The Grown Ups (27 page)

Ted ignored her comment about the rent money. “Essex's offer made me really reconsider all of this, Bell. I have to go back to Montana. I can't, I just can't work here.”

“But what about my job?”

Ted sighed and shook his head. “If we are going to be together I just can't see it being here.”

“I like my job.”

Ted nodded slowly. “I know you do.”

“Is that bad? That I like my job? That I like to teach?”

“No. I just could never choose that.”

Bella felt as if she had been slapped. She removed her feet from Ted's lap and swung them off the couch and onto the floor. She put her head in her hands and rested her elbows on her knees. “I thought everything was going so well,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I like it here.”

“Bella—”

“I'm good at my job.”

“So am I.”

Bella looked up, confused. “What?”

“I'm better than good, Bella. I haven't given myself a real chance. I met you. I fell in love. You were so passionate in Iowa. I allowed myself to be distracted.”

“I'm a distraction?” Bella's heart pounded in her ears. It felt as if a chunk of potato was caught in her throat. She coughed, but nothing moved. “You don't want me anymore, just like that? After all this time?”

“Bella—”

“What? What happened? You don't touch me anymore. We never have sex. I thought maybe we were just in one of those ruts, you know? That if I tried a little harder we could turn it around.”

Ted shook his head. “I don't know what to say to that.”

“Fuck you!” Bella was incredulous. Was he agreeing with her? That he didn't want to have sex? That it was somehow her fault? “I thought we were going to be together forever.”

“Did you really? You knew I didn't want kids. I can't be domestic all the time.” He gestured around them at the apartment. “I can't be tied to this life, Bella.”

“What life? You mean the one we created together?” Bella put her face in her hands. The enormity of what Ted was saying had begun to hit her in bitter waves. “Oh my God.”

“I'm going back to Montana.”

“Am I invited?” Bella asked.

Ted said nothing.

Bella inhaled. “Okay.”

“Maybe we just need a few months.” The sincerity behind Ted's words was so false Bella couldn't even look at him.

“Is that why you were so happy when I came home? Because you had decided to leave?”

“You have no idea how good it feels to have made a decision.”

Bella stood up and walked the few feet to the alcove that
housed their bed. The sheets and pillows were tangled, the elastic stretched out at the corners of the bottom sheet. It looked as if the people sleeping there had wrestled the entire night. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

Bella turned to look at Ted. He looked like a man who had broken the news about a fatal illness and was waiting for the patient to melt down once the information sunk in. And yet she could already see herself arriving alone for Thanksgiving, could picture the relief on her father's face. “I think you should take everything. Ship what you can't carry. I can't afford to stay in this apartment. I—we—haven't been able to afford to stay here for a while. My father has been helping us, in case you thought the bills paid themselves.”

“You knew when we moved to New York that my income was limited.”

“You said you would contribute,” Bella said weakly, as if that would matter now.

Ted shrugged. “I knew you wanted this, so I said what you wanted to hear. I'm sorry. Your father has always helped you out. I assumed you didn't have a problem with that.”

Bella looked around the small apartment. Most of the things belonged to her. Even her books she kept separate from Ted's. It would be easy for him to pack his duffel. They had been together for nearly three years and had nothing tangible to show for it. Not a joint checking account, a TV purchased on credit, or a couch they had deliberated over in a showroom. How had she never seen this before? This part, the less sticky part, would be easy.

Sam shrugged into his jacket, declined his father's offer of a scarf and a hat, and followed him into the street. At the end of the driveway he stopped and looked up. Living on the Vineyard for the past four months had altered his view of the natural world. Even here, peering up at his childhood sky, the stars looked like confetti. Sam zipped his jacket to underneath his chin and exhaled, satisfied by the puff of smoke. An odd memory popped into his head of cold mornings standing at the bus stop near Frankie Cole's house. They had huffed and puffed and pretended to blow smoke rings. Their breath commingled and held the leftover flavors of their sweetened breakfast cereals. Hunt was three
houses ahead because he had not waited for Sam, and now Sam hurried to catch up. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and most of the neighbors had already been busy exchanging one holiday for the next; strings of Christmas lights decorated several of the porches. Sam and Hunt wound through the familiar streets in silence.

Sam had missed Thanksgiving because he had cooked dinner at the farm for thirty people, as a farewell gift to the farmers who had so generously taken him in and given him free rein on their land and in their kitchen. He had left knowing he had a job on the tip of Long Island that they had arranged, working for another small organic farm that was trying to replicate the model out on the Vineyard.

Apparently, Michael and Suzie had come and gone on Thanksgiving within a couple of hours. Marguerite had said so in a torrent of words while shaking salt into the pasta water. Over a casserole of turkey Tetrazzini she'd added that they were headed to Mexico for a well-deserved vacation. There was no mention of a baby, and Sam wasn't going to bring it up.

All the windows were dark in Peter Chang's house. Peter and Mindy had gone to Florida to spend the Thanksgiving weekend with Mrs. Chang. Sam wondered if they were going to come back engaged, or even married. It was a mystery how Peter had managed to turn an ambivalent attraction into a long-term relationship that worked, while Sam could never seem to get past the occasional hookup.

What Sam had always liked best about walking around the streets at night was the glimpse it provided into other people's lives. Through half-opened curtains and the slats of blinds he caught the flickering lights of a television, people gathered around tables, kids running back and forth, grateful for the holi
day weekend. Sam remembered exactly how that felt, knowing you had entire days ahead where you didn't have to do a thing.

Beside Sam his father stopped, transfixed by a window through which multiple generations of a family appeared to be gathered around a table piled high with pizza boxes. This house had recently sold; Mrs. Schwartz and Colonel the schnauzer had retired to Coral Gables, Florida. So the family was new, which explained the lack of window coverings (no time to put up curtains) and flattened cardboard boxes roped and tied at the end of the driveway (a miscalculation due to the change in recycling schedule because of the holiday).

Sam's father was not even trying to hide that he was staring, standing in plain sight in front of their large picture windows. “Life goes on whether or not you want it to,” he said, then abruptly began to walk away.

“Dad?” Sam called, and hurried to catch up to him. Hunt's gait had increased, as if he didn't want to be next to Sam. “Dad?”

When his father turned around he looked delighted to see Sam, as if he had forgotten altogether that they had been out for a walk. He smiled broadly and rocked back and forth on his heels. “When we first moved into this neighborhood it was this time of year. You were a baby. It was snowing, and cold. Colder than this. I remember eating turkey leftovers on top of a tablecloth-covered box. Your brother was in one of those booster chairs and you were crawling around on the floor. Your mother wanted to take a walk after dinner. We did that a lot when you and your brother were small. We told ourselves it was to help you sleep, but really, I liked it more than you guys did. I was proud to show off my family. Proud to have married and bought a house and had two sons.”

He had stopped moving and Sam finally caught up to him.
“We used to wrap you in so many layers and prop you and your brother in this sled that had high sides. We would take turns pulling you through the snowy streets.” He paused and closed his eyes as if he could still see them as they were then. When he opened them he said, “I was your age. Can you even imagine that?”

Sam shook his head. His father reached over and cuffed him gently on the chin with a mitten-covered hand before they started walking again. When they turned the corner Sam could see Bella's house from all the way down the block. Every single window seemed filled with light, and there were multiple cars in the driveway parked at haphazard angles. Her brothers and their families must have come home for the holiday weekend. As they got closer Hunt slowed down. “Come on, let's stop in for a drink.”

“What?”

“I told him I would.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“Well, what about Marguerite? Wouldn't you rather have her with you?”

“But I'm here now.” His father frowned, as if it didn't make sense to walk three blocks home to get Marguerite.

Sam looked at his father. If Sam gave him a plausible excuse not to go into the Spades' he probably would have walked on home without question. As it was, he had finally pulled the mittens from his hands and was standing on the front walk, waiting for Sam with a puzzled expression. Sam nodded for him to go ahead. Hunt pressed the buzzer, and as they waited for the door to open he turned to Sam and said in a low voice, “By the way, I'm retiring January first.”

As soon as those words were out of his mouth one of Bella's look-alike brothers opened the door and enthusiastically ushered them inside. The house smelled like cookies and burnt toast. One child was crying while another was screaming, and two others were banging out “Jingle Bells” on the piano. There were people and platters of food everywhere and in the center of the chaos was a half-decorated Christmas tree. On a stool next to the tree, attempting to untangle a string of lights, was Bella. At her feet several blond children bent over a large box of ornaments, squealing as they lifted each one up.

Sam was still processing what his father had said to him when Bella turned and smiled in his direction. “Ho, ho, ho,” she said, jiggling the string of lights.

“Only Santa says that,” said one of the ornament fondlers. Sam noticed two thick rivulets of snot poised on his upper lip. The tip of the kid's tongue darted out and Sam looked away.

Bella grinned. “I've been served.” She glanced down at Little Mr. Snot Nose. “Go get a tissue now. And don't use your brother's sleeve. Remember, he's watching.” She pointed to the hallway. The kid dropped the ornament and trudged off. Sam was surprised that he had listened.

“Who's watching?” Sam asked.

“Santa Claus.” Bella put her finger to her lips. “You can use Santa from the day after Thanksgiving until the night before Christmas. It's the only way to get through the month with kids.” She stepped off the stool and left the knot of lights tucked deep into a branch. Her face was pink and her hair a large, fluffy halo. “When did you get home?”

“Today. You?”

“The day before Thanksgiving. Ted is at a writer's retreat in Vermont.”

Sam nodded and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, trying not to show how thrilled he was about Ted's absence. “That's great.”

“What?”

“Ted's residency.” He hesitated and then joked, “He kind of makes me look good, showing up for a Thanksgiving drink.”

Bella raised an eyebrow. “You want a drink?”

“Oh, sure, sure. Thanks.” Sam started to follow Bella to the kitchen but then caught sight of his father standing in a circle of men that included Mr. Spade. Hunt was still wearing his puffy down jacket. He was holding a glass of something amber. Sam paused to watch him, still feeling unsettled.

Bella returned swiftly and handed him a beer. Sam lifted the bottle to his lips and drank, grateful for the cold liquid, but he was unable to take his eyes off his father.

“What's up, Sam?” Bella nudged him with an elbow in the ribs.

“Right before we got here my dad told me he's retiring on the first of the year.”

“Seriously?”

“Is that odd?” Sam couldn't imagine his father not going into the office. Even when he'd had his heart attack, he hadn't been allowed to go into the office for six weeks and that had been five weeks too long.

Bella shrugged and took another swallow of her beer. When Sam looked over at her, her lips were shiny. She said, “Maybe he just wants to enjoy life with Marguerite. He's worked a long time.”

“What about your father?”

“What, retire?” She scrunched up her face. “I can't see it.”

Sam nodded. “My point exactly.”

“What does your brother think?”

“I wouldn't know. I haven't talked to him since he appeared
in the middle of the night for Suzie. You probably see them more than I do.”

Bella looked unsure of how to respond. “They really needed this Mexico trip.”

“What does that mean? Marguerite said the exact same thing at dinner.”

“Nothing,” Bella said quickly. “They both work hard. They need time to relax.”

“Oh, sure, of course.” Sam drained his beer and changed the subject. Something still bothered him about the way Suzie had acted toward him on the Cape. He wasn't sure why. “How's Hunter?”

“Good, how was the farm?”

“Good, fine, life-changing.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked over at his father again. Hunt hadn't moved, hadn't taken a sip of his drink, hadn't taken off his coat. “Maybe I should see if Dad wants to get going. Marguerite thinks we're out for a walk . . . she'll be worried.”

“Go.” Bella's tone had softened to a near whisper. “Go on.”

Sam took a step toward his father and then turned back to Bella. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

Bella stared at him above the rim of her beer bottle, but she didn't refuse.

When they got
in the door Sam could tell that Marguerite had just sat down on the couch. The paper she was holding in her lap was as put together as it had been when it was delivered that morning. Immediately, his father announced that he was tired. But he went to sit down next to Marguerite still wearing his jacket, and it was Marguerite who unzipped it and gently coaxed his arms from the sleeves.

Sam went into the kitchen for no other reason than to leave the room. After a while he heard them talking and laughing, so he walked back through and said good night. His father was stretched out on the couch with his head in Marguerite's lap. They were watching Jay Leno. They both acknowledged him with a smile, his father telling him to sleep tight, Marguerite adding that she had left an extra blanket in the closet. Nothing seemed wrong, but it didn't feel right either.

Sam arrived at
the diner before Bella, and out of habit took the table in the back, the same table they had occupied during high school.

The house had been quiet when Sam woke. His father and Marguerite were gone, the only evidence they had been awake before him two empty mugs on the counter and the tang of ground beans in the air. There wasn't a note, but then, there was no reason for Sam to think they would leave one.

He ordered coffee just as Bella stepped inside the door, and was able to catch the waitress before she walked away and change the order to two cups. Bella looked to the back of the restaurant, as Sam knew she would, and raised a hand in greeting as she made her way around the tables and chairs. Sam looked away after they made eye contact, not wanting to make her feel like he was putting her on the spot. He studied the paper cutouts of turkeys and Christmas trees taped to the wall above the booth.

Before Bella sat down she slipped out of her coat and unwound her scarf and shoved them into the booth ahead of her. Then she slid in across from Sam. Their coffee arrived in thick white mugs, steam rising off the top. As the waitress set them down she said, “You guys know what you want?”

“I wish,” Sam said, and to his surprise Bella laughed.

The waitress shrugged. “No rush. When you're ready let me know.”

Bella reached for her coffee. “Existential crisis so early in the morning?”

Sam inhaled the steam from his coffee. “It's the age-old question: eggs or waffles?”

“Easy: eggs over easy, with a side of hash browns, bacon, and sourdough toast.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“That's all the convincing you need?”

Sam raised his hand to get the waitress to come back. “Apparently.”

“Wow, you really have changed.”

Sam looked at Bella to see if she was joking. She didn't seem to be. After the waitress had left with their orders Sam said, “I'd like to think I've learned something after all these years.”

Bella nodded and looked down at her hands on the table. She flexed her fingers as if they were stiff. “Was your dad okay when you got home last night?”

“Seemed to be. I don't know, maybe it's my problem.”

“It's hard to know what their normal is. I mean, you're not there. It's the same for all of us. We come home for a visit and things are slightly off, but we don't know why.”