The Wife Between Us by Greer Hendricks, Sarah Pekkanen (7)

Nellie was late, again.

She felt perpetually a beat behind these days, groggy from her relentless insomnia and jittery from the extra coffee she drank to offset it. It seemed as if she was always trying to cram in one more thing. Take this afternoon: Richard had suggested they drive back to their new home as soon as preschool ended to meet the contractor who was building a patio off the English basement.

“You can pick the color of the stones,” Richard had said.

“They come in shades other than gray?”

He laughed, not realizing she was serious.

She agreed, feeling guilty about cutting short their first trip to see the house. That meant canceling the blowout she’d been planning to splurge on with Samantha in preparation for the bachelorette party Sam was throwing her that evening, though. Her friends from both the Learning Ladder and Gibson’s were attending—one of the few times Nellie’s divergent worlds would collide. Sorry! Nellie had texted Sam, hesitated, then added, Last minute wedding errand . . .

She couldn’t think of a way to explain it that wouldn’t make it look as if she was choosing her fiancé over her best friend.

“I just have to be home by six to get ready for the party,” she’d told Richard. “We’re meeting everyone at the restaurant at seven.”

“Always with the curfew, Cinderella,” he’d said, lightly kissing the tip of her nose. “Don’t worry, you won’t be late.”

But they had been. Traffic was awful, and Nellie didn’t walk into her apartment until close to six-thirty. She knocked on Sam’s door, but her roommate had already left.

She stood there for a moment, taking in the white Christmas lights Samantha had wound through the slats of her bed’s headboard, and the fuzzy green-and-blue rug the two of them had found rolled up by the curb of a posh apartment building on Fifth Avenue. “Is someone actually throwing this out?” Samantha had asked. “Rich people are nuts. It still has a price tag on it!” They’d lifted it onto their shoulders and carried it home, and when they passed a cute guy waiting to cross the street, Sam winked at Nellie, then deliberately turned so the end of the carpet swung into his chest. Sam ended up dating him for two months; it was one of her longer relationships.

Nellie had thirty minutes to make it to the restaurant, which meant she’d have to skip a shower. Still, she poured a half glass of wine to sip while she got ready—not the expensive stuff Richard always ordered for her, but she couldn’t really taste the difference anyway—and cranked up Beyoncé.

She splashed cold water on her face, then smoothed on tinted moisturizer and began to line her green eyes with a smoky-gray pencil. Their bathroom was so small that Nellie was forever banging into the sink or the edge of the door, and every time she opened the medicine cabinet, a tube of Crest or can of hair spray tumbled out. She hadn’t taken a bath in years; the apartment had only a tiny shower stall that barely afforded her enough room to bend over to shave her legs.

In the new home, the master bath’s shower featured a bench and a rain-forest spray nozzle. Plus, that Jacuzzi.

Nellie tried to imagine soaking in it, after a long day spent . . . doing what? Gardening in the backyard, maybe, and putting together dinner for Richard.

Did Richard realize that she’d drowned the only houseplant she’d ever owned, and that her cooking repertoire was limited to heating up Lean Cuisines?

As they headed back to the city, she’d stared out the window of the car, taking in the scenery. There was no denying her new neighborhood’s beauty: the grand houses, the blossoming trees, the pristine sidewalks. Not a single piece of litter marred the smoothly paved roads. Even the grass seemed greener than in the city.

As they’d exited and passed the guard’s station, Richard had given the uniformed man a little wave. Nellie had seen the name of the development on an arched sign, the letters thick and ornate: CROSSWINDS.

Of course, she’d still commute into Manhattan every day with Richard. She’d have the best of both worlds. She’d meet Sam for happy hours and drop by Gibson’s to grab a burger at the bar and see how Chris’s novel was progressing.

She’d turned around to peer through the rear windshield. She hadn’t seen even one person walking down the sidewalk. No cars had been in motion. She could have been staring at a photograph.

But if she got pregnant soon after the wedding, she probably wouldn’t return to the Learning Ladder in the fall, she’d thought as she watched her new neighborhood recede in the distance. It would be irresponsible to leave the children mid-year. With Richard traveling every week or two, she’d be alone in the house so much of the time.

Maybe it would make sense to wait a few months before she went off her birth control pills. She could teach for another year.

She’d looked at Richard’s profile, taking in his straight nose, his strong chin, the slim, silvery scar above his right eye. He’d gotten it when he was eight and tumbled over the handlebars of his bike, he’d told her. Richard had one hand low on the wheel and the other reaching for the radio’s button.

“So, I—” she began, just as he turned on WQXR, his favorite classical station.

“This piece by Ravel is wonderful,” he said, increasing the volume. “You know, he composed a smaller body of work than most of his contemporaries, but many regard him as one of France’s greatest.”

She nodded. Her words were lost in the opening notes of the music, but maybe it was just as well. It wasn’t the time for this conversation.

As the piano reached a crescendo, Richard pulled up at a stoplight and turned to her. “Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s . . . lovely.” She needed to learn about classical music and wine, she decided. Richard had strong opinions on both, and she wanted to be able to discuss the subjects knowledgeably with him.

“Ravel believed that music should be emotional first and intellectual second,” he’d said. “What do you think?”

That was the problem, she realized now as she dug through her purse, searching for her favorite Clinique soft-pink lip gloss. She gave up—she hadn’t been able to find it the last time she’d looked, either—and put on a peachy shade instead. Intellectually, she knew the changes ahead were wonderful. Enviable, even. But emotionally, it all felt a little overwhelming.

She thought of the dollhouse in her classroom, the one Jonah’s parents wanted to replace with a tepee. Her students loved to rearrange the furniture in the darling little home, then move the dolls from room to room, positioning them in front of the fake fireplace, folding them into chairs around the table, and laying them down to sleep in their narrow wooden beds.

The idea invaded her mind like a school-yard taunt from a bully: Dollhouse Nellie.

Nellie took a gulp of wine and opened her closet door, pushing aside the wrap dress she’d been planning to wear and pulling out a pair of fitted black leather pants she’d bought on sale at Bloomingdale’s when she’d first come to New York. She winced as she sucked in her stomach to pull up the zipper. They’ll stretch, she assured herself. Still she partnered the pants with a low-cut, loose-fitting tank in case she needed to release the top button later.

She wondered if she would wear either of the items ever again. She imagined Dollhouse Nellie with a sensible bob dressed in khakis, a cashmere cable-knit sweater, and brown suede loafers as she held out a tray of cupcakes.

Never, she promised herself, digging around for her black high heels and finally finding them under her bed. She and Richard would have a houseful of children, and the elegant rooms would be softened by laughter and pillow forts and little shoes piled in baskets by the front door. They’d play Candy Land and Monopoly by the fire. They’d take family ski trips—Nellie had never skied, but Richard had promised to teach her. A few decades from now, she and Richard would sit side by side on the porch swing, linked by their happy memories.

In the meantime, she’d definitely bring along her own artwork to adorn the walls. She had several original commissions by her preschoolers, including Jonah’s marshmallow-woman portrait of her and Tyler’s cerebral painting aptly titled Blue on White.

She finished getting ready ten minutes after she should have left. She started to exit the apartment, then turned back and grabbed two ropes of colorful beads hanging on a hook by the front door. She and Samantha had each bought a strand at a Village street fair a few years ago. They called them their happy beads.

She slipped one of them around her neck, then scanned the street for a cab.

“Sorry, sorry,” Nellie called as she hurried toward the women sitting at the long rectangular table. Her Learning Ladder colleagues lined one side, and her Gibson’s coworkers the other. But Nellie could see a cluster of shot glasses, as well as glasses of wine in front of everyone, and all of the women seemed comfortable. She circled the table, giving each of her friends a hug.

When she reached Sam, she looped the beads around her roommate’s neck. Sam looked gorgeous; she must have gone for the blowout alone.

“Drink first, talk second,” instructed Josie, one of her waitress pals, handing Nellie a shot of tequila.

She tossed it back neatly, earning cheers.

“And now it’s my turn to give you something to put on.” Samantha glided a comb fixed to a giant glitter-and-tulle veil through the crown of Nellie’s hair.

Nellie laughed. “Subtle.”

“What do you expect when you ask a preschool teacher to be in charge of the veil?” asked Marnie.

“So what did you have to do today?” asked Samantha

Nellie opened her mouth to speak, then looked around. The other women all worked at low-paying jobs, yet they were splurging at a restaurant famous for its wood-burning-stove pizzas. Nellie could also see a pile of gifts on the empty chair at the end of the table. She knew Sam was searching for a new roommate because she couldn’t afford the rent on her own. Suddenly, the last thing Nellie felt like talking about was her showplace of a house. Besides, it hadn’t technically been a wedding errand. Maybe Sam wouldn’t understand.

“Nothing exciting,” Nellie said lightly. “Is it time for another shot?”

Samantha laughed and signaled the waiter.

“Has he told you where you’re going for the honeymoon yet?” Marnie asked.

Nellie shook her head, wishing the waiter would hurry up with the fresh round of tequila. The problem was, Richard wanted to keep the destination a surprise. “Buy a new bikini” was all he’d say when she begged for a hint. What if Richard was taking her to a beach in Thailand? She couldn’t endure twelve hours on a plane; even the thought made her heart pound.

In the past weeks, in two of her unsettling dreams, she’d been trapped aboard turbulent flights. In the latest one, a panicked attendant had raced down the aisle, yelling for everyone to tuck themselves into the crash position. The images were so vivid—the attendant’s wide eyes, the bouncing jet, the thick roiling clouds outside her tiny window—that Nellie had awoken gasping.

“A stress dream,” Sam had said the next morning as she applied mascara in their tiny bathroom and Nellie reached over her to grab her body lotion. Sam, always the therapist’s daughter, loved analyzing her friends. “What are you anxious about?”

“Nothing. Well, flying, obviously.”

“Not the wedding? Because I’m thinking the flying is a metaphor.”

“Sorry, Sigmund, but this cigar is just a cigar.”

A fresh shot of tequila appeared in front of Nellie and she downed it gratefully.

Sam caught her eye across the table and smiled. “Tequila. It’s always the answer.”

The next line in their routine sprang from Nellie’s lips instantly: “Even if there isn’t a question.”

“Let me get another look at that rock.” Josie grabbed Nellie’s hand. “Does Richard have a hot, rich brother? Just, you know, asking for a friend.”

Nellie pulled her hand back, hiding the three-carat diamond under the table—she always felt uncomfortable when her friends made a fuss over it—then laughed. “Sorry, only an older sister.”

Maureen was coming to New York for the summer, as she had in past years, to teach a six-week course at Columbia. Nellie was finally going to meet her in a couple days.

An hour later, the waiter had cleared their plates and Nellie was opening her presents.

“This one’s from Marnie and me,” said Donna, an assistant 4s teacher, handing Nellie a silver box with a bright red bow. Nellie pulled out a black silk teddy as Josie released a wolf whistle. Nellie held it up against her body, hoping it would fit.

“Is that for her or Richard?” asked Sam.

“It’s gorgeous. I’m sensing a sexy-night theme here, ladies.” Nellie laid it next to the Jo Malone perfume, position-of-the-day playing cards, and body-massage candles she’d already unwrapped.

“Last but not least.” Sam handed Nellie a gift bag containing a silver picture frame. Inside was a thick piece of ecru paper and a poem printed in italics. “You can take the paper out and put in a wedding photo.”

Nellie began to read aloud:

Nellie could barely finish the poem. It brought her back to her early days in the city, when she’d been desperate to put distance between herself and all that had happened in Florida. She’d traded palm trees for pavement, and a loud, busy sorority house for an impersonal apartment building. Everything was different. Except the memories had followed her across the miles, draping around her like a heavy cloak.

If it hadn’t been for Sam, she might not have stayed. She could still be running, still trying to find a place that felt safe. Nellie leaned over the table and gave her roommate a tight hug, then wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Sam. I love it.” She paused. “Thanks to all of you. I’m going to miss you. And . . .”

“Oh, stop, don’t get sappy. You’ll only be a train ride away. We’ll see you all the time. Only now you’ll always pick up the tab,” said Josie.

Nellie let out a small laugh.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Samantha pushed back her chair. “The Killer Angels are playing at Ludlow Street. Let’s go dance.”

Nellie hadn’t smoked a cigarette since her last year of college, but now, three Marlboro Lights, three tequila shots, and two glasses of wine later, she had been dancing for hours and could feel a trickle of sweat running down her back. Maybe leather pants hadn’t been the wisest choice. Across the room, a cute bartender was wearing Samantha’s veil and flirting with Marnie.

“I almost forgot how much I love to dance,” Nellie shouted over the pulsing music.

“And I almost forgot what a terrible dancer you are,” shouted back Josie.

Nellie laughed. “I’m enthusiastic!” she protested. She lifted her arms over her head and did an exaggerated shimmy before spinning around in a circle. Halfway through her spin, she froze.

“Heya, Nick,” Josie said as a tall, slim guy in a faded Rolling Stones concert, circa 1979, T-shirt and dark wash jeans walked up to them.

“What are you doing here?” Nellie asked, belatedly realizing her arms were still above her head. She pulled them down and folded them across her chest, aware of how her damp tank top was clinging to her body.

“Josie invited me. I moved back a few weeks ago.”

Nellie glared at her friend, and Josie made a mock-innocent face and shrugged, then melted away in the crowd.

Nick had waited tables alongside Nellie for a year, until he moved to Seattle with his band. Slick Nick, they’d all called him, although a few heartbroken women in his wake had modified it to Nick the Prick. He was the hottest guy Nellie had ever dated—although “dated” wasn’t an accurate description of their encounters, since most took place in a bedroom.

Nick’s black hair was shorter now, emphasizing his sharp cheekbones. Any one of his features—his blunt nose, his heavy eyebrows, his wide mouth—might have been overpowering alone, but together, they all worked. They worked even better than Nellie had remembered.

“I can’t believe you’re engaged. It seems like we were just hanging out. . . .” He reached over and slowly ran his hand up her bare arm.

Her body responded instantly, even though she pulled her arm away and took a step back.

How predictable that Nick was interested in her again now that she was taken. He’d stopped answering her texts about two minutes after he left the city. He’d always liked a challenge.

“Happily engaged. The wedding is next month.”

Nick’s heavy-lidded eyes appeared amused. “You don’t look like someone who’s about to get married.”

“What does that mean?”

Someone bumped into her from behind, pushing her closer to Nick. He curved an arm around her waist. “You look hot,” he said softly, his lips so close to her ear that the dark stubble on his chin tickled her skin. “The girls in Seattle don’t compare to you.”

She felt a tug in her lower stomach.

“I’ve missed you. Missed us.” His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt to rest against her lower back. “Remember that rainy Sunday when we stayed in bed all day?”

He smelled like whiskey and she could feel the heat of his taut body through his T-shirt.

The pulsing music and heat of the crowded room made her feel dizzy. A strand of her hair fell into her eyes and Nick smoothed it away.

He bent his head slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “One last kiss? For old times’ sake?”

Nellie arched her back to look up at him and offered him her cheek.

He gently cupped her chin, turned her mouth toward his, and kissed her softly. His tongue grazed her lips and she parted them. He pulled her tightly against him and she let out an involuntary groan.

She hated to admit it even to herself, but although sex with Richard was always good, with Nick, it had been great.

“I can’t.” She pushed him away, breathing harder than when she’d been dancing.

“C’mon, baby.”

She shook her head and walked toward the bar, squeezing between people and flinching as a man’s elbow bumped into her right temple. She stumbled over someone’s foot.

Eventually, she reached Marnie, who flung an arm around her shoulders. “Tequila time?”

Nellie winced. She’d been so busy talking at dinner that she’d only eaten one slice of pizza, and she’d had just a salad for lunch. She felt a little nauseous, and her feet ached from dancing in heels. “Water first.” Her cheeks were burning and she fanned herself with one hand. The bartender nodded, his veil bobbing, and began to fill a tall glass from a spigot.

“Did Richard find you?” Marnie asked.

“What?”

“He’s here. I told him you were dancing.”

Nellie whipped around, scanning the surrounding faces before she finally spotted him across the room.

“Be right back,” she said to Marnie, who was leaning over the bar, clinking a shot glass with the bartender.

“Richard!” Nellie called out. She hurried toward him, slipping on the sticky floor just as she reached him.

“Whoa.” He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Someone’s had a lot to drink.”

“What are you doing here?”

A purple light washed across his face as the band launched into a new song. Nellie couldn’t read Richard’s expression.

“I’m leaving.” He let go of her arm. “Are you coming with me?” He’d seen. She knew by the way he held himself; his body was still, but she could sense energy churning within him.

“Yes. Let me just say good-bye. . . .” She’d last noticed Sam and Josie on the dance floor, but now she couldn’t spot them anywhere.

She glanced back toward Richard and saw he was already headed for the exit. She ran to catch up with him.

He didn’t speak once they were outside—not even after he’d hailed a cab and given the address of his apartment.

“That guy—I used to work with him.”

Richard stared straight ahead so that she was looking at his profile, just as she had on the drive only a few hours earlier. But then his hand had been resting on her thigh; now he sat with his arms folded rigidly across his chest.

“Do you greet all your former colleagues with such enthusiasm?” Richard’s tone was so formal it chilled her.

Nausea rose in her gut as the cabdriver lurched through traffic. She put a hand over her stomach, then pushed the button to roll down her window a few inches. The wind whipped at her hair, slapping it across her cheek.

“Richard, I pushed him away. . . . I didn’t . . .”

He turned and faced her. “You didn’t what?” he asked, enunciating every word again.

“Think,” she whispered. She’d been wrong: He wasn’t furious. He was hurt. “I am so sorry. I walked away from him and I was about to call you.”

That part was a lie, but Richard would never know.

Finally, his face softened. “I could forgive you for just about anything.” She began to reach for his hand. His next words stopped her: “But do not ever cheat on me.”

Even when he’d been on contentious business calls, she’d never heard him sound so absolute.

“I promise,” she whispered. Tears sprang to her eyes. Richard had picked out an exquisite home for her. He’d sent her an email earlier that day asking if she thought their guests would like passed hors d’oeuvres or a buffet at the cocktail reception between the wedding ceremony and the dinner. Or both? he’d written. He’d worried when she hadn’t answered his text—he knew she wouldn’t feel secure entering her dark apartment alone late at night. So he’d come to find her and make sure she was safe.

And in response she’d kissed Nick, who’d dated half the women at Gibson’s and who probably couldn’t remember her last name.

Why had she risked so much?

She wanted to marry Richard; this wasn’t cold feet.

But Nick had been unfinished business. In spite of his practiced charm, Nellie knew Nick had a tender side. She’d heard him at Gibson’s talking on the phone to his grandmother. He hadn’t known Nellie was rolling silverware into napkins just around the corner. He’d promised to bring his nana chocolate-chip cannoli and watch Wheel of Fortune with her the next night.

Nick was also the first man she’d slept with since leaving college. She’d stopped thinking about him even before she met Richard. But when Nick had leaned toward her on the dance floor, she’d relished that glorious moment of knowing how much he wanted her. Of feeling the power shift into her hands.

She wished it was as simple as blaming it on the shots. The truth wasn’t pretty.

For a brief, rebellious moment, she’d embraced spontaneity over steadiness. She’d wanted one last taste of the city before she settled into the suburbs.

“I’m so glad you came and got me,” she said, and at last she felt Richard’s arm wrap around her.

She drew in a deep breath.

She’d always regret certain decisions in her life, but choosing Richard would never be one of them.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning her head against his chest. She heard his steady heartbeat, the one that lulled her to sleep when nothing else could.

She’d had the sense for a while now that a deep pain was in his past, one he held so closely he hadn’t yet shared it with her. Perhaps it had to do with his ex, or maybe his heart had been broken even earlier.

“I won’t ever do anything to hurt you.” She knew that even on their wedding day, she’d never make a more sacred vow.