War (39 page)

              “I’ve been going to Bible study.” We both let out light laughs before he looks up at me.

              “I want to give you the specifics of the women.”

              “I don’t want to know,” I whisper to him. He nods
okay
. “My pride won’t let you come back home tonight, Jake. I have to live within Jasmine’s circle for the rest of my life. I have to see her face, her sneers. So, it’ll take a hell of a lot of time for me to get over that.”

              “I’ll go to my parents’ place. Cadence and Lola
’s
place is being used by Aunt Angie these days. So I’ll go to my parents’ house. That alright?” I nod my head yes. “Do you think we can start with dinner? I have dinner with the kids every day. Maybe we can all start having dinner together again?”

              “Yeah…um…I can do that. I guess.”

              “Thank you.” He looks down at the folder in his hand and then raises it to me. 

              “What’s this?”

              “Our agenda for Disney. There are extra passes in there. A roundtrip ticket. The number to a limo service. Our hotel info.” He and I lock eyes as I take the folder.

              “I’ll think about it.”

              “Thank you.” Seconds pass with us saying nothing. The woman in me wants to revel in the fact that Jacob has just called me his first and only love. It makes me want to find Jasmine’s ass and make him repeat it to her slowly. It makes me want to pull him into our condo and talk all night over bourbon and scotch. But the woman in me is also still mad as hell. Her pride has been wounded. I know I have my faults, but part of me thinks that Jacob isn’t good enough for me. Sure, I go out and party and yes, it could damage his career but it never has. His infidelity has done irreparable damage to our marriage. My faults don’t seem greater than his. But then that very statement seems absurd. Faults are faults, right?

              “The limo comes to get me at eighty-thirty tomorrow morning. You know, in case you want to come to Orlando with the kids, my father and me. As a, uh…family.” His eyes look like they’re begging me.

              “I’ll think about it.”

              “I love you, Gwyneth,” he says quickly. “And only you. I need you to believe that.”

I do. “Not yet,” I answer instead. I can’t cave in this quickly.

              “Then let me prove it.”

              “I will.” And then I back into our condo, give him one last look, and shut the door.

MARLON

              Jon was bold enough to go knock on Malcolm’s door. I waited in the lobby of my building. I was in my office, preparing to look over some work since I’m taking the girls to Martha’s Vineyard for Easter break this week. Yeah, Gertrude is coming with us and she’ll be a big help, but the girls are daddy’s girls. They’ll be up under me the entire time.

              They’ve barely mentioned Jasmine. Can you believe that? I know that would break her heart if she heard that, but it’s true. Tiffany and Pearl respond to their mother as most children respond to their father: indifferent at times. They love her, I’m sure they do. If, at five and four, they understand what love is. But the bond isn’t there. No one mentions it but it’s the truth. They come to
me
in the middle of the night if they wet the bed. They come to
me
when they’re hungry. (Though Jasmine’s the ‘chef’.) They come to
me
if they’ve had a bad dream. You would think that since Jasmine is such a nester, so concerned with order, the kids would flock to her. But they don’t. Jasmine hired Gertrude, their nanny, the day before Tiffany was born. Gertrude’s the one they flock to. I never thought I’d see the day where my kids would prefer their nanny. I’ve never admitted that to anyone.

              I can see Jasmine and Rena now walking through the lobby of Danielle’s building, heading towards the door. I hurry and get out of my chair to rush across the street. I text her parents as I make my way out of the door, telling them that I’ve found her, she’s alive and I’m watching her right now. Jasmine left New Hampshire without even saying goodbye to her aunt and uncle and then came back to Boston without even saying hello to the rest of us.

              How can a woman who has only written three-sentence postcards to her children come back into town and not visit them?

It’s Jasmine’s desire for perfection that distances her from the kids. She lives in her own dream world where she’s busy creating
the
picture she has in her mind. She pays no attention to the key players in her dream: her husband and kids. It’s good enough for Jasmine that we exist. That people can see that we exist. Interacting with us on a real level has never interested her.

Rena and Jasmine
are
stand
ing
at the curb, about to walk across the street.

“Jasmine,” I
say to her.
Rena looks up at me and then immediately turns to look at Jasmine. Jasmine looks up, sees me and shows no emotion at all.

I’ve ruined her dream world. I’m no longer needed in her fantasyland. She looks at me, impassively, waiting for me to cross the street. This is the thing about Jasmine: if you follow her rules, you’re golden. If you don’t, you’re dismissed. Just ask Danny. She’s not a forgiving person. She has little to no tolerance for human error. She always has to be right. She’ll plan your life for you down to your burial plot. It’s the very reason she and Danielle are no longer as close as they used to be. Jasmine didn’t approve of Malcolm. She wanted Danielle to remain with Jon. Danielle decided not to take Jasmine’s advice. Jasmine cut her off. They’ve been in and out of friendship ever since.

“Hey, babe,” Rena says a
s she
heads across the street, leaving Jasmine at the curb.

“Hey, Rena.”

“Good luck.” She smiles and walks by me.

“Thanks. We were worried about you,” I say to Jasmine as I step onto the sidewalk. “You left New Hampshire and didn’t tell anyone, then you came back into town and didn’t tell anyone.”

“
Look, I’m really tired Marlon. I
kinda
just want to head over to Rena’s place and crash for the night.”

“Oh
,
you’re staying with Rena tonight?”

“I am. Remem
ber, I have no home.
”

“Jasmine, look-”

“A
re you concerned about me staying in your building tonight? I can assure you that you won’t have to worry about me crawling into your bed.
Been there, done that.
”

“Really, Jasmine? Is this how we’re going to start this conversation off?
”

“
How are the girls?” she asks dryly.

“They’re good.”

“Have they been asking about me?” No.

“Of course. You’re their mother.”

“I wrote them every week and I only received one letter from Tiffany. Seems to me that you, the girls and Gertrude carry on perfectly fine without me. You still hang your stockings at Christmas and paint your eggs at Easter.”

“Jasmine, Pearl’s only
four
and Tiffany’s
five
. What the hell do you expect from them? You tell them that their mother is out of town writing a book and they believe it. Why the hell are you taking this personal?”

Her eyes narrow in on me as she clenches her jaw. “I gave up my
life
for you and the girls, cooking and…” She looks at me, trying to figure out what else she does. I wait because I want to hear it, too. Gertrude runs the girls to and from Jasmine’s grandparents’ home in the morning. Our house cleaning service cleans up after the girls and makes their beds. Gertrude runs the girls’ errands during the day: dry cleaning, art supplies, gift buying. I take the girls to the park. Jasmine puts breakfast on the table and shuffles the girls, Gertrude and me out of the house by seven-thirty each morning. We all come walking through the door at seven at night. The girls go to bed at eight thirty. That’s an hour and a half for dinner, baths and small updates throughout the day that are normally focused on Jasmine inventing a new recipe. So, what life has she given up for us?

And I wait.

“You know what, Marlon? This whole thing, this whole scenario, this entire situation is complete and utter bullshit! While you’re walking around shaking hands, being a doting father, having your nanny in tow, and then going out with the fellas at night to have drinks once the girls are in bed, do you realize that I’m suffering?”

“What the hell are you suffering for, Jasmine? I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted!”

“Every dream I’ve ever had is
dead
Marlon!
Dead
.” Her eyes get watery as she stares at me. “Except for my cookbook.”

“You and this damn cookbook.”

“It’s all I have! My husband, that supposedly wonderful man that I married, the one who gave me that fairytale wedding, the one I wore Vera Wang to and danced to
Let It Be Me
at, is not the man I thought he was. This man, this Marlon Kyles, who now has this real estate firm, an
illustrious
clientele and an ego the size of the Grand Canyon, is not the man I married. I married a humble man, not a man who would have no mercy on his wife during her time of desperate need. During the entire time you’ve known me, I’ve messed up once! Once! I was a perfect wife for all of these years and then one day, I have a slip-up and you take everything I have from me. For better or for worse meant nothing to you. So to hell with you, Marlon. To hell with you and that nanny and the two of you making me appear disposable to my own children. Eight weeks and only one letter from them. One! You know what, forget it.” She crosses her arms. “I’m over it.” I’ve seen this Jasmine before. Trust me. I’ve lived with this Jasmine. She doesn’t get her way, she checks out.

“Jasmine,” I run my hand over my face. “Listen, this isn’t going to be solved tonight. I want to talk to you about what’s going on this week coming up. It’s Easter break and we’re all planning a trip to Martha’s Vineyard. The girls, me, Gertrude, and my family.” She looks at me with hard eyes. “I think it would be nice for you to come. You and I can talk. Plus, I know the girls miss you.”

“Oh, do they?”

“Of course, Jasmine.”

“I think I’ll sit this trip out.” Typical Jasmine. Typical selfish Jasmine. I smile, shake my head and turn around to leave. Fuck it. I’m tired of this shit. Tired of trying to be perfect for a woman who couldn’t care less about me. Tired of fighting for a family with a woman who’s more concerned about herself. “What’s the look for?” she says to me. I turn around and look at her and notice that
she’s
looking pissed.
Are you serious?

“What’s the look about? You’re fucking obsessed with another man—and I’ve got the evidence to prove it—then you have a nervous breakdown over him.
You
had the nervous breakdown. Like you had the right to breakdown over that shit! If anybody should be sitting in a padded room beating their head against the wall, it’s me!” I walk closer to her. “I gave you a million dollar wedding, exactly when you wanted it. I gave you two kids, exactly when you wanted them. You stayed home with dreams of writing a cookbook, though I didn’t see a goddamn page of it. Then this picture pops up. I pay Laura a quarter of a million dollars to save your ass just for you to go and fuck the man you’re featured in it with? Then you leave me with the girls for two months and don’t call. You just send postcards showing random ass places.”

“I was trying to keep up the guise that I was on the road writing my cookbook, since you sold our fucking house and moved away.” She walks closer to me.

“You know what, Jasmine. You never take responsibility. Have you noticed that? Have you noticed that when things don’t go your way, you just cut people off? You did the same thing to Danielle. As soon as she decided to live her own life and divorce Jon, you cut her off. Why? Because you dreamt of a life where Jon was a key player and Danielle wouldn’t bend to your will.”

“Don’t you talk about my friend and me. Danielle and I are fine now.”

“Are you fine? Or are you functional? You know what’s funny? You talk about Danny being a horrible mother but she’s not the one with the nanny. And you talk about her trips over to Italy and London with Winnie but, you know what? Danny’s ass comes back home!”

“Don’t you ever talk about my motherhood! I’m an excellent mother!”

“Says who?”

“Are you serious, Marlon?”