All We Ever Wanted(80)

   “She cracks me up,” Teddy says, chuckling to himself. “Always has. No filter. And I just love how she calls you out.”

“Oh, really?” I say, smiling back at him. “And why do you love that?”

“Because. She puts you in your place.”

“Yeah. But there’s a lot of hyperbole with her, too.”

“Really?” Teddy raises his eyebrows, then takes a sip of beer. “So you don’t actually glamp?” I can tell he’s suppressing a smile.

“Oh, stop it,” I say, as it occurs to me that he’s probably a little more clever than I’ve given him credit for.

“You know I’m teasing you,” he says.

“Yeah. But you think I’m a snob,” I say.

“Think?” Teddy grins. “Shoot. I know you are.”

I say his name in a whiny voice, the sound of it putting me right back in high school.

“Let’s put it this way,” Teddy says, as I hold my breath. “You definitely like the finer things in life.” He speaks slowly, as if choosing his words diplomatically, but I still hear a euphemism for materialism.

I must look embarrassed because he adds, “Hey—I get it. I’d drive an Aston Martin if I could.”

I smile, comforted by this admission.

“And anyway…I know you’re a good person, Nina,” he says.

I’m not sure whether this statement is true, but I believe in this moment that Teddy thinks it is, and hearing it heals my heart a little. More important, it gives me hope for the son I’ve raised.

   “Thank you, Teddy,” I say.

He nods as we stare at each other for a few seconds. Then he says, “I’m really sorry about your marriage….Divorce is hard….It’s a little bit like death…or…a house burning down to the ground.”

I give him a sad smile, digesting the analogy. “Yeah. I haven’t really processed it yet, but I know it will be difficult.”

“And just to warn you? It’ll probably get a lot harder before it gets easier….At least that’s the way it was for me. But it helps to know you’re doing the right thing.”

“That’s just it,” I say. “I mean…it’s complicated. Yet also not.”

“I know. People always want to boil divorce down to one thing. A one-line explanation. ‘He cheated.’ ‘She’s an alcoholic.’ ‘He gambles.’ ‘She spends too much.’ It’s usually not that simple. But you still just know it’s right….”

I can’t tell whether he’s asking me what happened, or just thinking aloud. “Yeah,” I say. “Our issues have been gradual—and cumulative. There’s probably not a tagline. But if I had to come up with one—I’d say we just don’t share the same values anymore. Maybe we never did….”

Teddy nods. “Yeah. Well, you’ll figure it out. You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, c’mon. We both know Julie’s way smarter,” I say, still feeling flattered. I also realize how much I’ve been craving compliments about things other than my looks—all I ever get from Kirk.

“Julie’s up there,” Teddy says. “But she married a man who puts a uniform on every day and stayed in Bristol. She can’t be that smart, right?” He smiles and sips his beer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, wondering whether he’s being self-deprecating or revealing his own insecurities.

“I’m kidding,” Teddy says, taking another sip.

   “Well, look,” I say, just in case. “You’re right. Julie married a fireman and stayed in Bristol. I married a rich guy and live in Belle Meade. And who’s happier?”

Teddy shrugs, as if it’s a close contest.

“?‘Not I, said the little red hen,’?” I say, one of my mother’s expressions.

Teddy frowns, looking deep in thought.

“What are you thinking?” I ask him.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah. Of course. Tell me.”

He lowers his eyes. “I was just thinking about you breaking up with me.”

“I didn’t break up with you,” I say, knowing that’s exactly what I did. “We just…broke up.”

Teddy meets my gaze, then, not bothering to dispute a basic fact, says, “On some level, you didn’t think I was good enough for you. You wanted more. It’s okay. You can admit it.”

“That’s not true,” I answer quickly and emphatically.

“Then what was it?” he says. “Was it Kirk? Had you already met him?”

“No,” I say. “I promise. That wasn’t it.”

“Then why? Not that it matters at this point…”

My stomach in knots, I’m at a loss for what to tell him other than the truth. In a million years I would never have imagined sitting on my parents’ porch with Teddy, twenty-some years later, telling him how I was raped. But that’s exactly what I do. I report the facts, like a journalist, trying to get through the story without breaking down.

“So you see? I didn’t think you weren’t good enough for me,” I finish, feeling eighteen again—Finch’s age. A brokenhearted eighteen. “I felt I wasn’t good enough for you.”