He said, “I finished early today. Thought I’d drive you home and we could hang out.”
It was all she wanted. But reality persisted. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
She explained about Clayton, what had happened that morning. How she’d told Jess she’d get pizza.
“I’ll drop you off,” he said. “I really only wanted to see you. We can get the pizza on the way.”
He brought her to the door, where he kissed her obscenely, and it took all her good sense not to bring himinside, or to get back in his car and head over to his place. Because that would just be so easy, unlike everything else that lay before her now: breaking the news to Jess about Natasha and then enduring the weeks—or more—that lay ahead, waiting for her to get over Clayton.Clayton.But duty called, and Jess had been alone all day, so Clara told Ferber she’d call him tomorrow.
—
The apartment was quiet and Jess exactly where Clara had left her, in bed under her covers, although a mountain of used tissue was now piled on her bedside table.
“I’ve got pizza,” said Clara, settling down on the edge of the bed, flipping back the duvet to reveal her friend’s dull eyes.
Jess said, “I thought you might be him.”
“Clayton.”
“Do you think he’s okay?”
“I’m sure he’s fine.” These were the conversations they were going to be having. Clara decided she wouldn’t say anything about Natasha right away. Instead, she and Jess would eat the large meat-lover’s pizza, whose grease had already soaked through the bottom of the box.
Later the phone rang and it was Ferber, “Just calling to say good night, babe.” When Clara got off the phone, Jess looked disgusted. She said, “I guess you can break up with him now.”
Clara tolerated this with silence and three whole days when Ferber stayed away, only coming over again on Tuesday, once Jess had resumed the rituals of basic grooming, the tissues thrown out. News of Natasha had thrown an additional wrench into things, but Jess seemed numb to it. “I’ve met her,” she said, “and she’s not even pretty.”
Clara knew there would be trouble when Ferber reappeared, which was why she hadn’t told Jess he was coming over. Instead, she spent the evening listening for his footsteps at the door and flew downstairs to meet him when he finally arrived.
When Jess asked who it was, Clara replied that it was nothing, because if Ferber and “nothing” were synonymous maybe it was fine. On the doorstep, Clara let him take her into his arms and into a devastating kiss that sent her spinning. Jess was peering over the banister as they came up the stairs. “Oh,” she said. She had been expecting better news. She was still waiting for the phone to ring, for the doorbell to sound, for the message to arrive that Clayton had changed his mind.
But Ferber wasn’t paying attention to Jess. He drifted Clara up to her room to do what he had come to do, for the reason she wanted him. It was nice for Clara not to think about anything for a little while but her body and his, the remarkable ease with which they came together.
And then in the morning came the knock at her door. Clara’s bedroom door had never been closed until she started seeing Ferber, who was softly snoring beside her now. Clara traced her finger along Madeleine’s name, then hauled herself out of bed and threw on a T-shirt and pyjama bottoms.
She encountered her best friend’s face with a start, so white and desperate-looking. It was dark in the stairwell and when the light hit Jess she recoiled, unsteady on the top step. Clara put out her hand, but Jess pushed it away.
“What’shedoing here?” she asked Clara, gesturing into the room, at Ferber. He had shaken off the covers and looked like the kind of person you’d want to sculpt. The fact of his body was undeniable. All the other guys Clarahad been with were skinny, tortured, stretched out in ways that looked painful, with ribs you could count one after another. Before Ferber, she hadn’t known what a body could be.
But this was the problem. Jess didn’t want to see that. Jess didn’t want Ferber to be here at all, which had been the case from the moment he started coming around, but now, in her broken-hearted state, she had no qualms about expressing everything on her mind.
Clara squeezed out onto the landing and shut the door behind her. “Let’s go downstairs.”
Jess sat at the table while Clara filled the kettle. The oak table was covered with a yellow cloth they never laundered, so now it was splattered with tiny islands, stains from red wine and spaghetti sauce. Jess traced her finger around their coasts. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove here.”
Clara put the kettle on.
Jess said, “When he’s over here, you disappear.” She waited another moment. “You’re not saying anything.”
“Would it help if I did?” Clara kept her back to the room, her hand on the kettle lid as the burner started turning red. Outside the window were treetops and rooftops; Clara pretended to be absorbed in these.
Jess said, “What do you mean?”
Clara turned. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m on your side.”
“Then would it hurt you to show it?”
