I’VE THROWN THEwindows open, and fresh morning air, tinged with honeysuckle, floods the room. I’m in the kitchen whisking eggs in a wonky, oversize ceramic bowl I made years ago in college. I’ve got the jazz station from Chicago streaming on my iPhone; Nina Simone purrs through the room.
Jack sits at the table, swinging his legs in time to the music, slurping a bowl of Cheerios. Graham stumbles down the hall, all rumpled and worn-looking.
He tousles Jack’s hair, says, “Morning, bud!” and comes over to me, his hands circling my waist. His breath smells like mint and he nibbles at my ear.
“Someone’s in a good mood.” He beams.
I smile back, and let him believe it was because of last night. But what I’m giddy about at the moment is something entirely different. Has nothing to do with him.
This morning I rose early, tiptoeing into the kitchen while Graham and Jack slept.
I logged on to Facebook.
Last night, before drifting off, I posted a picture of Jack and Mattie fromErin’s barbecue, their arms wrapped tightly around each other, both of them flashing silly grins for the camera.
This morning, when I logged on, there were already forty likes and a dozen comments.
From Erin:
I didn’t even know you snapped this! Too cute!
I tapped the “like” button and scrolled through the rest of the comments, clicking “like” on them all. But my heart seized in my chest when I saw a comment from Margot.
Too cute!!!
My finger hovered over the reply button. A bit shaky, I quickly typed:
Thank you!
But then backspaced over it and simply hit “like” instead. I didn’t want to seem too eager. And probably, she was directing that at Erin since they are longtime acquaintances, but it somehow made me feel a lot less nervous about going to the party at Margot’s in-laws’ Tuesday night.
So just now, when Graham sits down next to Jack and eats toast, I make them both look up at me, and snap another photo.
“Wait, is this for Facebook?” Graham asks, and when I nod, he sarcastically pulls a handsome, brooding face and says, “Okay, now we’re ready.”
I snap it and type,Sunday brunch with these guys!And quickly post it.
Three
Days
Later
9
Present
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
THE GARDEN PARTYat the Banks estate was last night, and I still can’t get over the decadence and sumptuousness of it all. And all that drinking on a near-empty stomach hit me hard. But I couldn’t say no to Margot refilling my champagne glass. Margot. My neck flushes just thinking about her, remembering her breath on my neck.
I’m on the jogging trail. I got a late start this morning—it’s nearly ten o’clock—and it’s already boiling out. I’m running down the hill and it’s so boggy, it feels like I’m wading through a swamp.
I don’t see the man in his yard today, which I’m glad about. My T-shirt is soaked through with sweat and clings to my chest. I push harder, trying to outrun this drilling hangover. When my head hit the pillow last night, the room actually twirled and I had to screw my eyes shut and grab the side of the bed to make it stop.
—
I REACH MYhouse and am trudging up the drive when my cell dings. I shudder. And pray it’s not Jack’s preschool teacher. My plans for the rest of theday involve a cheeseburger and sinking into the couch. I’m not even gonna pretend to do any work. Stepping inside the back door, I slide the phone from my pocket.
