“Francie can be catty and cliquey but Harold means it,” she grumbled. “He’s angry about the divorce. He does all kinds of outrageous shit to get attention.” She shook her head. “Then his father takes him for the weekend and lets him run wild and do whatever the hell he wants. So, I’m the bad guy. I’m the mean mommy who has to take away the video games and iPad, and requires him to bathe and wear underwear.”
“Listen, I don’t know your son but I know a lot of kids and I know how tough it can be for them when things change in their family. Like you said, he wants your attention. It’s not malicious.”
The bartender returned wearing a dry shirt and a scowl etched in stone. He set a fresh martini in front of Christiane, saying, “If you throw another drink, I’m kicking you out.”
“Sorry,” she called after him as he walked away. She took a sip and glanced at me. “He’s married.”
I tipped my chin in the direction of the bartender. “That guy? Him?”
“Yeah.” She bobbed her head. “I’ve checked.”
“And you’re using that information to decide whether or not to flirt with him?”
She shrugged. I didn’t know how I was supposed to take that.
“Is it too much to ask for someone to worship me the way Noah worships you?”
I laughed hard. “He doesn’tworshipme, Christiane. That’s a little much, don’t you think?”
“Call me Christie,” she said. “And it might be a little much for you but I’d give anything to have even a crumb of what you have. I mean it. I’d do anything for someone to give me the kind of attention Noah gives you. I just—I guess I want someone who notices me.”
With that, I stopped seeing her as the woman who wouldn’t leave Noah alone and started seeing her as someone doing her best to put the pieces back together and go forward. Someone just like me.
“You’re not seeing it from where I’m standing,” she continued. “That man adores you. I’d convinced myself he was stoic. Didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, you know? But then you roll into town.” She blew out a breath, fanned herself. “He’s not stoic at all. He was just waiting for you.”
“That—” I didn’t know how to disagree with her and keep the charade of our marriage alive. Was it still a charade if one person was in love with the other though she had no idea how to confess that without further trapping him in a fake marriage? Instead of stressing over those issues, I ignored them altogether. A-plus coping strategy. “Why do you want to jump into another relationship right now? What’s the rush?”
She pressed her palms to her eyes. “My therapist has asked the same question every week for the past year.”
“Have you figured out the answer yet?”
She groaned. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just don’t like failing at things. I want a do-over.”
“You want a do-over marriage?”
“Yeah. I need another chance to get it right.” Then, softer, she added, “I don’t want to do it all on my own. I can but—but I don’t want to. And I deserve better than that.”
“You also deserve someone who reciprocates your interest,” I said carefully. It was a lesson for myself as much as it was Christiane. “If they aren’t into it—”
“Oh, trust me, my therapist knows all about you and Noah,” she cut in. “She’s deconstructed that situation with me. I don’t need the reminder that I was unhinged.”
“I don’t know what to say to that.” I reached for my drink. “I’m glad you’ve worked those issues out? That you can reflect on the situation clearly? I don’t know, Christie, help me here.”
She chuckled. “Do you want to order some food? I forget to eat when my kids aren’t around.” When I didn’t respond right away, she added, “Unless you already ate with your friends. It seemed like your group was having a really good time so you probably want to head home.”
“Those were friends from school,” I said. “They all teach at Hope Elementary.” I reached across her and grabbed the menu at her elbow. “I don’t have a lot of friends in this town. I could do with a few more.”
After a minute, she tapped a fingertip on the menu. “Just so you know, I don’t like raw fish.”
“Then what are you doing at anoyster bar?”
She tossed up both hands. “It’s the only decent place in town.”
“And yet you come in here and throw drinks like you’re on spring break in Daytona,” the bartender muttered.
“We’ll do the cheese and charcuterie,” I said to him. “Thanks.”
When the bartender headed toward the kitchen, Christie turned to me. “It would’ve been really convenient for the purposes of my internal narrative if you were horrible and heartless. I mean, it would’ve been great for me to be able to channel my anger onto someone other than my co-parent.”
