Then
Thursday, June 10
Brooklyn, New York
George thinks that everything in the world has a price,” I said. “And you just have to find it.”
Willa and I were walking the loop that circled the park, and Alex was comfy in his stroller, eyelids heavy, finger twirling the hair at the nape of his neck like he did when he was about to drift off, while little Jack zoomed ahead on his scooter, Willa’s eyes trained on him. It was a sunny day in early June, and we’d spent the last hour at the playground, watching the kids battle dump trucks in the sandbox. The place had been hopping, in that way Brooklyn playgrounds are when the weather’s nice. It was a microcosm of the world we moved in: working moms and dads on their phones, surrounded by bubble machines, scooters, and sidewalk chalk. The stay-at-homes—all friends—with their wooden toys, organic blueberries, and yoga wear. The nannies doing their own thing, camped out in a corner with the toddler potties set out, Caribbean accents thick, and the kids with them much better-behaved than the ones with their parents.
“Why am I not surprised?” Willa said matter-of-factly. She glanced behind us, then tugged her designer trench tighter and called up ahead at Jack to slow down, a peloton of cyclists zooming by us.
I spotted a bit of dog poop right in Willa’s path, and I grabbed her elbow, pulling her quickly out of the way.
“You’re the best, Mary,” she said. “Really. Miss Eagle Eyes. These shoes are new, too.” She gestured to her pristine white Reeboks. “And I never look where I’m going, do I?”
Willa was always beelining straight for a pothole or a piece of errant trash. It wasn’t the first time I’d redirected her path. “No, you don’t,” I laughed. “Not unless it’s a safety thing, like helping Jack cross the street.”
“Well, that’s why I have you.” Willa picked up the pace then, and I pushed the stroller faster to match her. “How old is George, by the way?” she asked.
“Forty-two,” I said. “Why?”
“I think that mindset is always there for rich kids, but it really sets in when they hit their forties.”
“Probably,” I said. Willa had a way of cutting straight to the point, something I’d come to love about her. “It certainly hasn’t gotten better these last couple years.”
It had gotten much worse, in fact, because now he thought I was someone he could buy, too. The price? Alex.
You think I’m going to let you raise my son in some shit-box apartment? George had texted, only the day before. Unless you come back, you lose him.
I wondered if George really could do what he’d threatened, if there could be a world where I’d only see my son a couple times a month, where George and his family raised him fully in their world, a mini little Haywood boy, with everything that brings.
“It’s not just George. Jack Senior thinks the same, you know,” Willa said now. “Anyone who grew up that way does. It’s how they’re taught. Make an offer, counter, go round and round—eventually anyone will sell you anything, right? It’s all one big transaction.”
“How do you deal with it?” I asked, maybe a bit earnestly.
Willa’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well, you see, Mary, I can’t be bought. Can you?”
I looked down at Alex, whose eyes were wide open now, gazing up at the gray sky, the limbs of trees that arced over this loop like canopies. His own eyes were gray, like George’s, not mine. I briefly wondered whether there was any chance, however small, that Alex would remember this conversation, his almost-two-year-old mind somehow logging the trauma, trotting it out on a therapist’s couch one day.
“I don’t want to be bought,” I said, looking briefly at Willa, whose hair was freshly trimmed and whose skin looked clear and glowing, whereas mine was shiny and sticky from the heat. I wished I could have her confidence, a natural spring in my step, could go through the world not worried about potholes or dog shit in my path—just go. But that had never been me. And I think George had known that; manipulated it, even.
“You never told me what exactly he did that made you leave,” Willa said. “I mean, besides being a rich, entitled dude. But that comes with benefits, of course.” She adjusted her trench with bravado.
I looked up at the road in front of us, which was winding along one of the park’s prettiest meadows, towering old turn-of-the-century co-op buildings standing proud and graceful on the other side. “It wasn’t one thing, it was . . . it was a lot of things . . .”
“Jack,” Willa called ahead. “Still too fast. Wait for us. No more speed demon.”
Jack stomped his foot, but after a bit more prodding from Willa, he let us catch up to him, resigned. He always listened to her in the end; a marvel, really. She placed a hand on the handle of his scooter, preventing him from barreling ahead.
Beneath me, Alex’s lids fully closed. He would be asleep for as long as I kept the stroller moving.
Willa turned to me, picking up right where she’d left off. “What things, then? Affairs?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
“Then what?” she asked. “You can tell me, you know.”
My lips parted, and so badly I wanted to unburden myself, but the kids were right there, and around us, people were having such normal conversations.
“It might even feel better to get it off your chest,” Willa went on. “There’s no shame in it, whatever it is.”
“I know,” I said. “Just not here.”
“Gotta buy you a drink first,” Willa said, one eyebrow raised.
“Definitely,” I said with a laugh. “Maybe even two.”
“Sunday again?” Willa asked. “I’ll liquor you up and extract every last juicy detail?”
“Yes to drinks,” I said with a smirk. “But we’ll see whether I spill.”
I was about to say something else when Jack pushed Willa’s hand away and plowed forward on his scooter, a bat out of hell.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”
It took me a moment to see who Jack was talking to; you can’t call “Daddy” in the park without at least a few men turning their heads.
Then there he was, eyes lit up, running our way, sweat creating beads against the sort of tanned, almost-leathery skin you so often see among white men on the other side of forty. His hair—all silver—was short, close-cropped, but thick and full, and his eyes were large, dark brown. So this was the man who had won Willa’s heart. He was gorgeous, with a raw, powerful energy. Someone who was bound to turn more than one woman’s head.
“Baby,” he said, slowing his run to a walk and taking a few strides to the side of the loop, so we wouldn’t block others. He pulled out an earbud as Jack Junior ran into his arms. I dodged more oncoming joggers to park my stroller near the three of them.
“Look at all your daddy’s lovely sweat,” Willa said, laughter in her words. “Jack-Jack, you’re going to need two baths today.”
Jack Senior set his son down and leaned toward Willa. “Hi, other baby.”
He was tall, had to be more than six feet, and he had to stoop down to meet Willa’s petite frame. He was clad in runner’s shorts, showing off toned, tan legs, a 5K T-shirt, and an armband that held his phone. He leaned in for a kiss, one that lingered, right there, in front of his son, in front of the runners and cyclists and mundanity of Prospect Park.
I found myself actually counting—three full seconds until they broke apart—and gut-aching with bitter, ugly jealousy, I wondered when I’d ever be kissed like that again, now that I’d made up my mind to leave George. For a brief wild second, I imagined Jack kissing me instead.
When he pulled back, he tucked his earbud in his pocket and extended a hand toward me. “Jack,” he said. He took my hand, sending a little shock wave up my arm, his handshake strong and firm, his hand clean and dry in spite of the sweat on the rest of his body.
“Mary.”
Willa jumped in as soon as he let go of my hand. “Don’t let us interrupt your run. Besides, we’re deep into girl talk.”
“And a nap, I see,” he said, nodding to Alex.
“Jack here wore him out.”
He raised an eyebrow. “He wears everyone out.” Then he smiled, reached toward Willa again, squeezed her bare arm. “Except Willa here.”
I laughed. “I guess us mothers are used to it.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Willa gave him a playful shove.
“Baby,” she said. “You better get back to your run. It really is girl time for us, and you know how seriously I take that. You’re encroaching.”
“Point taken,” he said, breaking into a smile. Then he looked straight at me. “Wouldn’t want to make Willa mad.”
He kicked up his feet and kept on running, Jack Junior calling “Bye, Daddy” until we couldn’t see him anymore.