If You Only Knew(58)

So Adam and Emmanuelle still see each other. I imagine they still talk. I asked him to send out his CV and start looking for another job, and he just laughed and asked if I knew what the market was for lawyers these days. “You want us to keep this house, Rach?” he asked. “You want the girls to stay in their expensive little preschool and take ballet next year? Then you want me to stay at Triple B.”

There it was again, that faint threat. Yes, I’ve been a bad boy, but don’t push it. I’ll have to bring it up in counseling, though I swear to God, Laney likes him better than me.

Thank God it’s book club night, because I need to get out of the house and think about something other than this. Book club consists of Elle Birkman, Claudia Parvost, Mean Debbie and Nice Kathleen. Elle is hosting, and Adam makes a big show of coming home early so I can shower and change. He makes the girls dinner. Macaroni and cheese from the box again.

“They need a vegetable,” I tell him.

“No, Mommy!” Grace pronounces. “We do not.”

“No, Mommy! No!” Rose and Charlotte second, and just like that, I’m the bad guy again. The burden of broccoli—on me.

“Mommy’s right,” Adam says, underscoring the Mommy Is an Ogre theme.

“Good night, sweethearts,” I say. Grace stonily refuses to offer me her cheek, so I kiss her head.

“You smell pretty,” Rose says, smiling at me.

“Thanks, angel.”

“Why you going out, Mommy? I want you home!” Charlotte says.

“What?” Adam says. “I thought you loved Daddy Night! I guess if you don’t love Daddy Night, we’ll just have to have...Grizzly Bear Night!” The girls shriek and scream in terror and delight—Charlotte wets herself. I can already imagine them on the therapy couch twenty-five years from now. Mommy was always going off to drink with her friends. At least Daddy was fun.

Book club meets every other month or so. Besides marriage counseling and the very occasional night out with my sister, I’m home twenty-nine nights out of thirty, and still the girls resent me. Not once have they ever complained about Adam’s late meetings—which may or may not have been booty calls for amazing porno sex. Me, I go out to my stupid book club, and I’m punished for it.

“Use Clorox Clean-Up on the pee,” I tell Adam.

“Girls, I’ll be right back,” he says, following me into the mudroom. “You gonna tell them?” he asks, his voice low.

“Tell whom what, Adam?” I know what he wants to know. If I’m going to tell them about Emmanuelle.

“Look,” he murmurs. “I know I have no right to ask you anything, but I’m asking anyway. The more people who know about this, the harder it will be to make things better. Put things back to normal.”

“You should’ve thought about that, then.”

“Baby, I know,” he says. He looks at me a long minute, and irritation flickers across his face. I know this face well by now. This is the “I said I was sorry” face. The “what more do you want from me” face.

He must see something in my face. I’m pretty sure it’s the “I hate you” face. A face that never existed until The Picture.

“Tell them if you need to,” he says wearily.

“Daddy! Daddy! Come back!” Charlotte yells.

“Have fun,” I tell him.

I won’t tell. He knows it, and so do I.

* * *

An hour later, we’ve moved from the “I’m still so insightful” portion of book club to the lion’s share of our nights—gossip. I listen with half an ear, consumed by thoughts of Adam. Is he sexting with Emmanuelle? Is he watching porn on the internet? Chatting with horny eighteen-year-olds? A few weeks ago, those thoughts wouldn’t have even entered my blond little brain. Now I can’t stop wondering if coming tonight was a mistake.

“Here’s the thing,” Elle says. “I get that he wants her for sex.” My head snaps up. “I mean, she advertises a certain bad-girl vibe. Guys like that.”

“Who are you talking about?” I ask.

“Jared and his tattooed fiancée,” Lucienne says.

“Harmon doesn’t go for that type,” Claudia says proudly. “He only likes very classy women.” Last month, when Claudia wasn’t here, Elle and Debbie discussed Harmon’s sexuality at length and found it to be lacking in the hetero department.

“Rachel,” Elle says, “you know them both. Tell us about them!”

I swallow another mouthful of my red wine, which will give me a headache later tonight. “They’re really in love,” I say, eyeing the brie. So fattening. I take a healthy chunk and eat it.

“Kind of a Cinderella story, isn’t it?” Kathleen asks.

“Her mother is a tattoo artist,” Debbie says. “They’re white trash.”

“No, Debbie, as usual, you’re wrong,” I say calmly. “Her mother is a nurse. Put herself through school in her forties, as a matter of fact.”

“I hear your sister is making her dress,” Kathleen says. “The shop is beautiful, by the way.”

“Yes, she is,” I answer. “And I’ll tell her you think so.”

“Oh, Bliss? That one?” Debbie asks. “So what’s Kimber’s dress like? Whorish, I bet. Total slut?”