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First published in the United States of America by Kensington Publishing Corp. 2005
First published in Great Britain in Penguin Books 2012
Selection Copyright © Kensington Publishing Corp., 2005
‘Holiday’, first published as ‘Vacation’, copyright © Jane Green, 2005
‘The Second Wife of Reilly’ copyright © Jennifer Coburn, 2005
‘Mistletoe and Holly’ copyright © Elizabeth Bass, 2005
The moral right of the authors has been asserted
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-0-14-196760-8
Holiday
Jane Green
The Second Wife of Reilly
Jennifer Coburn
Mistletoe and Holly
Liz Ireland
PENGUIN BOOKS
Praise for Jane Green:
‘Witty and wise … another winner from the queen of chick-lit’
Daily Express
‘Blissfully escapist … will take you on a rollercoaster of emotions’
Glamour
‘A densely plotted brew of love and mistakes’ The Times
‘A corker of a story, sharply and elegantly told’ Heat
‘Green can’t put a foot wrong’ Daily Mirror
‘Brilliant concept, fantastic novel’ Closer
‘Riveting’ Marie Claire
‘Funny and poignant – you’ll devour it in one sitting’ Cosmopolitan
‘The queen of feel-good fiction’ Company
‘A delicious treat confirming that Green is still queen of chick-lit’
In Style
‘A compulsive read, with women you can’t help rooting for’
New Woman
‘This eventful and emotional comedy will have you hooked’ OK!
‘A warm, lively, wise and distinctly unputdownable novel’ Hello!
‘A full-on emotional page-turner’ Good Housekeeping
‘Will send a shiver down the spines of brides everywhere’
Daily Mirror
‘Green whips up a sparkling morality tale that points the finger at bad boys and low-rent romance’ Independent
‘Jane Green is the master of fun, intelligent chick-lit … you’ll be touched and intrigued’ Woman
‘A brilliantly funny novel about something close to every woman’s heart – her stomach’ Woman’s Own
‘Cancel all engagements and read it’ Tatler
‘Happy and melancholic … this beautifully written novel from the author of Babyville explores the effects of a husband’s repeated infidelity’ She
‘Spellbound will have you hungrily turning page after page … So delicious you’ll want to wolf it down in one go’ Heat
Praise for Jennifer Coburn:
‘An over-the-top, laugh-out-loud romp’ Jennifer Crusie, The New York Times bestselling author
‘Coburn succeeds with this clever, laugh-out-loud tale of personal discovery’ Pages (San Diego, California)
‘A coming-of-age novel for women approaching, at or over thirty, Reinventing Mona is witty, surprising, and sometimes sad – in the good-cry way’ Valerie Frankel, author of The Girlfriend Curse
‘Completely captivating, Coburn’s latest will undoubtedly net the hearts of romantic comedy fans’ Booklist
‘Coburn’s storytelling skills are top-notch here. She shows a skillful ear for dialogue and all of the characters are charming’ Romantic Times
‘Offers an I Love Lucy-inspired plot’ USA Today
‘Add this one to your pile’ The San Diego Union-Tribune
‘I absolutely loved it. Funny and snappy … a total delight. I couldn’t put it down because I was staggered by the premise; I was desperate to know how it would all pan out. I really have to congratulate Jennifer on creating a character who despite having behaved atrociously, I still really liked. I so related to her internal commentary on the world. The dialogue sparkled, her friends were so colourful yet credible, and the whole experience was a total pleasure. It’s a riot from start to finish, but an intelligent, thoughtful one that says a lot about the nature of love and relationships’ Marian Keyes
‘A delightful surprise’ Suzanne Finnamore, author of Otherwise Engaged
‘The Wife of Reilly, Jennifer Coburn’s deftly funny, engaging and contemporary novel, redefines neurotic (in a great way!)’ Jill A. Davis, author of Girls’ Poker Night
Praise for Liz Ireland:
‘How I Stole Her Husband is a wonderfully written, often hilarious story of a young woman’s journey from all-around discontent to hard-won acceptance of life in all its crazy splendour. Alison Bell is the most likeable heroine I’ve met in some time, charmingly down-to-earth, sometimes painfully self-aware, and just a little bit desperate to make something of her life. How she plans to pluck herself from the depth of poverty to which she imagines she’s sunk, how she rediscovers the love of her life and how she recovers triumphantly from the havoc he wreaks makes for an utterly absorbing read. Liz Ireland takes a clever concept and raises it to an unexpected level of sophistication. Don’t miss this book!’ Holly Chamberlin, author of The Summer of Us
‘Entertaining and audacious’ Seattle Times
‘An entertaining read’ Booklist
‘Great pacing, characters and some nifty twists make this a winner’
Romantic Times
‘The three-girls-in-the-city formula gets an extreme chick-lit makeover in Three Bedrooms in Chelsea, an amusing sexy read’ Lauren Baratz-Logsted, author of The Thin Pink Line
‘The sexy singles occupying Three Bedrooms in Chelsea are heartwarming, funny and unforgettable. Liz Ireland has created an absolute delight!’ Patti Berg, author of I’m No Angel
‘Fresh and funny!’ Jennifer Crusie, The New York Times bestselling author
‘A fresh, fun, comic romantic tale’ Rendezvous
Jane Green has embraced Christmas, American-style, since moving to Connecticut eleven years ago. Taking her cues from Martha Stewart, each room in the house she shares with one husband, six children, two dogs, two cats and twenty-four chickens has a tree, a theme and a shocking amount of glitter. For more information, visit www.janegreen.com.
Jennifer Coburn spends the winter holidays at home with her family in San Diego, where the only way she notices the seasons changing is by checking the calendar. Holidays in Southern California are a bit different than New York City, where Coburn was born and raised. Mall Santas have tans and Mrs Claus is rumored to be a Botox devotee. Jennifer burns her menorah candles from both ends working as a public relations consultant and writer.
Liz Ireland grew up in Texas, where all her Christmases except one were green. Her favourite gift ever was the yellow Schwinn bike (with a banana seat and white wicker basket) she got when she was nine. She now celebrates the holidays in Oregon with her husband and a menagerie of pets.
JANE GREEN
Sometimes in life we get stuck. Sometimes in life we think we know exactly where we’re headed, what we’re looking for, how to get there, but once we reach our destination, we have no idea where else to go.
This is how it is for Sarah Evans. Sarah, who appears to have everything in life she could possibly need: a husband who is a successful real-estate developer in Manhattan, a perfect 1930s colonial in a picture-book-perfect small town in upstate New York, and two beautiful, dark-haired children – Maggie and Walker.
Take a look at them tonight: Walker, bathed and in pajamas, his dark hair sticking up in a cowlick, runs into the living room, engrossed in his Spiderman web shooter, eager to share it with his father, who he hasn’t seen since roughly the same time last night.
‘Look, Dad!’ Walker says, hopping around his father, Eddie, who is slumped on the sofa, moving only to crane around his son so as not to miss the game, his eyes never leaving the giant flatscreen TV above the fireplace. ‘Look! Look! It shoots real spiderwebs!’ Walker climbs on the sofa as he attempts a demonstration on the ceiling, his father frowning as he moves him out the way.
‘Daddy!’ Walker pleads. ‘You’re not looking.’
Before Walker can react, Maggie walks in, the picture of innocence in her pink fluffy nightgown, her gray stuffed cat, Miaow Miaow, cradled protectively in her arms. Sidling up to her father, she turns at the last minute and snatches the web shooter out of Walker’s hands, running off into the kitchen as Walker screams.
In the kitchen, Maggie hides behind Sarah’s legs as Walker, tears already rolling down his cheeks, gives up on trying to get the shooter back, snatching Miaow Miaow from Maggie instead. The ensuing howls reverberate through the house. Eddie bolts upright, his face a contortion of rage.
‘Can’t a man get any peace and quiet around here!’ he shouts. ‘For Christ’s sake, Sarah! Tell them to keep it down. Take them upstairs or something. This is my time.’
‘Why don’t you tell them to keep it down?’ Sarah snaps, picking up a sobbing Maggie, putting the stuffed cat back in her arms as Walker tries to prise the web shooter out of her little hands. ‘Walker! Leave her alone!’
It is Walker’s turn to wail at the unfairness of being blamed just because he’s the oldest. ‘It’s my web shooter, Mommy! Maggie took it!’ His sister smirks, holding the web shooter triumphantly above her head as Walker screams in frustration.
‘Upstairs, both of you!’ Sarah shouts, putting down Maggie, who instantly starts wailing too, while Walker successfully manages to rip the web shooter away and run quickly down the hallway.
‘Goddamnit!’ Sarah hisses to Eddie, pausing to take in the fact that he hasn’t moved, lying on the sofa, pointedly ignoring the commotion.
Sarah shakes her head with disdain.
Get off your fat ass, you lazy pig, and help me.
She turns to go upstairs, calm the children down, as Eddie reaches for another beer and cracks it open.
That’s it, fat boy. You just sit there and relax while I do all the work.
She doesn’t say it out loud; would never say any of it out loud. Once these things are out there, they can never be taken back, and even though Sarah’s antipathy toward her husband is rapidly turning into hate, there are some places even she won’t go.
They have been married for eight years, but Sarah doesn’t think about their wedding very often these days. Occasionally, when she dusts the enormous black-and-white picture sitting on the mantelpiece, she will pause as she gazes at her younger, happier self, and at the man she thought she was marrying. But her mind has emptied itself of the happy memories, the laughter they once shared, and looking at that picture she may as well be looking at two strangers.
When Eddie is home, there is only ever one thought that goes through her head:
A stranger. Estranged. Strange.
Her happiest times, the times when she feels most fully herself, are invariably when Eddie is at work. Then, she can operate as a normal person. She can vacuum the family room and drink gallons of coffee as she turns Z100 up to full blast and sing along to Beyonce and Nicki Minaj.
She can dance around the kitchen as the children sit at the kitchen table, wide-eyed with delight at how silly Mommy is, giggling as they play with the chicken nuggets and – in a bid to try to get some vegetables into them – corn salad. Or peas, if she’s very lucky.
Sarah can, and does, meet with her friends for impromptu coffee and conversation. She can put her feet up in front of the Cooking Channel and scribble down delicious-sounding recipes, vowing one day to actually make them.
She can sit at the desk in the kitchen, sifting through the ever-mounting piles, making phone calls, organizing household bills, getting on with the work of being a wife, mother and household manager.
Occasionally, Sarah will still try to delegate an odd job to Eddie, each time praying he might actually do it, that somehow, if he manages to fulfill her wish, it will mean that their marriage will get back on track, that she, or they, might find happiness again, but each time Eddie forgets, and with a sigh of irritation Sarah finds herself adding another job to the next day’s ‘to-do’ list.
None of her friends realize quite how unhappy Sarah is. It isn’t as if she sits around weeping, but this sense of dissatisfaction, of unease, of knowing her life wasn’t supposed to turn out like this, follows her around twenty-four hours a day, climbs out of bed with her in the mornings, scrubs her back in the shower, and keeps her company as she goes about her day until they both climb into bed at night, exhausted, and Sarah can only look forward to numbing herself through sleep.
She did used to be happy. She knows that at some time in her life she used to be happy, but it was such a long time ago. She’s become so used to feeling the way she feels now, to this feeling of being stuck, that the memory of actually being happy has almost entirely faded away.
Today, as she dusts the mantelpiece, she pauses as she wipes the cloth over the glass covering her wedding picture. She takes the picture over to the sofa and sits down, staring beyond the glass to nine years ago, when she was twenty-seven, the features editor of Poise! – a young women’s magazine – living on Manhattan’s Upper West Side and loving every minute of it.
She’d been dating a series of unsuitable men, had just finished a heartbreaking affair with a journalist at GQ, had sworn off men completely as a consequence.
‘No,’ she kept insisting to her colleagues, ‘this time I mean it.’
Everyone knows it happens when you least expect it, when you’re adamant that this time you really don’t want it, which was exactly when Sarah met Eddie. When she thought a relationship was the very last thing in life she needed.
Their first date had been, Sarah used to say, a meeting of the minds, never mind the overwhelming physical attraction she felt for this dark, slim, confident man. From the minute she saw him she loved his brown eyes, his floppy hair, his slow smile, although she didn’t let on until their first actual date.
In those early days every time Eddie showed up at her apartment to pick her up, or they met in a bar for pre-dinner drinks after work, Sarah would feel her heart skip a beat when she saw him; a heady mixture of excitement and anticipation.
She thought she was going to marry him, but she didn’t know she was going to marry him until the first time they slept together. Sex had never been so fun, so familiar, so intimate. She knew immediately she didn’t want to be with another man ever again.
They married less than a year later – a stylish and intimate wedding at the Cosmopolitan club – before settling into life as newlyweds. Their first three years were a whirlwind of fun city living, seen through the rose-tinted eyes of a couple in love.
Sarah loved New York, loved everything about Manhattan, but as soon as she became pregnant they started driving out to the suburbs on the weekends, just for fun. Each time they drove past a white clapboard colonial with a picket fence and roses growing up around an arbor, Sarah was filled with a yearning she hadn’t expected.
Before long her fantasies were less about fitting into her favorite Ralph Lauren shift, and more about creating a proper home for her new family.
She gave up her job three months before Walker was born and attempted to settle into the house of their dreams before the big day. They had little furniture – just a huge leather sofa that Eddie would lie on to watch sports, a king-sized bed found on sale at a furniture place in North Carolina, and a bassinet, rocker and changing table for the baby’s room.
In those early days it was much like playing a giant game. Sarah used to feel that she was playing house; pretending to be a grown-up; pretending to be her mother. While Eddie was at work, she would study cookbooks then attempt sophisticated-sounding recipes, even though she had never cooked anything other than scrambled eggs before. Once they moved to the suburbs, Sarah decided to channel Mad Men, determining to do what every good suburban housewife should do: have delicious, nutritious meals prepared for Eddie when he got home.
Eddie would walk in after work and delight in how well Sarah was adapting to the suburbs, thrilled at how she was cooking, organizing, making a home for them. They would sit at the dining room table talking about their day, saying over and over again what a great decision this was, how happy they were to be out of the city, away from the noise and the pace and the stress.
Sarah would never have admitted it but she was never completely honest with herself, even then. She did love her new house – the eat-in kitchen! the yard! the stairs! Stairs! But she missed walking everywhere, missed the convenience of the city: running out of their apartment whenever they needed something, always being able to find it within a couple of blocks, any time, day or night.
She missed the noise of the city; the traffic, the sirens, their clanking air-conditioning unit. Until Eddie came home one day with a white-noise machine, and they have been sleeping to a background of loud crackle ever since.
Mostly, she missed her friends, the friendships she had formed when single. Once Walker was born, it quickly became apparent she was living in a different world to her single friends, that although she enjoyed living vicariously through them, she couldn’t go out drinking with them anymore, couldn’t swap stories of hot guys they’d met in the Meatpacking District on Friday night.
Once they’d caught up on one another’s lives, there wasn’t much left in common. Sarah kept hoping her friends would get married, have babies, find a common footing in order for them to re-establish their relationships with each other, but they were all, still, resolutely single.
Busy lives made it difficult for them to come out to the suburbs, and Lord knows she didn’t have time to get on a train and see them, not with a baby in tow. Filled with animosity, and a lashing of dread, she reluctantly joined a ‘mommy and me’ group. Much to her surprise, the women in the group quickly and effortlessly became her closest friends.
But by the time Maggie was born, Sarah and Eddie were definitely out of the honeymoon period. Those gourmet meals that Sarah used to cook were long gone, replaced by hot dogs, chicken fingers, and take-out pizza. Eddie now gets home far too late for Sarah to cook and then wait to eat with him, so she usually eats with the kids at around six. Eddie grabs something in the office, or at a stand in Grand Central Station on the way home.
He has become more and more successful since they married. His hours are longer, the accompanying stress almost unimaginable. The last thing he needs once home, Eddie claims, is to be confronted by a miserable, nagging wife, or children screaming and fighting for his attention. He snaps at Sarah that he needs to relax; he is, after all, the breadwinner, the one working so hard to support them all. Every night he pauses to give Sarah a perfunctory kiss, then goes upstairs to change into a T-shirt and shorts, before spending the rest of the evening lying on his leather sofa, watching the game on TV.
And Sarah, poor Sarah who feels that she does absolutely everything, watches him resting the bottle of cold beer on his large, rounded belly, and feels a wave of disgust. Time, commitment, tiredness has taught her to ride these waves. They occur so frequently now she doesn’t bother telling him he ought to lose weight, quit drinking, spend some time with the children, help her with the washing up. Every time she used to bring these subjects up it would erupt into a huge fight. These days she simply doesn’t have the energy.
Later that night Sarah climbs into bed with her book, pretending to be engrossed as Eddie comes to bed. He has always slept naked. In the early days she loved how free he was about his body, how comfortable in his skin, but now she tries to avoid looking at him, tries to lose herself in her book to stop thinking about how they became quite so unhappy.
Eddie clambers into bed and reaches out to turn off his overhead light. ‘Night,’ he mumbles, as he turns his back to a grateful Sarah.
‘Night,’ she says disinterestedly. Long after he is gently snoring Sarah lies with her guilty thoughts. She thinks of something terrible happening to Eddie, something tragic and terrible that would take the decision out of her hands.
Not death, not necessarily, but maybe he would leave, fall in love with his secretary, announce it was over. She looks over at the back of his head with resignation. This is a man who can barely muster the energy to change television channels, let alone leave her. He’s never going to leave.
Sarah lets out a long, dissatisfied sigh and lays her book down. Maybe it will all feel better in the morning.
‘But you said you’d be home tonight by six,’ Sarah sighs. ‘It’s book club tonight and I’m hosting. How am I supposed to get the kids fed, into bed, and get ready for book club?’
‘What can I do?’ Eddie snaps. ‘It’s work. I didn’t plan a five o’clock meeting and I can’t get out of it. Can we not do this again, Sarah. What do you want me to do? Leave?’ Sarah says nothing. ‘Is that what you want? You want me to leave? You want me to get a job locally? Sure, I could get some lousy-paying job in a local firm and we’d have to move to a much smaller house. I don’t care. If that’s what you want, say so.’
Sarah grits her teeth and squeezes the phone, frustration rendering her speechless. ‘Forget it,’ she says. ‘Fine.’
‘I’ll grab something to eat in the city,’ Eddie continues. ‘I probably won’t be home until late. I’ll see you later.’
Sarah nods silently and puts down the phone.
Before they had children Sarah and Eddie were not big believers in television. Before they had children Sarah and Eddie had many different beliefs about child rearing and parenting, beliefs that would make them, unequivocally, the best parents in the whole history of parenting. Ever.
They would never use the television as a baby-sitter, Sarah remembers saying when Walker was only two years old and she had come back from a harassed play date where the mother had put the television on for everyone to get some peace and quiet toward the end of the day.
Sarah had been horrified. ‘We’d gone there to play!’ she’d said in horror to Caroline. ‘Not to watch television. Can you imagine?’
Sarah and Eddie vowed never to use television as a baby-sitter. They would never use sugar to calm a child down, would never raise their voices to their children, and would treat their children with kindness and respect.
At 5:30 that afternoon Sarah runs into the family room to find Walker screaming as Maggie disappears behind the sofa with an evil grin on her face. Sarah’s heart plummets. How can this three-year-old who looks so angelic be such an unbelievable handful? Walker is her mama’s boy. Sweet, gentle, and sensitive, he’s always been a good boy, always done exactly what he’s been told, and if he has any fault at all it’s that he’s too sensitive, that he has a tendency to collapse, like now, in tears, at the slightest thing.
Walker never had the terrible twos, a fact she and Eddie put down privately, and horribly smugly, as the result of their amazing parenting. They have had to reconsider with Maggie; Maggie who displayed such extraordinary stubbornness and willfulness since the day she was born.
Even when she was a baby, when Maggie decided she wanted something, she would exert what Eddie called the death grip until whoever was holding it – usually Walker – had to let go.
‘My girl’s a winner,’ Eddie would smile proudly, and Sarah would shake her head as she comforted a crying Walker, wondering whether all girls were inherently more evil, or whether it was just her daughter.
Sarah pulls Maggie out from behind the sofa, a wriggling monkey who tries to writhe out of Sarah’s grip.
‘Maggie, what have you got?’ Sarah says sternly. She then turns to Walker. ‘Be quiet, Walker! Stop crying.’
‘Nothing.’ Maggie says, little fingers clutched tightly around something.
‘No!’ Walker wails, before dissolving in hysteria.
‘Walker! Be quiet or you’ll go upstairs to your room. Maggie, give it back to him or you will get a smack.’ Maggie keeps her fingers tightly closed until Sarah manages to pry them open, to find Walker’s favorite Power Ranger there.
‘Here you are, Walker.’ She gives it back to him, as Walker’s cries grow louder. ‘Maggie, you are not to take Walker’s toys!’ she berates, but even as she says those words she knows they’re having no effect.
For Maggie has no fear. Has never had any fear. Threats of time-outs turn into real time-outs, during which Maggie will sit quietly singing to herself, playing with her fingers, keeping herself amused, while making it clear to all the punishment doesn’t bother her in the slightest.
Sarah now threatens a smack, in the hope that that will frighten her daughter into behaving well, but Sarah knows she would never actually be able to go through with it, and the threat sounds empty even to her ears, much less to Maggie’s.
‘I want M&Ms,’ Maggie suddenly calls out from the pantry. ‘I want M&Ms.’
Walker’s face lights up, the tears stopping abruptly. ‘Me too!’ Walker says eagerly, Power Ranger fiasco forgotten. ‘I want M&Ms too.’
‘Neither of you gets M&Ms until after dinner.’ Sarah looks at her watch.
‘Please!’ Walker starts whining.
‘I want M&Ms,’ Maggie repeats as her face starts to crumple, hand reaching up for the shelf where the M&Ms are hidden.
‘I’ll make dinner now,’ Sarah sighs. ‘How about some television?’
Walker’s eyes light up. ‘I want to watch Spider-Man!’
‘No!’ Maggie comes running into the kitchen. ‘I want to watch Spongebob.’
‘No,’ Walker wails. ‘Spider-Man.’
‘Spongebob!’ Maggie says firmly, raising a hand, about to hit Walker.
‘No, Maggie!’ Sarah scoops her up and drops her on the sofa in the family room. ‘I get to pick tonight and we’re going to watch The Lion King. Twenty minutes,’ she says to the children, ‘then the TV goes off and we’re having dinner.’
There’s no reply – they’re already absorbed in Simba’s world.
An hour and a half later Sarah has made a fruit platter, laid the cakes and magic bars out on the table, the wineglasses on the kitchen counter and set the wine chilling in the fridge. She has tidied the kitchen, put on the laundry, and had a super-quick shower. Although not exactly glamorous, she has managed to put on clean clothes and a dab of old lipstick, pulling her hair back into a neat ponytail.
‘Mom!’ Walker shouts out from the family room. ‘It’s finished.’
‘Damn,’ Sarah mutters to herself as she shakes slices of frozen pizza bagels out of the box and onto a grill pan. ‘Right,’ she says, in an upbeat tone. ‘Who wants delicious pizza bagels for dinner?’
‘Me! Me! Me!’ the kids shout, running into the kitchen and climbing onto the counter stools, where Sarah keeps them quiet with Goldfish until the pizzas are ready.
‘As a special treat tonight,’ she whispers, as if it’s the most magical thing she’s ever suggested, ‘it’s a no-bath night.’
‘Yay!’ Walker whoops with joy, and Maggie copies him, even though she adores bath time.
‘First one into pj’s gets M&Ms,’ Sarah says wearily, collecting the dishes to wash up as the kids run upstairs shrieking and giggling. ‘And then –’ she walks to the bottom of the stairs and calls up after them – ‘the mommy monster’s coming to get you.’ Shrieks of delight waft down the stairs as Sarah smiles. Why does she get so irritated when she loves them so much?
‘How can I love them so much when they’re so difficult?’ she says to Caroline, the first to walk through the door for book club.
‘I know.’ Caroline smiles. ‘Clare woke Maisie up at five o’clock this morning, and by four o’clock this afternoon they were both melting. It’s been horrific at my house.’
‘Not much better here,’ Sarah says, handing Caroline a glass of wine. ‘Cheers.’
‘God, I need this.’ Caroline takes a mouthful of wine. ‘Please tell me you read the book because I couldn’t get through it. We can’t keep meeting for book club with none of us ever reading the damn things.’
Sarah winces. ‘I didn’t. I was hoping you had.’ The swoop of a car’s headlights shines through the kitchen window as the others arrive. ‘Let’s hope someone has or it will be another night of moaning about our husbands.’
‘Wasn’t the last book club kind of racy? If I remember rightly weren’t we all horribly revealing about our sex lives?’ Caroline grins. ‘Please keep the wine bottle away from me tonight. I was so wasted last time.’
‘I was pretty drunk too.’ Sarah smiles. ‘And it was pretty racy. Do you remember what Lisa was telling …’ She pauses as the front door opens. ‘Lisa! How are you? Come in, come and have some wine! I was just saying that the last time we spoke you were saying you would definitely read the book this time.’
Lisa grimaces and shrugs in apology as she proffers a bottle. ‘Wine?’ Sarah and Caroline laugh as they sit at the kitchen counter to share their maternal woes and wait for the others to arrive.
Book club has been going on for two years and is the highlight of Sarah’s month. She would never dream of telling her friends in the city that she’s part of a book club – the very words book club conjure up such parochial, suburban images – yet she has come to value these meetings, the friendships she has with these women; in particular, the dynamic they have when they all come together for book club, above all else.
There are now five women: Sarah; Caroline, an English girl whom Sarah met when Walker was in the two’s program with Clare at the local preschool; Lisa; Nicole; and Cindy.
The women met through a series of coincidences. They don’t socialize together when not in book club, other than Sarah and Caroline, who have become the closest of friends, but have found a freedom and support in book club that they have not found elsewhere; a trust that whatever they say at the meetings will stay in the meetings. All the women agree they have a unique bond.
Once upon a time they did all read the books.
They would meet and talk earnestly about what they thought, attempt to analyze in a way none of them had done since school, relate the topics to their own lives, but as they got to know one another better, as they grew more comfortable with one another, they started to share their lives. It is increasingly rare for the books to be read, and the ensuing discussions are usually cursory, an attempt to validate the meeting before moving on to the real topics – life, love, children, friendships, husbands.
In a relatively short period of time these women have come to know one another intimately; such is the nature of their sharing at the monthly meetings.
They know that Caroline and her husband, Louis, once separated for two years, before they had children. They know that Lisa is married to a recovering alcoholic who has been in AA for six years. They know that Nicole had four miscarriages before finally accepting she could not have children and adopting instead, and they know that Cindy hates the East Coast and spends every night dreaming of going back to California, where she says the sun always shines and it doesn’t snow, although in truth Cindy only feels this way in winter. In summer she says she’d never live anywhere else but here.
They know that some of them are happy with their husbands, their marriages, their lives, and some of them are not, but none of them know quite how unhappy Sarah is with hers.
The unhappiness, when it emerges, emerges in the form of jokes. They will laugh about their husbands. Roll their eyes as they share the same stories of the husbands thinking they do nothing all day, wondering what the husbands would do if the five of them took off for a weekend, left them with the kids and the house. Then they’d know, they laugh, knowing the husbands wouldn’t be able to handle it.
No one, it transpires, has read this meeting’s chosen book, and tonight is a night when the women each bring their frustrations to the table, able to vent them in a safe environment.
‘Here’s what kills me,’ says Nicole. ‘I’ve been with the kids all day; they’re exhausted, I finally get them into bed, then Dan gets home from work and goes in to see them, and he gets them all excited again, and they won’t go back to sleep for hours. I can’t stand it. I keep telling him not to but he doesn’t understand what it’s like for me, how hard it is to get them into bed. I thought I was going to kill him last night.’
‘At least he comes home and wants to see the kids,’ Sarah says, now on her third glass of wine. ‘Eddie doesn’t care. All he wants to do when he gets home is collapse in front of the television with his beer. Heaven forbid the children should get in the way of his beloved games.’ Sarah studies the wine in her glass as she sighs. ‘I don’t know who he is anymore,’ she says quietly. ‘He doesn’t care about himself, doesn’t care about us; doesn’t care about anything. I wish he’d just leave but he’s too goddamned lazy.’ She finishes her wine, unaware that there is now a shocked silence, that nobody knows what to say, that nobody knew it was quite this bad.
‘Well,’ Cindy says brightly after a long pause. ‘Nothing quite like a bit of soul-baring at book club. I’m going to get some cheesecake. Can I bring anyone some?’ She rises out of her chair, as do the others, all murmuring about getting more coffee, or cake, or another of those delicious brownies.
Only Caroline stays behind, sitting next to Sarah on the sofa, and when Sarah puts down her wineglass, Caroline takes her hand briefly and squeezes it.
‘I didn’t know it was that bad,’ she whispers. ‘You should have said so.’
Sarah looks at her as it finally registers that she has confessed out loud. ‘Tell me I didn’t just say out loud what I think I said.’
Caroline winces.
‘Oh, shit,’ Sarah mutters. ‘I guess I’d better have another glass of wine.’
Caroline is the last to leave, needing to make sure Sarah is okay; wanting to know if there is anything she can do, a shoulder to cry on if that’s what is needed.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ she says, eyeing Sarah warily as Sarah washes up the coffee cups. ‘That was pretty momentous, what you said in there.’
‘Caroline, be honest with me. Was it really that momentous? Don’t you sometimes wish that Louis would leave? Don’t you just hate him at times?’
Caroline nods. It’s true, she does sometimes feel that way, but only if they’ve had a really big fight, only once in a blue moon, and only for a very short period of time. Never enough to mention it to anyone, to even dwell on it at all.
‘See?’ Sarah attempts a light laugh, which comes out sounding ever so slightly strangled. ‘I’m just having a bad day.’ She dries her hands on a paper towel, then reaches behind to tuck her hair back into her ponytail.
‘Do you ever wonder what happened to yourself?’ Sarah says absently as she fiddles with her hair.
‘What do you mean?’ Caroline smiles. ‘What happened to that cool chick who men used to whistle at in the street?’
‘Kind of. Yes. What happened to the woman who wore great clothes and makeup, and cared about what she looked like?’
Caroline grins as she gestures down at herself. ‘You mean instead of Gap sweats and clogs, even if they are the most comfortable things in the world?’
‘I know. Look.’ Sarah lifts a foot to show off her own ugly but practical shoes. ‘I keep asking myself what’s happened to me. I was looking at my wedding picture earlier today and thinking about the early days, and it’s not even that I feel it was such a long time ago; it’s that I feel it happened to another person, in another lifetime. I get up in the morning and I see this middle-aged woman …’
Caroline interrupts. ‘Middle-aged? You’re thirty-six; that’s hardly middle-aged!’
‘But I feel middle-aged,’ Sarah insists. ‘I see a woman with bags under her eyes and gray in her hair because I haven’t the time nor the inclination to get to a hairdresser. I was a woman who had a wardrobe of beautiful clothes, who used to read Vogue every month, who worked at Poise! for God’s sake, and now look at me. I just want to know how I got here. Where I lost myself. What happened.’
‘You got married and had kids,’ says Caroline gently. ‘It happened to all of us. But aren’t you happier now? I sometimes think the same thing but then I look at my girls, and at my husband, and I know I have a great life and I wouldn’t change anything.’
Sarah looks at Caroline for a few moments, and decides it is safer not to respond with the truth.
What would Sarah change?
Pretty much everything.
They both jump as the side door closes and Eddie walks into the kitchen.
‘Hi, Caroline!’ he says. He’s always liked Caroline, likes how sensible she is, how down-to-earth and practical.
‘Hey, Eddie.’ She smiles at him and waves.
‘Hi, honey,’ Eddie says, walking over to Sarah and leaning down to kiss her cheek, something they are both doing for show, because there is someone else there.
‘How was your day?’ Sarah asks in a dull monotone, feeling like a parody of herself.
‘I’d better go.’ Caroline picks up her purse. ‘Thanks for a great evening, sweetie. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ With a final wave she’s gone.
Sarah’s reading People magazine in bed when Eddie comes in.
‘How was book club?’ he asks, as he starts undressing.
‘Fine,’ she says. ‘Good.’
‘You seem like you’ve had a bit to drink.’ Eddie grins, thinking that maybe tonight he might get lucky, before staggering toward the bed. He’s had a few beers too.
Sarah lays the magazine down, with a sigh of exasperation. ‘Eddie, didn’t we talk about trying to cut down the amount you’ve been drinking?’ she says slowly, trying to control the anger in her voice.
‘What difference does it make to you if I’ve had a drink? So what? Anything else you’d like to criticize while you’re at it?’ Eddie throws his hands up in the air as he looks at her belligerently, before turning to weave into the bathroom with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Forget it,’ he spits. ‘Just forget it.’
Five minutes later Sarah calls out, ‘Did you call the contractor today about the wall?’ She lays the magazine down and waits for Eddie’s answer, eventually pushing back the covers and walking into the bathroom herself.
Eddie has been meaning to call the contractor for weeks. Sarah keeps nagging him to call, wants the wall between the kitchen and family room taken down as soon as possible, but he keeps forgetting.
He could lie, he figures, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, debating what to say. It would be so much easier to say he left a message, but in the time he’s trying to figure out the lie, he knows Sarah knows.
Eddie shuffles his feet, feeling like a guilty child, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He hates this feeling, hates not living up to her expectations, yet all he seems to do these days is let her down.
He sees the way she looks at him when he walks around the bedroom naked. He knows what she’s saying when she asks him if he’s been to the gym recently. Does Sarah think he hasn’t noticed himself, hasn’t realized how much weight he’s put on? His pants are all straining at the seams, his stomach resting over the top as he hoists them up all day long. When he shaves in the bathroom in the morning he no longer looks at his entire face but focuses on the razor, or looks into his eyes, so as not to see the increasing chins.
He resolves, on a daily basis, to get back in shape again, to get fit, stop the beer, go back to the gym. He even bought a new pair of trainers, but work is so busy, so stressful, that all he wants to do when he gets home is stretch out on the sofa and forget about everything.
He comes home later and later because the atmosphere between he and Sarah has been so unbearable of late. He comes home later and later to try to avoid yet another fight. He has become a barfly – joining colleagues after work in one of the neighborhood bars, just a few beers before heading home.
He sees how unhappy Sarah is, and were he more enlightened, he would realize how unhappy he is, but Eddie merely drowns out his feelings and wishes that somehow, magically, things would go back to being the way they used to be.
And, no. He still didn’t call the contractor. Sarah enters the bathroom, filling Eddie with dread, and shame, and anger. He shakes his head.
‘There’s a surprise,’ she says sarcastically. ‘You forgot again.’
Eddie snaps. ‘Do you have any idea how busy I am at work?’ he says, his voice rising into a shout. ‘You’re always nagging me to do this, do that, but you have no idea what kind of a day I have at work, how there just isn’t time to do these things. Why don’t you call the contractor, for Christ’s sake? It’s not like you have a job. You’re at home all the time doing nothing. You could damn well call him.’
‘Oh, I see –’ Sarah’s mouth drops open in amazement – ‘I’m at home all the time, doing … what? Reading? Meeting the girls for lunch? Sunbathing in the backyard? You keep going on about how busy you are but what about what I do? I’m with the kids all day and when I’m not I’m cleaning up this house, doing your laundry and making sure your life runs smoothly. I barely ask you to do anything, and the one thing I ask you to do you can’t even manage because you’re too goddamned lazy…’ Her voice rises into a shout.
‘Don’t call me lazy!’ Eddie yells. ‘How dare you call …’ And they stop as they hear a cry from the corridor.
‘Oh, shit,’ mutters Sarah. ‘Great. Now you’ve woken Walker.’ And then, as she walks out to see to her son, under her breath, ‘Asshole.’
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ She sits on the bed and cradles Walker. ‘Did you have a bad dream?’ she asks hopefully.
‘No. You and Daddy were shouting,’ Walker says, tears streaming down his face. ‘Why were you shouting?’
‘Sometimes grown-ups shout at one another,’ Sarah says, flooded with guilt. ‘Sometimes we get angry at each other just like you and Maggie get angry. But it doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes you have to shout to make everything better. Remember when you and Tyler had that fight and you didn’t speak for a while and now you’re best friends again?’ Walker nods. ‘Daddy and I had a little fight; that’s all.’
‘So are you friends again?’ Walker says, eyes huge and scared.
‘Of course we are.’ Sarah hugs him.
‘No.’ Walker pulls away. ‘That’s too quick. You have to not be friends for a while and then you can be friends again.’
Sounds like a plan to me, thinks Sarah, but she just squeezes Walker tight. ‘We are friends.’
Sarah tucks him in and gives him a kiss good night, quietly walking out to the hallway. As she softly closes the bedroom door, Walker calls out, ‘Mommy? Do you still love Daddy?’
‘Of course I do,’ she says, the words sounding hollow, even to her.
‘I don’t,’ Walker says suddenly, as Sarah comes back into his bedroom.
‘Yes, you do,’ she says. ‘Sometimes you might not feel that you love him, or you might be angry with him, but you do love him, and he loves you.’
‘No, he doesn’t,’ Walker says calmly. ‘But that’s okay, Mommy, because we love each other, don’t we? You’re my best friend in the whole world.’
‘And you’re my best friend in the whole world.’ She blinks the tears away from her eyes as Walker snuggles up with his Power Ranger. ‘Now go to sleep.’
When Sarah gets back to her room Eddie is asleep, but she is too wired to sleep now. Should she tell him what Walker just said? The likelihood is he wouldn’t believe it anyway, would think Sarah was just using it as ammunition to hurt him, but didn’t he have a right to know the effects of his not spending any time with his children? Shouldn’t he know the damage he’s causing?
Sarah hasn’t got the energy for another fight. She’s only just got the energy to get through each day intact. She now knows what single parents must go through, how hard it must be, yet in some ways she thinks she has it harder because she has this added extra burden.
Wouldn’t they all be so much better without him?
Sarah imagines herself telling Eddie they’re leaving him. Imagines him drowning his sorrows in a sea of Sam Adams and Taco Bell burritos.
Something in her won’t let her have that conversation – not yet. But something in her knows it’s just a matter of time, that when she reaches rock bottom she will have no other choice.
It’s just a matter of time.
‘There’s something I need to talk to you about.’
Sarah pauses, shrimp halfway to her mouth, as she looks at Eddie in alarm. Is this it? Is this how it’s going to happen? She finds herself waiting for him to tell her he’s having an affair, he’s leaving, half aware that it’s only wishful thinking, that it’s not actually going to happen like this, only in fact happens like this in the movies.
The waiter comes over and asks if everything is okay, and Sarah forces an impatient smile as she nods. It’s not often they go out these days; she was surprised when Eddie had suggested they go to their favorite fish restaurant this Friday, surprised because it is so rare these days that the two of them go to dinner for no reason at all.
She had arranged a baby-sitter, met Eddie at the train station, and now here they are, halfway through their shrimp cocktails, Eddie looking like he’s about to drop a bombshell.
Sarah puts the shrimp back on the plate and raises an eyebrow in anticipation, waiting for him to go on.
Eddie takes a deep breath. Good Lord, Sarah thinks. Maybe I am right. Maybe he is leaving. Simultaneous relief and dread cause her to catch her breath.
‘You know that building we’re buying in Chicago?’
Sarah nods, although she doesn’t. They don’t tend to talk about work anymore. About anything anymore.
‘The whole thing’s become complicated. The lawyer in the Chicago office just left and they need a new project manager to take things over.’ Eddie looks at Sarah expectantly. ‘They want me to go.’
‘Right.’ She nods, waiting for him to continue.
‘I haven’t really got a choice,’ he says. ‘They’ve offered me the position in Chicago, and obviously it’s not really commutable, so …’ he trails off.
‘So you’re moving to Chicago?’
‘Well, that’s what we have to talk about,’ Eddie says. ‘I know you love this town,’ he says, ‘but Chicago’s a great city, and they’re putting a package together with all the information about schools, rentals, etc., etc. At this point they’re not sure whether it’s temporary or permanent, but we could realistically move out there by …’
‘Whoa –’ Sarah raises a hand – ‘let me just take this in. They want you to go to Chicago and you want us to come with you?’
Eddie looks wounded. ‘Of course I want you to come with me. You’re my family.’
This is it, she thinks, her heart pounding. It’s now or never. This is the hand of God, reaching down, finally, and showing her the exit route. She takes a deep breath, wondering how to say it, how it could be so hard to say when she has rehearsed this moment for weeks, for months.
She thinks of all those long lonely nights lying in bed planning for her single future. She had the entire conversation mapped out in her head: she would tell him it was best for the children, and even though he might not be able to see it now, he would eventually realize that it was best for all of them. He deserved more happiness, she would say. They both deserved more happiness.
‘Eddie,’ she starts, all her preparation having flown out the window. ‘Do you really think it would be a good idea if we come?’
Eddie looks confused for a moment. What is she trying to say? ‘Well, I guess I could work something out, maybe three days a week in Chicago and home for weekends –’
‘Eddie –’ Sarah stops him by placing a hand on his. This feels familiar. This scenario is turning into the one she had thought about, the one she had planned for. ‘Eddie,’ she says again, quietly. ‘Stop.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Do you have any idea how unhappy I am?’
The blood drains from Eddie’s face.