Chapter 18

Justine

I didn’t know how to get a job, but I knew how to throw a party. Mark didn’t say anything as I busied myself with throwing a party for Ariel’s birthday. He didn’t mention that we didn’t have money to host a party or that he wasn’t really in the mood to have a houseful of people. Instead he slipped away at odd times, really only smiling if I smiled at him first. I saw the light go out in him, watched it flicker and die. I offered nothing in response, no oxygen for his dying flame. We barely spoke that week, giving each other a wide berth as we passed each other in the hall. Sometimes I made myself reach out and pat his shoulder. He always stopped and closed his eyes when I did.

Here is what I know about throwing a party: I know that lighting matters. Overhead lighting is a no-no. Lamps and candles make everything glow, including faces. Music is a must. I try to pick good background music: piano, acoustic guitar, something like that. Hors d’oeuvres should be easy to eat standing up, preferably in a bite or two. The less formal and stuffy the party feels, the better. A relaxed, informal atmosphere will get guests talking and socializing. Get a good cake, and grown-ups will gather around it and ooohh and ahhh like kids. And finally, don’t let couples hover together. Find a way to split them up.

David had grudgingly gone along with my idea when I caught him in the yard and proposed the party. He always looked at me funny, as though I had said something about him behind his back or kicked his dog when he wasn’t looking. He was a handsome man, and handsome men didn’t usually look at me that way. There was usually more appreciation there. His lack made me work harder, want it more.

That day in the yard I leaned over the fence, knowing that the V-neck of my shirt slipped down as I did. I saw his eyes flicker there and away. But instead of the look of appreciation I was used to seeing from a man, the look in his eyes was different. Not discomfort. Not anger. Not revulsion. It took me a few days to name it, but when I did finally determine what it was, I felt ashamed. David had looked at me with pity. As I told him about the party I wanted to throw, I looked instead at the fence, picking at the peeling white paint with my red nails. Our exchange lasted mere minutes but stayed with me for days.

I worked hard to make the party all it could be, even inviting some friend of hers I didn’t know like David had suggested. I also invited new people from the neighborhood I thought she would like to meet. It was part “welcome to the neighborhood” and part “happy birthday, new friend.” That’s what I told myself. But the truth was, it was a nice diversion from what was happening with Mark and a guaranteed way to be in the same room with Tom again. I wanted to breathe the same air, eat the same food, talk to the same people. Most of all I wanted to feel the way my heart raced whenever he was nearby. It made me feel alive, and alive was good after years of feeling dead. There had been another brief time when I’d felt that way, but that was a long time ago and best forgotten. This was entirely different.

What I had with Tom was real, and it was going somewhere. I thought of each time he had kissed me since that first kiss in the car. Three stolen moments, relived in my mind again and again, savoring the smell of his skin, the intimacy of his mouth on mine, our mingled breath, the softness of his lips. Sometimes when I was sleeping, the memory would wake me. In my dreams I struggled to get to him. Sometimes I sat bolt upright in bed, the longing seizing me like a lightning rod shooting straight through me. I would catch my breath and look beside me at Mark, sleeping away, entirely unaware of the secret thoughts I carried. I would relish standing beside Tom at the party, knowing the scent of his skin from memory, the same scent I had inhaled as I kissed him. More and more I wanted to possess him. More and more stolen moments were not enough, and we both knew it. This … affair … was moving faster than both of us were prepared for.

On the day of the party I went over to Ariel’s with a recipe for play dough for the kids to make. She had no idea about the party, and I relished the thought of seeing the surprise on her face. Whatever David saw, his wife did not. When I knocked on the door, she always looked grateful to see me standing on her doorstep. She welcomed whatever I had to offer in the way of instruction—bread baking, organization tips, a new recipe. When I left her house, I wished just that was enough: that her approval, her friendship, would distract me from wanting Tom. That somehow I would be cured of the disease of adultery just by basking in her unabashed admiration. As much as I wanted to see Tom, I also found I wanted to spend time with her. She made me feel good about myself. When I was around her, I believed I could actually be what she saw in me. I just had to keep her from knowing the truth about what I was doing, or her friendship would be gone. Ariel was a good person. And good people, I had learned, did not tolerate following your heart.

Before I left that day, I offhandedly said something about her birthday, as though I had given it little thought. I saw a flash of disappointment in her face and had to stifle a smile. Later she would understand why I hadn’t come over and made a fuss. Later she and I would giggle about how I had kept her party a secret. Later I would pretend that the party was all about her. And she would believe me. That’s what I loved about her.