Every time they came to the Hamptons, Liam wondered if he should have bought something bigger. The house was huge—twelve thousand square feet—but plenty of people out here had much bigger places. Jay’s place was bigger. Liam had been sharply disappointed when Hana hadn’t even tried to get it in the divorce settlement.
“Do you want me to ask Jack to open up the pool?” he asked Hana. She was lingering at the window, watching the surf crash against the shore.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s too cold to swim. I think I’m going to go for a walk on the beach, though.”
She didn’t invite him to come along, so he bit back the urge to offer his company. Instead, he watched her out the window as she slowly grew smaller and smaller in the distance. It made him feel sick to see her disappear.
Shake it off, he commanded himself. He was determined to use this weekend to do whatever it would take to fix things between them. She’d hardly said a word to him on the drive up, and had obviously been more than eager to get away from him once they were here.
What does she want?
This question used to give him pure pleasure to figure out. In bed, in life...what did Hana want and how quickly could he give it to her? A string of emeralds? A trip to France? For him to go down on her until she couldn’t stop coming? Figuring out her needs and desires had been the happy focus of his life over the past year. But now it was all spoiled. Now she wanted something intangible, something he couldn’t help thinking he didn’t have the capacity to buy.
She was nothing but a pinprick on the beach now, still purposefully striding away. He turned from the window and wandered into the kitchen. I should eat, he thought. But he wasn’t hungry.
I could work. But hiding in his work wasn’t the answer, either.
Maybe I’ll inventory the house.
He did this sometimes. Walked from room to room and made himself take note of every stick of furniture, every piece of art on the walls, every crystal vase and gilded candy dish.
Poltrona Frau Kennedee sofa. Nakashima Milk House coffee table. Chuck Close portrait. Yayoi Kusama pumpkin sculpture. Beni Ourain Berber rug...
There was something soothing about the way his possessions made a nice, neat list in his brain. He used to do the same thing when he was a kid sitting in his room. He’d list all his comic books. Uncanny X-Men, #136, The Amazing Spider-Man, #300... Then he’d list the items on his desk. Swingline Optima Stapler. X-ACTO KS manual pencil sharpener. Three Pee-Chee folders... The clothes in his closet, the books on his shelf, the posters on his wall... But when he was a kid, there was always a separate, but concurrent list of the things he needed or wanted, as well. Winter jacket. Converse without a hole in the toe. New backpack...
Now he could buy whatever he wanted, most things a hundred times over if he cared to. He opened the huge pantry off their kitchen. Brawny paper towels, twenty-four rolls. Jasmine rice, five bags. San Marzano canned tomatoes, an even dozen... It was even better when there were multiple numbers involved.
He loved the feeling of excess. The presence of all these perfect things that made him feel protected and prepared for whatever would come.
But today even the list felt interrupted and jagged in his mind. The neat, ordered calm that he usually achieved eluded him.
Maybe he’d just open a bottle of wine instead, drink until Hana decided to come back home.