The Paper Palace(83)

“Cubic zirconia,” Anna says as we approach them. “Do we know her?”

“No.”

“Hello, Anna, Eleanor,” Jonas’s mum says, lips tightening. She’s always disliked me. “I had no idea you two were here.”

“I’ve been avoiding the beach,” I say. “It’s like Coney Island this summer.”

“I got here yesterday,” Anna says.

Jonas’s mother puts a proprietary arm around the girl she’s been talking to. “This is Gina.”

Anna puts her hand out to shake, but instead Gina steps forward and gives her a big hug. “I’m so happy to meet you finally,” she says, hugging me next. Behind her back, Anna gives me a look of mock horror that Jonas’s mother catches.

“I ran into your mother at the A&P,” Jonas’s mother says. “I gather you’re planning a winter wedding.” She says the words as if they are in quotes, making sure I don’t miss her tinge of disdain.

“Yes,” I say. “We’re thinking ice statues and a chocolate fountain.”

“And not a moment too soon.”

“I’m sorry?” I say.

“Well, let’s face it, none of us are getting any younger.”

“Elle still has a few weeks left before she becomes a withered crone of thirty,” Anna says, sweet as a punch. “But we take your point. Are any of your boys here?”

“They’re men now,” Jonas’s mother says, as if she’s explaining something to a dunce. “No climbing on the dunes,” she shouts at some children playing at the bottom of the steep dune.

“It could collapse on them,” she says to Gina. “I do worry.”

“How’s Jonas?” I ask her.

“He’s very well.”

“He’s awesome,” Gina jumps in. “He got a gallery in Chelsea. We are both totally psyched. And we found this amazing loft. It was a ribbon factory.”

“What kind of work is he doing these days?” Anna asks.

I vaguely hear Gina saying something about acrylics and found objects, but my mind refuses to focus. The thought of Jonas living with this Gina person fills me with a jealousy I have no right to feel. Physical, palpable. Jonas belongs to me. It’s all I can do not to kick her in the shins.

Jonas’s mother looks as if she’s just swallowed a large tasty bird. “We are all absolutely delighted.”

Every bit of dislike I’ve ever had for her—her lack of generosity, her sanctimony, the way she implied to everyone in the woods, back then, that Jonas would never, ever have been out sailing with me and Conrad that day if I hadn’t pressured him into it—comes roiling to the surface. “She had him wrapped around her little finger,” my mother once overheard her saying. I force myself to think about Peter, my lovely, gallant Englishman. His easy intelligence, his beat-perfect irony, the way he cooks a pork roast with salt-crunchy crackling, his worn leather brogues, the way he tugs on my hair when we make love. I manage a clear smile. “That’s great news. You must be so happy for Jonas.”

“Yes,” she says. “And for Gina, of course.”

I see him then, walking in our direction through the throng. He’s carrying a brown-paper grocery bag under one arm. A jumbo pack of hot dog buns teeters out of the top. I watch as he scans the crowd. He finds Gina, her back to him, smiles. Then he sees me. He stops where he stands. We stare at each other across the sand. He shakes his head, more in anger than in sorrow—some combination of pain and disgust, as if he cannot believe what I have done, cannot fathom that I broke the promise I made two years ago as we sat on that broken-down pier, drinking beers, looking out over the Hudson, accepting our fate.

Jonas’s mother sees him now, his eyes locked on me. She taps Gina on the shoulder. “Jonas is back.”

Gina’s face lights up as if she has never seen anything so wondrous.

He comes over to her, bypassing me, gives her a long, deep kiss. “I was looking for you,” he says.

“Anna.” He hugs her hello, hands his mother the buns. “They only had a jumbo pack.”

“They’ll all get eaten. No one ever brings enough buns to these things.” She heads over to the food table, hands them to a man cooking linguica and burgers. “Buns!” I hear her announce, as if she has just delivered the Holy Grail.

“Hi.” Jonas turns to acknowledge me last. His tone is friendly, no trace of what I saw on his face. He smiles at me, composed, benign.

“Hi,” I say, giving him a what-the-fuck look.

He puts his arm around Gina’s waist. “Gina, this is Eleanor. Elle and I knew each other when we were kids.”

“We’ve met,” I say.

“My mother said none of your gang were up this week.”

“I know your mother hates it when people disagree with her,” I say, my voice bitchier than I’d intended. “But we’re here. I’ve been here.”

“Gina and I drove up last weekend. I gather from my mother that you’re planning a winter wedding. She ran into Wallace at the A&P.” His voice is cold.

“I tried to reach you.”

Gina looks back and forth between us, as if sensing that she is suddenly on the outside looking in. “Jonas is taking me squid fishing later,” she says.