“Burn,” says Jordan softly. But she doesn’t look ready to give in. She looks like she’s still got important things to say. “What about your daughters? What are they taking from your example?”
Natalie’s eyes widen, dry now, flashing. She’s incredulous. If Jordan brings up that dropped napkin she’s going to lose it. “What are theytaking? I hope they’re taking an example of what a happy family looks like! I hope they’re seeing the power of dedicated, concentrated parenting. I hope they’re seeing love! So one day when they—”
“When they become breeders?”
“Too far,” snaps Natalie. Her blood is nearly boiling.
Jordan concedes with a tip of her head. “Sorry,” she says. “You’re right. Go on.”
For a minute Natalie feels too angry to go on, and then too sad—she blinks at the ceiling the way people do when they’re trying to keep a fresh flow of tears from coming out. “What I’m saying is, of course my daughters can make their own choices. Caspian can make his own too. Like I started to tell you yesterday, my accounts make way more than the farm brings in. I’m actually showing them an example of working motherhood.”
“Go on,” says Jordan.
“It’s really hard to make a profit on a dairy farm. We count on that income. Austin’s family isn’t handing money out all the time. Most of Austin’s family money is in a trust as long as his parents are alive. Does that make a difference to you?”
Jordan thinks about it. A-ha! thinks Natalie. I’ve got her. But then Jordan says, “I think that might be worse, actually.”
“Worse? Why?”
“Because you’re telling women that financial independence doesn’t matter, that they should focus their time and energy on their families, when you’re actually financially independent. Don’t you see what you’re doing?”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“You have a million and a half followers, Natalie. Yes, you are doing something.” Jordan sounds remarkably like their mother used to sound when she scolded them—which wasn’t so often, but it did happen. The time Natalie took the car out by herself when she only had her learner’s permit; Mae’s failing algebra grade in high school; the summer of Simone, when Jordan stayed out all night without checking in. “You know, it’s been more than a century since the first women got the right to vote.”
Natalie bristles at this. “I’m not suggesting women don’t vote, Jordan. God, I’m pretty sure you know me better than that!” She’s so angry she can feel her words coming out like little bullets from her tight pursed lips. But Jordan is angry too, Natalie can see that. Jordan is blinking so rapidly Natalie fears she’ll lose a contact, if she has them in.
“Then what,” Jordan says, “are you suggesting? Please explain it to me.”
“We made a choice that’s right for our family, together, Austin and I did. OfcourseI know what the naysayers say. I know what some of my own friends say, friends who are stressed out all the time and arguing with their spouses over who ‘gets’ to focus on work and who ‘has’ to take care of the kids. But I’m doing what I believe is right. And that actually takes guts.”
“It’s just not how I thought you’d turn out, Natalie. Under someone’s thumb.” Jordan stands as though she’s about to leave the kitchen. Jordan has always been a fan of a grand gesture, of delivering a zinger and departing. But Natalie won’t let her do it, not this time! Why does Jordan get to be so certain, so bulletproof? Why does she get to make the rules?
“What about you, Jordan?”
“What about me?”
“Why aren’t you ever the vulnerable one?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. Why’s it all black-and-white for you, no questions, no equivocation, no doubts about who you are and how you’ve set up your life?”
Of the barbs they’ve been tossing back and forth—tonight, for sure, but also, more quietly, maybe all week—this is the one that hits. Natalie can almost see it land, and when it does Jordan’s eyes fill, then the tears spill over.
“Jordan!” says Natalie, moving to get a box of tissues from thecounter and slide it toward her. “Oh my god, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry! What is it?”
“I’m not certain at all,” says Jordan. “About anything.”
Natalie is an idiot: in the excitement of seeing Simone, in the shock at Mae’s revelation, she had forgotten what Jordan said at the bar:You aren’t the only one with things going on.
Natalie gets them clean glasses and fills them with ice water. She sits beside her sister. “Tell me,” she says. “Tell me, Jordan.”
It was the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, and Jordan was invited to go with Bernadette to a party all the way out in Sagaponack, at the home of a VIP client. We won’t say who. You’d know the name, and, had Bernadette not worked her magic, you’d know a lot of other stuff about this person too.
Jordan was invited as Bernadette’s plus-one. Typically Bernadette’s husband, Jed, would serve as Bernadette’s plus-one, but Jed and the two children (ages nine and seven) were visiting Jed’s parents in South Carolina, as they do twice a year, whether they like it or not. (Bernadette doesn’t like it. Too much downtime, and Jed’s mother gets offended when Bernadette checks her phone during meals.)
Despite these constrictions, Bernadette was supposed to go with the family. Then she got the invitation to Sagaponack. In their business there are some parties you just don’t turn down, no matter who is waiting for you on the golf course at Wild Dunes. So she called Jordan and enlisted her. A car would come for her at three o’clock. Dress for success, Bernadette told her.
