Another Piece of My Heart Read online

  “Could we have miniature sheep?” Andi muses. “I love those. And donkeys. And maybe a horse.”

  “A horse? You ride?”

  “Oh, my God.” Andi starts to laugh. “How is it we’ve been together five years, married for two, and you don’t know I ride?”

  “I guess you didn’t tell me. What kind of riding? Western?”

  “You are such a California boy!” She laughs. “I grew up in Connecticut, remember? I took riding lessons for years. I was obsessed with horses. The only fantasies I ever had at thirteen were of having my own pony.”

  Ethan shoots her a look. “Are you suggesting Sophia is having fantasies about something else? Because I’m a little freaked out right now.”

  Andi laughs. “No. She’s got a couple of years to go. I’m just saying. I always wanted a horse. Look!” She points out a building, a private home turned into a winery, Mediterranean style, yellow plaster with a red tile roof, ivy tumbling down every wall. “Isn’t that beautiful?”

  “Beautiful. I bet it’s only worth eight million.”

  “Really?” She turns to him aghast. “But we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “It’s still Sonoma County, which is pure wine country. Maybe where we’re going is more affordable, but this whole area is so beautiful.”

  “Could we afford it? Even the cheaper areas?”

  “No.” Ethan laughs. “But it’s fun to fantasize, and even more fun to look.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a huge commission this year to do the interior design of a giant hotel, and they’ll pay me a fortune, and they’ll bring you in to do the landscaping, and we’ll suddenly have a few million dollars spare. Whaddya think?”

  “I hope the money gods are listening.” Ethan shakes his head as he turns onto an old, narrow dirt road, slowing to avoid the potholes and peering out the window. “Where the hell are we?”

  Andi looks down. “This is right. Just keep going for four miles, then it’s on the right.”

  * * *

  A split-rail fence appears, marking a driveway, at the end of which are several people milling about. As Ethan pulls in, they turn and wave.

  “Oh look! There’s Greg!” Andi presses the window down. “Hello, groom!” she calls, as Greg comes to the car. “How are you feeling?”

  “Great.” He smiles. “Excited. Drew and Topher aren’t with you?”

  “No.” Ethan leans over to explain. “Drew hadn’t finished making the wedding cake so he was in a panic. He said he’d be here by three.”

  “That’s good,” Greg says, spying dishes on the backseat. “What did Isabel have you guys make?”

  “Greek chicken kebabs and tzatziki dip. I have slaved!” she jokes. “Honestly, do you know how many hours it takes to skewer chicken? I am now an expert chicken-skewerer. I’m thinking of starting a new business.”

  “I’m happy we could help.” Greg laughs. “Seriously? You’re amazing. Thank you. It’s so mind-blowing how all our friends are helping us with this wedding. It makes it real, you know? Intimate and warm, and wonderful. Thank you. We’re parking in a field over there.” He gestures to a bumpy field in the distance. “Can I help you bring the food over?”

  “Absolutely not,” Andi says. “You go and concentrate on your wedding. Don’t worry about us.”

  * * *

  In the field adjacent to the parking area are huge metal sculptures that spin lazily in the sun, changing as the light hits different parts. Guests are wandering through, standing beneath giant sculptures, fantastical half-man, half-beast goliaths, gazing in awe.

  “This is awesome,” Ethan murmurs, looking around him in wonderment. “What is this place?”

  “See that barn?” Andi points out a large barn in the distance, with old broken-down tractors outside, piles of scrap metal, large aluminum bins. “Isabel says there’s an artist who leases the barn, and this is his work. He makes stuff for Burning Man.”

  “Cool.” Ethan whistles. “It’s beautiful. I thought you didn’t even know what Burning Man was.” He is teasing, reminding her of when she first moved here and had never heard of the biggest arts festival on the West Coast. “Want to go sometime?”

  Andi gives him a hard look. “Do you know me? I love you, mister, but a camper I am not.”

  “What about if we rented a luxury RV? Then you’d be comfortable. It’s amazing.”

  “If you’d asked me twenty years ago I might have jumped at the chance,” Andi says. “But I’m just too damned old.”

  “Bullshit. It’s all ageing baby boomers and Generation X-ers like us.”

  “Speak for yourself, my love.”

  “I know, I know. You can take the girl out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of the girl.”

  “Now you’re learning!” she says, patting him on the butt. “Let’s go and put the food down.”

  * * *

  They find Isabel helping to string lanterns from the branches of a huge old apple tree, under the leaves of which she and Greg will be getting married.

  Other friends are stringing Japanese paper lanterns from tall posts in the field—lanterns Drew found for next to nothing in Chinatown—zigzagging over long trestle tables, benches on either side, with simple burlap runners down the middle, jelly jars of cottage flowers, zinnias, and stock, and phlox and lavender, dotted down the center.

  It is a hive of activity, friends and family members coming over to say hello, all helping with the cooking, the decorating, the music. Kids run through the busy adults, weaving in and out between their legs, two teenage girls on babysitting duty, trying to herd the kids down by the creek, where large flat stones let the water rest, forming a natural swimming hole.

  There are a series of buildings, barns, outbuildings, one of which contains a basic kitchen. An old commercial stove, and a barbecue made from oil drums cut in half, on which marinaded chicken drumsticks are spitting. Dusty strings of colored fairy lights are strung between old Victorian gaslights, wrapped around beams, looped around vintage cowboy posters.

  Someone is pouring homemade lemonade into a giant glass dispenser, another is pounding mint with a pestle in a large mortar, adding sugar for the mojitos that will be poured into jelly jars and handed around to the guests.

  “This is amazing!” Ethan turns to Isabel in amazement. “How did you find this place?”

  “How do you think?” She grins.

  “Drew?” Ethan ventures.

  “Of course.” Isabel shrugs.

  “He is amazing!” Ethan shakes his head with a laugh as Andi gives him an I-told-you-so look. “Is there anything he doesn’t know?”

  “Lots. But when it comes to hospitality and cooking, and especially finding the perfect spot for your wife’s oldest friend to get married, he’s the best,” Isabel says.

  “He wouldn’t tell me anything,” Andi says. “I’ve been trying to get details for weeks. What are you wearing?”

  Isabel leans in. “Want to come and see?”

  “Am I allowed?” Andi can’t hide her surprise.

  “No, but I love my dress so much, I can’t stand it. I have to show my favorite girlfriends. Come.” And, grabbing Andi by the hand, she pulls her toward one of the outbuildings. “Sorry, Ethan!” she yells over her shoulder. “I’ll only steal her for a little while.”

  * * *

  “Oh, Isabel.” Andi gently runs the ivory chiffon through her fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I know!” Isabel says. “I know it’s a bit much, and I never thought I wanted a proper wedding dress, but I saw this and just completely fell in love. I can’t wait for Greg to see it. I know he thinks I’m wearing some hippie dress, which I was planning to, of course. He’ll be amazed.”

  “You’re going to be so gorgeous.” Andi reaches over and tucks one of the curls back behind Isabel’s ear. “What are you doing with your hair?”

  “Totally messy, but up. Loose curls.” She gathers her hair up with her hands. “Basically, just this, held with a big c
lip. But,” she says shyly, “I have fresh flowers I want to wind in. I was going to ask a couple of friends to do it for me. Would you be one of them?”

  “Help you get ready for your wedding?” Andi feels a lump in her throat as Isabel nods. “Are you kidding? It would be an honor!” And Isabel throws her arms around her as the two women envelop each other in a tight embrace.

  * * *

  It is so different from Andi’s wedding, and hers was so different from the weddings she attended back in New York back in her twenties and early thirties.

  Andi didn’t want what so many of her friends had had, the perfect fairytale wedding, the opportunity to be princess for a day. They took over the Maidstone Arms in East Hampton for beach weddings, the New York Botanical Garden or the Knickerbocker Club in New York for formal, elegant affairs.

  Two hundred guests were always invited; three hundred; four. The wedding was organized by their mothers, with Vera Wang dresses, and catering by Abigail Kirsch. It was never about the couple, Andi thought, even then, but about presenting an image to the world, an image of who they were going to be, this new couple, forging a new and fabulous life together.

  It is one of the blessings of not getting married until she was almost forty, she thinks. She didn’t need the big dress, or the hundreds of attendees, or the day that was all about her. Ethan had done that the first time around, and Andi didn’t want that kind of wedding. Their ceremony was small and intimate, about them, and their family, and, of course, everyone walked on eggshells around delicate Emily.

  Andi had taken Emily shopping to buy whatever dress she liked. She hoped Emily would choose something lovely, but didn’t try to dissuade her when Emily chose a floor-length stretchy black jersey dress that was less The Wedding Party and more The Addams Family.

  She had asked Emily to be her maid of honor, had bought her and Sophia each a delicate pearl necklace, with a tiny pearl-and-diamond pendant. They were expensive, and beautiful, and when Emily “lost” hers before the wedding, Andi didn’t say anything.

  Emily cried throughout the ceremony, sobbing throughout the vows, hiccuping loudly throughout the “I do’s.”

  She had run out, loudly and dramatically, crashing through the doors, immediately after Ethan put the ring on Andi’s finger, and Andi had grabbed on to Ethan’s hand to stop him from running after her, flashing him a warning look with big eyes. To his credit, he had stayed, but he kept looking toward the door. Physically, he was in the room next to her; but emotionally, he was outside, with his arms wrapped around his daughter.

  Andi’s mother was still alive then, fighting her way through chemotherapy, her magnificent hair now gone, a chic bobbed wig in its place.

  “My love,” she had said to Andi when they were milling around, the immediate family and their four closest friends. “You have your work cut out for you.”

  “Oh, Mom.” Andi turned to her, scared. “Is it going to be okay?”

  “Yes, my darling,” she said. “He is a wonderful man, and that is what is important. Emily is a teenager, so these years, these difficult years are nearly done. I’m sure things will change once you settle down into your new life. It’s one thing to create drama before you are married. That I understand—she is trying to prevent it from happening—but once you are married, then what? Then she’ll have to accept it. It will all be fine, you’ll see.” But her eyes were filled with doubt.

  Andi shakes the memories of her own wedding out of her head. It wasn’t a day of happiness and joy, as she had hoped, but of tension and upset. She had been glad when it was over, when Ethan’s parents had taken the girls to drop them off at their mother’s, when they were finally on a plane headed to Zihuatanejo.

  Had it been a premonition, she sometimes wondered, in her darkest hours. But no, she refuses to believe it. A car honks a short burst, disturbing her thoughts, and she looks up to see Topher’s car kicking up a cloud of dust as he pulls into the driveway.

  “Cake, anyone?” he hollers out the window and, with a large smile, she goes over to see what he has pulled off. He’s giving her strange looks as she approaches, but she has no idea what they mean.

  “Look who I found!” Topher’s voice sounds suspiciously—almost deliberately—cheerful, Andi realizes, slowing as she reaches the car.

  Peering through the window, trying to decipher Topher’s tone, Andi sees Drew in the passenger seat and, slumped in the rear seat, her mouth in a sulky frown, Emily.

  Eight

  “Emily?” Andi says with a sinking heart, trying desperately to sound bright and cheerful. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your mom’s this weekend?”

  Emily shrugs. “I was bored so I came back to Dad’s.”

  “And we found her there all by herself, so we threw her in the car and brought her with us.” Drew steps out the car and walks around to the trunk to get the cake. “Kids were starting to come over, and we were worried.”

  “What do you mean, kids?”

  “Just … cars pulling up. We sent everyone away and locked up the house. Don’t worry, but Emily refused to go back to her mom’s, and we thought this was the best thing.”

  “It was. Thank you,” Andi says, squeezing his hand. “I just…”

  “What?”

  “I just needed one weekend to ourselves.” She turns her head and drops her voice to a whisper, ensuring Emily doesn’t hear. Tears fill her eyes as she shoots a look at the black-haired figure frowning in the backseat. “I needed a weekend without the filthy looks and the sarcastic comments and the rudeness. I just needed a break.”

  “We’re here with you,” Drew says quietly. “We’ll look after you. Topher already told her she has to behave.”

  “He did?”

  “You know my husband. He’s pretty damn tough when he needs to be.”

  “She didn’t throw a fit?”

  “No. I think the kid is desperate for some boundaries.”

  “Tell that to her father,” Andi says.

  * * *

  “Boundaries.” That loaded word is bandied about by people who think they know everything about parenting. It is the word that Andi uses more than any other when she and Ethan are talking, or arguing about what is wrong with Emily.

  As a child, Andi was never aware of the word “boundary.” It wasn’t talked about; her parents did not sit with other parents and discuss how every child needed to know where the limits were in order to feel safe. Andi did not plead and whine and beg for something she wanted, long after her parents had said no, in the knowledge that if she created enough of a scene, in all likelihood she would get what she wanted.

  She was the only child of older parents who had given up on the desire to have children. At forty-four, entirely unexpectedly, Judith and Oliver Fieldstone found themselves pregnant.

  Andi was adored and revered from the beginning, but she knew her place. Her parents had her eat dinner with them every night, with a beautifully set table in the dining room, joining in the adult conversation. They talked about their days, and about museums they had gone to, books they had read, plays they had seen.

  When they had finished eating, Andi would clear the table and dry the dishes her mother washed. If she misbehaved, or got “fresh,” a stern look would usually be all it took for remorse to flood her small body as she apologized.

  “No” meant no. If ever Andi didn’t listen, her mother would start counting, the threat of “three” being so terrible, Andi always did whatever she was supposed to have been doing by “two.”

  The boundaries were invisible, never talked about, but were absolutely there: lines she would never dare cross, too frightened of the consequences.

  Despite this, Andi knew she was loved. At night, before bed, she would sit in her mother’s lap, their fingers intertwined as her mother read her a story. When Andi would look up and catch her mother gazing at her, there was infinite adoration in her eyes.

  The family home, with all its invisible boundaries, was her mother’s haven, a
place filled with quiet and calm. Andi knew she was loved, and in turn loved her parents, but she wished—oh how she wished—they were younger, like all the other parents.

  She wanted them to be young, and hip, to be interested in pop music and parties, not opera and the ballet. She wanted brothers and sisters. She wanted her parents to be invited to the neighborhood barbecues that seemed to be a constant occurrence during the summer—a roving party at someone else’s house every night of the weekend.

  She wanted to eat dinner at a stool at the counter, at five o’clock. She wanted PB & J for dinner, and macaroni and cheese, and green bean casserole made with Campbell’s Mushroom Soup, not the fresh, grilled steaks and salad, the Sôles Veroniques the coq au vins that they sat down to on a regular basis.

  Andi wanted friends to come over and tear through the house as their mothers sat with her mother at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and smoking, and barely raising an eyebrow at the children.

  Her parents were only in their forties when they had Andi, but back then, that made them ancient, at least one generation older than the other parents.

  And when the parents of her class friends got together for impromptu barbecues and drinks, Andi’s parents were never included. When Andi’s friends came over, her parents didn’t gossip at the kitchen table over coffee but attempted to engage her friends in discussions about what books they loved, or what plays they had seen.

  Andi was mortified. Why couldn’t her mother be like all the other moms? When Andi had a sleepover, her mother had packed them a midnight feast, but instead of dime-store candy and chocolate like all the other kids, she had made sandwiches, and given them apples. One time there was cottage cheese. Andi wanted to die.

  When she grew up, she determined at a very young age, she was going to have a huge family. Tons of kids, and all their friends. She was going to have a freezer filled with pizza, and a pantry filled with Campbell’s Mushroom Soup and Lipton’s Onion Soup Dip. She was going to fill her house with people, and she would let her kids have the basement all to themselves, and once they were down there, she was never going to disturb them.