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“I know it was torture for May and Dan when he was in New Jersey and she was still here,” Nancy said. “Even with the Skyping and all that, it puts a real strain on the relationship.”
Ben peeled a carrot with vicious strokes.
Nancy cleared her throat and said in a quieter voice, “Can I ask you something personal? It’s about May.”
“Sure.”
Please, let this not be a sex question.
“Did she seem happy to you? Before … you know. Before last week?”
Uncertain what Nancy wanted to hear, Ben settled on, “There were some signs.”
Let her read into that what she wanted.
“I was afraid of that.”
She cocked her head, listening. Allie and May were engaged in a heated discussion about how many daisies each centerpiece had to have.
Satisfied, Nancy continued, “I thought she might have a hard time adjusting to the pace of life in New Jersey. Because May—how can I put this? You know, going back to the art for a second, my friend Andrea, her daughter does marketing for the Art Institute in Chicago. She says the most successful artists? Their whole lives are part of the art. Their clothes, the way they talk, who they hang around with. And when May was in school and she thought she wanted to be an artist, I always worried, What would May have to say to people like that? She’s so … well, we’re just not like that around here. You know what I mean?”
He knew what she meant. She meant that she loved her daughter, but she didn’t see her.
She meant that she thought May wasn’t special enough, wasn’t interesting enough, to do anything but settle for what life brought her.
“That’s why we were all so surprised at first about Dan,” Nancy said. “I mean, can you imagine? This NFL quarterback, and he wants to go out with May? But after a while, I came to see that they work together because of how May is. What he loves about her is everything that was missing in his life—her peacefulness, and that he can count on her to always be there, to always listen. And he brings her that larger-than-life quality that she might never have found otherwise. He tells her stories from
his road trips, and for May, it’s as good as having traveled with him.”
Ben watched the peeler travel down the length of the carrot, stripping off its skin. He felt as though Nancy were stripping off his own.
Slice, and all his good intentions dropped into a wet, twisted pile.
Slice, and his ability to pretend he was here for May’s good and no other reason dropped into a heap on the countertop.
Slice, and his hope that he’d moved past anger—that he was learning something, getting somewhere—fell away.
He was angry with Nancy for being so clueless about May.
He was angry with May for being so quiet all morning, for letting her sister lie about him, for pretending they were nothing to each other. He wanted her to climb on top of the dining room table, phone in hand and her entire family as witnesses, and call Dan to publicly end this fucking charade.
He was angry with himself for being here, and for being stupid enough to think he could bring May into his life for a few days and then release his grip on her.
His fingers ached from how badly he wanted to grip her.
This craving he felt for May—this painful, bitter empathy that swamped him when he saw how her family was, how her sister outshone her, how her mom underestimated her—it hurt in his joints. In his heart. It hurt him all over, and that made him angry.
“And he takes care of her, too,” Nancy was saying. “He paid off her mortgage so she could visit us anytime and always have her own place to stay. When they have children—”
She stopped suddenly, and Ben looked up from the carrots, certain that the game was up. That she’d seen it all on his face. He knew it was there—in his eyes, his mouth—because he couldn’t remember ever feeling quite this exposed.
Not since the last time he’d been home.
Fucking Wisconsin.
The thought twisted his mouth into a sardonic smile, and Nancy smiled back, though he could see her heart wasn’t in it. “I’d meant for you to dice those.” She gestured at the pile in front of him. He’d shaved the carrot down to a pencil. “But that’s pretty, too.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I got distracted.”
