Falling Page 28

“We’re practically in October,” says Sophie. “I saw Christmas decorations in a store the other day, which made me feel ill. Much too early.”

  “I completely agree.” Teddy rolls her eyes. “They put them out earlier every year. Soon we’ll be looking at garlands and tinsel in July.” She turns to Emma. “Sophie mentioned you just got back from England with Dominic. How did that go?”

  “It was . . .” Emma pauses. She can’t lie. She can’t say it was wonderful. She can’t not say that they cut their trip short because of the way her mother treated Dominic, because of the things her mother said. She sighs. “It was interesting,” she says eventually. “And kind of awful, if I’m honest.”

  “What happened?” asks Sophie in alarm.

  Emma tells them the whole story. She tells them about England, about her parents, about her decision to ignore them and her belief that they didn’t know what they were talking about until she met Dominic’s parents. She tells them how she’s realized that he does come from a very different world, and that while she knows what she has found with Dominic and Jesse is very special and worth fighting for, she cannot get rid of the sinking feeling that her parents may be right.

  It is a relief to talk about this. It has been pent up inside her for days, and it has started to put a wedge between them.

  When Jesse asked her to read to him, requested that she perform the nightly routine that by rights used to belong to his father, she thought she could push her fears aside about there being too many differences between them for it to work.

  Her doubts are not so easily dismissed.

  It isn’t that she wants a big life, or more money, or—heaven forbid—the trappings of the life she left behind in New York; it’s that she was raised with museums, and art galleries, and theater; she was raised with horseback riding, and ballet, and hunts. It isn’t that she wants any of that today, but that she has spent her life thinking that she was supposed to want those things, supposed to end up in much the same life as the one in which she was raised.

  “What do you think?” she asks finally, her worried eyes moving from Sophie to Teddy, and back again. “What do you think I should do?”

  “Do?” Teddy frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “Should we carry on, or should I leave now before anyone gets too hurt? It worries me that we’re so different. I don’t care that he’s a bartender and a carpenter. I’ve never cared about that stuff, but”—she pauses, embarrassed to admit this, but seeking advice from people she trusts—“is it okay that he doesn’t have any ambition? It’s not like he’s dreaming of one day opening his own bar, or becoming a master carpenter and founding the number-one cabinetry installation company in Fairfield County, with a team of fabulously talented men working for him. Is that okay? He’s really happy exactly where he is, and although part of me loves that about him, I don’t quite understand it.” She sighs and buries her head in her hands. “God! I can’t even believe I’m saying this. I never thought any of this would matter. One of the things I love about him is that he’s not competitive with anyone. He’s more comfortable in his skin than any man I have ever met.”

  “Why do you think that is?” asks Teddy.

  Emma pauses to think. “He says he wasn’t always like this. I think it’s because he made a deliberate choice not to be like his parents. I think part of making any choice as deliberate as that must give you a sense of peace.”

  Teddy peers at her, mystified. “And isn’t that the same as the deliberate choice you have made to leave your old life behind and follow your heart? I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “That’s all true.” Emma nods. “I have made a deliberate choice and in so many ways I am happier than I ever thought I could be, or would be. But what if all that isn’t enough?” She muses out loud. “Even though he is making a deliberate choice to be something other than his destiny now, don’t we all turn into our parents over time? How can we avoid following that pattern as we age? We make choices about how we want to be seen in the world, but as we grow older don’t we all forget to hold those constructs up, don’t we all start falling into the patterns of our youth? Doesn’t our essence always win out? And if so, what’s Dominic’s essence?” She pauses for breath, unaware of the tinge of hysteria in her voice. “And that’s not the only thing. We’re so different. He likes sports, and beer, and bars. I like books, and theater, and good wine.”

  “No, you don’t,” says Sophie, laughing.

  Emma stares at her. “What do you mean? Of course I do.”

  “You don’t. I mean, who am I to tell you what you like and don’t like, but I’ve known you for quite a long time, and I’ve only seen you drink pinot noir and Whispering Angel, which is good but not that good, and vodka. Secondly, when was the last time you went to the theater?”

  Emma sits back. “I am desperate to see Hamilton.”

  “But when was the last time you went?”

  “A while ago,” says Emma sheepishly.

  “A year? Two years? More?”

  “Maybe a couple of years.” Emma attempts to brush over it. “The point is, I want to see Hamilton and I can’t bring Dominic with me because he hates the theater.”

  “First of all, isn’t Hamilton mostly rap?” says Sophie. “It’s not exactly Arthur Miller. I’m pretty sure he’ll love it. Everybody loves it. Secondly, if you really think he’d hate it, take someone else. Take me! Take my mom!” Teddy nods her head enthusiastically. “So what if he doesn’t like theater?”

  “I really like theater,” says Teddy. “I’d love to see Hamilton.”

  “You’re missing the point,” says Emma, as Teddy beams a benevolent smile upon her.

  “I don’t think so, my dear,” she says gently. “I think we very much get the point. The point is that you’re terrified that Dominic is not who he appears to be, even though all the evidence suggests he is exactly as he appears. And, you want him to be just like you, to want the same things you want, to like doing the same things you like doing, to fulfill all your wants and needs.”

  Emma looks at her. “When you put it like that, it sounds completely crazy.”

  Teddy nods. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “But it isn’t unreasonable to want to have the same aspirations. The same likes and dislikes. Isn’t that what good relationships are based on?”

  “In my experience,” says Teddy, “good relationships are based on kindness. On putting the person you love before yourself. On thinking of what you can do to make that person happy. Good relationships require kindness, commitment, and appreciation. I think you have all of those, do you not? Despite what you just said about being frightened of him becoming like his parents, you’re not really worried about that, are you?”

  Emma hesitates, thinking. “Maybe not,” she says eventually. “But if your lifestyle choices are different?”

  “They aren’t so different, though, are they?” says Sophie. “You both love your homes, the beach, leading a pretty quiet life. It’s not like one of you wants to be out at fancy restaurants every night while the other is a hermit. You care about your friends, and Jesse. Isn’t that the stuff that matters?”

  “You don’t think the other things get in the way? You don’t think my parents are right? That we are from such different worlds, that relationships are hard enough, that throwing two people together who come from such different places means their union is destined for disaster?”

  “I don’t think that.” Sophie looks at her mother. “Do you?”

  Teddy shakes her head. “That’s what friends are for,” she says. “You don’t have to watch football games with Dominic. I’m sure he’s got lots of friends who can hang out with him for that. Just as you have people who can come to the theater with you.”

  “Not that you actually go to the theater,” mutters Sophie, shrugging as Emma shoots her a look.

  “He is a
wonderful man.” Sophie leans forward. “You cannot throw this away because of some ridiculous, superficial reason. You’re more worried about being judged by other people; that somehow they will think Dominic isn’t good enough for you, which means that you’re worried you’re not good enough.”

  Teddy looks at her daughter approvingly.

  “She’s right,” she says to Emma. “Even though it may be difficult to hear. The Emma who is worrying about what people think, or how you might be judged, isn’t the Emma I’ve come to know this summer. I’ve known you awhile, and the Emma you have become, the Emma I have gotten to know since you met Dominic, is my favorite Emma of all.”

  “She’s right,” says Sophie. “The two of you are great together. And think about Jesse. He’s attached now. There is more at stake than just the two of you.”

  Emma nods. There is a long pause before she asks, “You really don’t think we’re going to turn into his parents?”

  Teddy lets out a bark of laughter. “I hardly think so, Emma. It is true that we often re-create our childhoods. However dysfunctional they may have been, we experience those feelings as ‘home,’ and re-create them in some form in our adult lives. But it is also true that we have a choice, and if we are lucky, and aware, we seek out the very opposite, which is exactly what Dominic has done, and what you are doing now.”

  As Emma listens, she feels the weight of anxiety lift for the first time since she and Dominic left England. “I do love him,” she says, and she smiles her first genuine smile in days.

  “I know,” says Sophie. “This is all about your parents. You moved across the Atlantic to get away from them. You moved because you didn’t have anything in common with them. You didn’t want the life they had, and you didn’t want the life they wanted for you. That you are only now paying attention to what they think is craziness. From what you’ve always told me, your mother doesn’t want what’s best for you, she wants what’s best for her, right? Doesn’t she want whatever will somehow elevate her status in the world?”

  “Thank you for the reminder. You are absolutely right.”

  “I know. So can we just forget about your parents and move on?”

  “Okay,” Emma says carefully. Then, “Yes!” Her friends have told her it’s okay to trust her instincts; they’ve confirmed for her that her choices are good.

  “Shall we ask if they have champagne?” Sophie laughs. “I think it would be entirely appropriate at this point to celebrate the first day of the rest of your life.”

  • • •

  That night, Jesse has a sleepover at a friend’s and Dominic is out meeting a potential client before heading to work at the Fat Hen, leaving Emma alone. It’s so rare these days, it feels luxurious. She cleans the kitchen and is about to go upstairs and jump in the shower when she checks the time.

  It is too early to turn in for the night. She could run to the bar and have a quick drink with Dominic, surprise him. Excited at the prospect of his face when he sees her unexpectedly, she checks her hair in the mirror, shakes it out, adds some lip gloss, then picks up her purse and slips out the front door.

  The parking lot is jammed with cars. She circles a couple of times before two people walk out of the bar, making their way slowly to their Honda at the back. She waits patiently, waving a thanks when they pull out, maneuvering her way into the spot.

  The place is heaving. She weaves her way through, excited to reach the bar, to see Dominic in his element, so much louder, more outgoing, gruffer than he is when he is not working a crowd. He has described it as acting, talked about having a “bar persona,” much like a stage persona, explained that as soon as he walks through the doors of the Fat Hen, he turns into Dom rather than Dominic. Dom, who flirts with the ladies, who rags on the men, who is quick with his hands, and with the lines to ensure he gets the biggest tips of any of the bartenders there.

  There are two girls leaning on the bar, with their heads tilted and waterfalls of hair falling over their shoulders. Even from a distance Emma can see them flirting with Dominic. They are what she would have once presumed were exactly his type. He is laughing with one of them, a blonde, and when she turns her head Emma recognizes her at once. The woman he was seeing when Emma first moved in. Gina.

  She stands stock-still, heart pounding. She rarely thinks about what happens at night when Dominic is not with her, about what he is doing when he is at work. Of course he flirts, she knows he flirts, but it’s always felt a bit abstract to her. She’s never considered the possibility that it would be with former girlfriends.

  Emma is not the sort of woman who is inclined to surreptitiously pick up a boyfriend’s phone when he is in the shower to scroll through texts, checking to see what he is up to. She is very well aware that if you snoop, you are unlikely to be happy with what you find. And you won’t be able to do much about it without revealing the snooping, besides.

  She remembers a man she used to work with who would regularly scroll through his boyfriend’s phone. One morning he came to work almost in tears, having discovered an e-mail confirming a brand-new subscription to Grindr.

  There was no other evidence of cheating, no other indication that his boyfriend had done anything but sign up for the sake of curiosity. All the women at work had gathered around to offer their opinions. Most of them believed the boyfriend had probably signed up just for fun, to see who else in the area might be on it. After all, there were at least three men in the office who were married but rumored to prefer playing on their own team.

  He didn’t know whether to confront his boyfriend or not. The consensus among the women at work was a resounding no. Far better to say nothing—because opening that particular door was bound to be a disaster. It would be different, they all said, if he had found evidence of a hookup, or an intimate text—something concrete. But subscribing to Grindr alone was definitely not grounds to reveal your despicable nature as a snoop.

  Emma trusts Dominic. She certainly met her fair share of untrustworthy men while living in New York. It has never crossed her mind that Dominic was anything like them. In fact, the whole point is that he’s not. She doesn’t think for a minute that he would do anything to betray her.

  From where she is standing, she can’t hear what is being said, but she can clearly see Gina leaning across the bar, showing off her spectacular cleavage and laughing as she says something, her right foot, encased in the highest of heels, sexily rubbing up the back of her left calf.

  Dominic moves closer to her to hear what she is saying, then stands back with a smile, a shrug, and a shake of his head. At that moment, he looks up and sees Emma. His eyes light up as he waves her over. Gina turns to see what has caught his attention, and irritation washes over her face as she recognizes Emma.

  “The tenant, right?” says Gina, as Dominic leans over the bar and gives Emma a long kiss on the lips, pulling away, then coming back for one more.

  Emma can’t help turning to Gina with a happy smile when Dominic finally steps back. It’s not something she does very often, but right now it feels oh so extraordinarily good to be here, with Dominic, who is so clearly in love with her.

  “The tenant.” She smiles. “Right.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Fall is upon them for good before they have noticed it’s time for the seasons to change. One day the trees are green and lush, the next they are multiple shades of red, orange, and gold, the leaves drifting into the streets and covering up the last vestiges of summer.

  With the changing seasons comes a routine that makes Emma feel settled and secure. And happy. She and Dominic have not talked about officially moving in together, and yet they seem to have moved in together. Most of her clothes are now at his house, and it has been months since she spent the night in her own, next door.

  She still has her office there, though. The redecorating she did for Lisa has led to more clients, more work, and she has now redone the li
ving room in her cottage as part showroom, part conference room.

  She put up a Nobilis wallpaper that looks like bleached-out horizontal planks of wood. An L-shaped cream sectional is piled with tan and orange pillows and a large orange mohair throw. The coffee table is simple, a low square orange shagreen table with a Lucite box resting on top, and the latest interior magazines in neat piles for inspiration.

  She painted the window casings a glossy chocolate brown, and had cream linen blinds made. Dominic boxed around the ancient, ugly fireplace with MDF, which Emma then faux-painted to look like limestone. Above the fireplace hangs a round, polished wood mirror, and hanging on the walls are abstract paintings in shades of orange, red, and brown.

  Dominic wasn’t at all sure of the color scheme. “Beach houses should only be blue,” he had said.

  Emma hadn’t wanted to point out that the color scheme of the house when she moved in was everything but blue. Brown, salmon, and a grungy floral had been the order of the day when she first walked in. Now that it is finished, Dominic tells anyone who will listen that it is the most beautiful room he has ever seen, and Emma the most talented woman he has ever known.

  “We should move in here,” he says one evening, walking through the front door to say good-bye before he leaves for work. He no longer needs a regular sitter; every night Emma is next door at his house, at the house that is really now their house, where she puts Jesse to bed.

  Jesse can still be difficult. When he is tired, or feeling overwhelmed, he sometimes reverts to blaming Emma for everything that is wrong in his life. Sometimes she hears him shouting at his father, “We don’t need her! I hate her! Emma has ruined everything!” She is still wounded by those words, even though she knows he is just a child, he doesn’t mean it. And it passes. It always passes.

  It is clear he doesn’t mean it when he snuggles into her in bed. It is clear he doesn’t mean it when he tucks in beside her and pulls her arm over his small body.

  Emma hasn’t whispered “I love you” again, although there have been many times when she has wanted to. And she believes he may be on the verge of loving her, too.