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12
Nina threadedher way through the Friday night commuter crowd at Grand Central, her heels clicking against the tile floor. She’d left work early with Moni’s blessing, wanting to freshen up at home before drinks withPeter.
She told herself it didn’t matter. Peter had moved on and so had she, but she couldn’t help wanting to put her best foot forward. At the time of their divorce, Nina had been forty-eight, childless, with only a handful of possessions in the world, owing to the fact that she’d left almost everything behind in the house inLarchmont.
Peter was only a year older than Nina, but where being nearly fifty as a woman seemed to tag her with a big EXPIRED label, Peter only seemed more desirable. With a thriving career, a gorgeous house in the suburbs (designed by Nina), and plenty of time to still have a family (providing he was blessed with a suitably fertile young wife), he seemed no worse for wear after their twenty yearmarriage.
Moving into her tiny apartment in Brooklyn had felt like being put out to pasture. At a time when most of the woman she knew in Larchmont were either ferrying around young children or seeing older ones off to college, Nina had had little to show for the years she’d spent withPeter.
Of course looking back she realized how wrong she’d been. Her move to the city had been the start of a new phase in her life. It had been the beginning of her sexual, intellectual, and emotional awakening from a dream-filled sleep so vivid she hadn’t realized she wasdreaming.
She shuddered to think what would have become of her if she’d stayed in Larchmont with Peter. Would there have been any alternative to becoming even more isolated, less interesting and lessinterested?
She paused outside the Oyster Bar and leaned against the tile wall. Removing the pocket mirror from her clutch, she checked her makeup, glad she’d gone with a subtle polish rather than the full treatment. Her skin looked smooth and even except for the tiny lines at the corners of her mouth when she smiled. She hardly noticed them anymore, and when she did, she didn’t mind them. There were worse things than smiling so hard her eyescrinkled.
She’d gone with a shimmery taupe shadow on her lids and enough eyeliner and mascara to make her eyes pop. Her cheeks were swept with just enough color to bring out the pink in her nearly-nude lipstick, and she’d blown out her hair, letting it fall in waves around her shoulders over the deep green sheath dress she’d chosen to go with her blackstilettos.
She snapped the mirror shut, feeling good about the way she looked. Gone was the Nina in sensible shapeless trousers and boring blouses, the Nina who wore flats every day and didn’t bother to do anything to her hair, not because she genuinely didn’t want to, but because she’d gotten so used to being invisible that the thought of not being invisible terrifiedher.
She was done beinginvisible.
She drew in a breath and continued to the entrance of the Oyster Bar. Nestled inside the enormous mall-like structure that was Grand Central station, the restaurant was a New York City landmark. She scanned the crowd, letting her gaze pass over the tables dressed with red and white tablecloths under tile archways lit with twinkling white lights. Her eyes stopped at a figure sitting at the U-shaped oyster bar at one end of the room, surprisingly informal for such a storied restaurant. The man’s back was facing the crowd, but she would have recognized Peter anywhere — the stretch of his navy suit across shoulders that were broad if not overly muscular, the way his hair, just beginning to gray, curled around his collar at the back of his neck, a sign he was due for a haircut, the posture he took at the bar, leaning forward, as if blocking himself off from people on either side, something he’d done even when the person next to him had beenher.
She made her way across the restaurant and stopped next to him, leaning in so he could see her. “Hey.”
He startled when he looked over at her, blinking as if he were trying to place her face. “Nina…hey!”
She leaned in for an awkward hug and sat down next to him, noting the half-finished gin and tonic in front of him. She’d always hated the smell of gin. “Have you been waitinglong?”
He shook his head, his eyes glued to her face like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Not atall.”
She lifted her hand and the bartender came over. “Vodka martini, twoolives.”
He nodded and went to work making herdrink.
“I haven’t been here in forever,” Nina said, glancingaround.
“Me either.” Peter laughed, and she was surprised to find it grating. “Not since we saw The Book of Mormon Ithink.”
“I think that was it for me too,” shesaid.
The bartender set her drink down and she smiled her thanks, then took adrink.
“Martini,” Peter said. “That’snew.”
She tried to hide her annoyance at the insinuation that her life was “new,” like she was a teenager going through a phase. “It’s been two years. It’s not new tome.”
It came out sharp in spite of her effort, but she didn’t mind. The Nina who had always made nice, who had always worked to be pleasing, not to rock the boat, and above all, to preserve Peter’s fragile ego, was gone, a welcome casualty of theirdivorce.
“I guess not. How have youbeen?”
“I’m good.” She laughed. “Actually, I’mgreat.”
He nodded. “You look great, Neen. Just…amazing.”
After two years of hearing the nickname come from the mouths of people who cared about her, from people who had her back through thick and thin and loved every version of her, she wanted to snatch it away from him, tell him it wasn’t for him anymore. “Thanks. Youtoo.”
She said it even though it wasn’t necessarily true. Peter looked the same way he always looked — like a man stuck in a job that only moderately interested him, his biggest sense of satisfaction coming from his golf game and the ten percent of his salary that he sent to his IRA everypayday.
