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While Avalon is in the kitchen sneaking a piece of pineapple and a ball of honeydew from the fruit salad, Hollis is fast asleep.
Tatum wakes up at six thirty as usual, even though today she can sleep in instead of pouring Orion’s cereal, setting up his game on the iPad, packing Kyle a lunch, and getting herself ready for work (Saturdays at Irina Services are a special kind of hell). She tries to fall back to sleep but she can’t quite get there. Tatum doesn’t remember the last time she spent an entire night in bed by herself; it might have been when she was in the hospital after having Dylan. She and Kyle are never apart; when they go off-island, they go together. Tatum stretches out like a starfish. It’s nice, but she misses Kyle’s warm body, his morning wood poking her backside, his breath in her hair, the way his hand rests on her hip as they sleep. She rolls over to grab her phone and sees she already has a text from him.
I miss you. How was last night?
Howwaslast night? It was better than Tatum thought it’d be. The music was all the good ’80s stuff and the food was, of course, incredible. The most satisfying part of the evening was that she succeeded in freezing out Dru-Ann exactly the way she’d dreamed of doing for twenty-five years.
When “Take My Breath Away” played, Hollis reached for Tatum’s hand, and they did the dance that they’d choreographed in middle school (and performed any chance they got, including at junior prom, senior banquet, and both of their weddings). They hadn’t done those moves in a long time but they both remembered every step.
Tatum can’t figure out how Gigi fits in. She seems nice, but why did Hollis invite her?
It’s fine,Tatum texts Kyle. She won’t get too complimentary yet; there’s still plenty of time for things to get weird. It’s pretty clear Tatum has far less money than everyone else, though she was pleased to discover that she’s having better sex. She’ll tell Kyle about the orgasm conversation in person—he’llloveit.
What did you guys do last night?she asks.
Went to the Tap Room for steaks. Then drinks at Straight Wharf.
Whaaaaa?Tatum thinks. The Straight Wharf bar is filled with gorgeous twenty-somethings. She can’tbelieveKyle went to the Straight Wharf. Did he pay sixteen bucks for a Goombay Smash or eleven bucks for a Bud Light? Did he get hit on? (He’s fifty-three but he looks ten years younger, the bastard.) If he and Jack wanted a nightcap, why didn’t they just stroll a hundred yards farther down the dock to Cru? Dylan would have given them drinks for free! These petty feelings of jealousy are unfamiliar andveryunpleasant. Why shouldn’t Kyle be allowed to have fun? Heshouldbe allowed is the correct answer, but Tatum would far prefer it if Kyle had stayed home eating microwave popcorn and watching the Red Sox.
Another text comes in from Kyle. She expects it to be an explanation or an apology but it says:Then we went to see Buckle and Shake play at the Gaslight.
Tatum idly fingers the tender spot on her right breast; she presses harder so she can feel the hard little nugget she now knows is either a cyst or a tumor. She replayed the voice mail on her phone before she went to bed, thinking she might hear something new in the doctor’s voice.Do I have cancer or don’t I?
It sounds like Kyle and Jack had a proper Nantucket night out on the town. They went to the Gaslight, a building Tatum hasn’t set foot in since it was the Starlight movie theater and she and Kyle snuck in to see9½ Weeks. Tatum has heard good things about the nightclub—Dylan goes on occasion—but it always seemed too young and fabulous for Tatum and Kyle.
She leans back into the pillows. Sheisn’tthe first Mrs. Albright. She won’t be the kind of wife who tells her husband to start dating while she’s still around, nor will she reassure Kyle that he should find someone once she’s gone. She doesn’t want him to find love again, start over, have a second act. If that’s a character flaw, she’s sorry-not-sorry.
Another text from Kyle comes in:I’m headed out to fix a boiler on Crooked Lane. Jack and I are going for breakfast at Black-Eyed Susan’s around ten. Want to meet us?
“Meeting husband for breakfast” seems against the rules when she’s on a girls’ weekend—but there’s no way Tatum is missing it.Sure thing,she texts back.See you then.At ten, the itinerary saysshopping in town,so Tatum will just slip away for an hour. No one will even notice.
Tatum hears a knock at the front door, and she jumps from bed to peer out the window. There’s a young woman with dirty-blond curls piled on top of her head and a mandala tattoo on her shoulder. She’s bracing a basket of yoga mats against her hip. Tatum scurries back to bed. She has no desire to do yoga today or any day. While the others do their upside-down dog or whatever, Tatum will smoke on the back deck like the rebel she’s always been.
But there’s no movement in the house, no response to the knock, thank God. Tatum closes her eyes. She will sleep in until it’s time to go to town and then she will meet her husband no matter what Hollis and the others think. The fireworks chandelier is cool, but it’s not love.
While Avalon settles onto a stool at Hollis’s kitchen island, wondering if it would be egregiously rude to help herself to a morning bun (yes, it would, she decides, and all the sugar and gluten would interfere with her teaching and most likely give her heartburn), Dru-Ann is kicking around under the covers. Something is wrapped around her leg—yes? No? She’s having a dream? She lifts the sheet and shrieks. There’s a long, thin black thing coiled around her shin. Asnake?She leaps from bed and the snake falls to the ground and lies there. Dru-Ann squints. It’s not moving. It’s rubber.
What the hell?she thinks. Do they call this place the Twist because of surprises like this?
Her heart is beating so fast she doesn’t need the Peloton, but she powers out a forty-five-minute HIIT and Hills ride with Tunde anyway. When Dru-Ann climbs off the bike, dripping with sweat and smellingverystrongly of last night’s tequila, she feels a tiny bit better. She heads out to the kitchenette and grabs a water out of the vintage icebox. Rubber snake aside, the interior of the Twist is a midcentury dreamscape. There’s an angular, tangerine-hued sofa in the living room flanked by two chairs upholstered in wavy olive-and-white stripes. There’s a standing lamp that looks like a birdcage on a wooden tripod; the rug is a cool yellow-and-white geometric pattern, and on the walls are groovy abstract prints. In a little niche in the far wall is a Bakelite turntable over which hangs a framed 45 record. Dru-Ann has no idea why they call it the Twist. Is it a cocktail reference—a twist of lemon or lime? Or maybe it’s called the Twist because you’re expecting more beachy decor but instead you feel like you’re walking onto the set ofThat Girl.It makes Dru-Ann want to wear patio dresses and throw fondue parties.
These thoughts serve as a nice little distraction—but suddenly, Dru-Ann can’t wait another second. She snatches up her phone.
On Twitter, she checks for #TeamDruAnn. Only one person has retweeted her post—Dru-Ann’s assistant, Jayquan. That kid is getting a raise.
There’s a text from JB:Tried calling. Is your phone off? Plz listen to voice mail.There’s also a text from Nick.Finally!Dru-Ann thinks. It has been her rule to keep the upper hand in every romantic relationship, and because of this Dru-Ann Jones can honestly say that at the age of fifty-three, she has never had her heart broken. She’d assumed Nick Wofford cared for her more than she cared for him, but the way she’s been feeling since he said he needed to “hit the brakes” tells her she might be wrong about that.
Nick has two older sons by his (dreadful) first wife, Artice, to whom Nick still pays a seven-figure alimony. The boys, Sean and Declan, work for Nick at his hedge fund, and Nick is a hard-ass with both of them. Posey is the only child from Nick’s second marriage, to a woman named Catherine; she died of ovarian cancer when Posey was eight. Catherine was the love of Nick’s life—she was kind, sweet, and generous. (Saint Catherineis how Dru-Ann always thinks of her.) It makes sense that Nick coddles Posey, but can’t he see that he should have demanded that she honor her obligation to finish the tournament? It wasone round of golf. She could have hopped a plane to Edinburgh as soon as the trophy was in her hot little hands.
What a mess! Dru-Ann can’t believe how this has played out.
She listens to JB’s voice mail first.
“Dru-Ann, the situation is escalating. What possessed you to post that tweet yesterday? Hashtag Team Dru-Ann? Are you serious? It hasblown upand not in the way you intended. Two more clients are dropping you, Sharese Morris and Kendall Hennaker, though Kendall says she’ll stay if you issue an apology. I’ve e-mailed you the statement that Legal drafted. You must sign it today. There’s no other way to get back to good. I think we can lure Linzy back too; I spoke to her mother, who said she was on your side in all of this.” There’s a long pause. “But Linzy’s mother is very much in the minority, Dru-Ann. Your shame is the company’s shame. If you don’t issue the apology today, I’ll be forced to take next steps. Thank you.” There’s another pause. “I hope you listen to this.”
Dru-Ann deletes the voice mail. She won’t be issuing an apology. She has never liked Linzy’s mother but she’s happy to have at least one ally in the world.
She opens the text from Nick, fully expecting an apology and/or a declaration of love. It says:FYI, Phineas just eagled 14 and broke into the top ten.
