple.

The only light in Elliot’s bedroom came from a plastic turtle that cast stars on the ceiling. Priya, Brad, and Elliot hadn’t taken a vacation in ages, but a few years ago they did, and Priya had forgotten to pack the turtle. Elliot couldn’t fall asleep without it, and Priya ended up sleeping in his bed the entire vacation, even though Brad had purposely booked a beach house with bedrooms on opposite sides of the kitchen so they could have some privacy. Elliot had needed her, and it felt so cozy and lovely to be snuggled up with him that Priya never tore herself away to go to her husband.

There were things she could have done differently over the years. She could have kept painting when she knew that was what her brain needed. Or at least, when she felt she couldn’t pick up a brush, she could have done something. She’d shut that part of herself out, and then she shut Brad out, too. Did things like that make her complicit in all of this? Not in Brad’s lies, but in the demise of her marriage?

No, no. Certainly, the woman at the gym from a few years ago had happened during a low point in their marriage. But Brad had cheated with Emma when Priya was vibrant, alive, and painting. She wasn’t perfect—who was?—but she was herself then, a woman with a big, gaping hunger for life, art, and Brad. And he’d still cheated. She had to remember that.

Brad must have felt the shift in their relationship after Emma disappeared. Elliot had just arrived, and the stress of a newborn on any relationship was something to be reckoned with, let alone one that also bore the strain of infidelity and a missing girl. Could any couple recover from those things?

Elliot let out a wheezy sigh and turned away from Priya. He ran hot at night, and even in the dead of winter slept in a T-shirt and shorts. Her eyes rested on the slope of his skinny shoulder, and she imagined what things would be like if she left Brad and it was just Elliot and her alone.

When Priya and Brad first got together, more than sex even, they cuddled. Neither of them had ever said it out loud to each other, and Priya had never told anyone else, either, but it was true. They’d go see live music and sling their arms around each other the whole time; they’d go to an art show and never drop each other’s hand; and they’d come home from wherever they were and collapse into bed and sometimes have sex but mostly just hold each other. They woke up every morning with limbs entwined. It went on that way for a year or so, and then Priya got pregnant with Elliot, and Brad proposed. But by the second half of the pregnancy Priya couldn’t get comfortable sleeping with her burgeoning stomach. She tossed and turned, tried different pillows that were supposed to help, but as her stomach grew, she could barely stand to be touched while she slept, let alone held. She tolerated Brad’s embrace while she was awake, or when they would lay in bed and watch movies on lazy weekends when he didn’t have to work at the hospital. But sometimes, especially in the final few months, her stretched-out skin would start to crawl and itch, and she’d fling his arms off her as though he were a stranger.

And then, of course, Elliot came, and her embrace was for someone else entirely. Maybe some women tried to hide that fact when their babies were born, or at least tried to share. Priya didn’t. Maybe it was because Brad had cheated with Emma, but Priya couldn’t make herself be careful with his feelings after what he’d done to her. She soaked up her newborn, her arms and heart suddenly full again with love and purpose. And, of course, her anxiety skyrocketed, because how could she love Elliot the way she did and have him be in this world where he could get hurt? How did other women do this?