“This is unexpected,” Erik said, walking around the house to the patio, the girls hiding behind him. A motion-sensor light flicked on as they passed the sliding glass door, and the yard was suddenly flooded with brightness. “Jesus, what watt bulb is that?” he asked Annabelle, shielding his eyes. He gave me a quick kiss, hand on my back. “What are you guys up to?” But his casual tone didn’t match his stony expression. Clearly, my being there was not, as Annabelle had promised, a good surprise. I felt foolish for letting her talk me into thinking it was. I’d never liked surprises either.
“I had a pitcher of margaritas in need of drinkers,” Annabelle laughed. “Claire was kind enough to oblige.”
“A whole pitcher,” Erik said. “Imagine that.”
Annabelle’s face fell. “Seriously?” she said. “You’re upset?” And then, “Don’t worry. I didn’t reveal any state secrets.” She crouched down, arms open wide to the girls. “I missed you so much! Come give me big hugs!” She sniffed their hair and necks and said, “Yum! You smell like butter.”
“Popcorn!” one of them yelled. The other was staring at me. I couldn’t tell them apart yet, though in time, I’d learn that Phoebe was the yeller; Hazel was the watcher. I smiled at her, and she smiled shyly back. How was I ever going to get used to this? I wondered helplessly. Lucy had been only ten months older than these girls the last time…I pulled in a jagged breath. The girls looked like bumblebees—black-and-white-striped tights, yellow T-shirts.
Look at your bee’s knees!
Annabelle was still crouched down, hand shading her eyes as she squinted in the too-bright light. “Okay, maybe I do have the wrong wattage. I might be blind.” To the girls, she said, “Did you say hello to Claire?” but they just giggled, then burst into peals of laughter. Slowly, she pushed herself up, a twin on each hip. “Holy moly,” she said, “you guys are getting way too heavy.” To Erik, she said, “Spencer just went inside. You want to tuck him in? He’s sleeping in my room until we finish painting.”
“I should get going,” I said.
“Oh, not yet!” Annabelle said. “It won’t take us long to get the kids—” She stopped, looking at Erik, her jaw tensed. “Oh, Lord, what now?” She lowered the girls back down. “What great faux pas have I committed this time?” Before Erik could respond, she added, “We aren’t Hasidic Jews, Erik.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to keep us separate. Honestly. It’s okay to mix the meat and the dairy.”
Despite himself he grinned. “Jesus, where do you come up with this stuff?”
“Well, you’re acting like—”
“Annabelle, stop, okay?” He held up his hand. “I’m not acting like anything. I’m tired; it’s been a long day.”
“Was I supposed to get your permission?” she asked. “You gave me her number.”
“Yes, I did.”
“What, then? You’re practically shooting sparks, you’re so irritated. And you’re making Claire feel badly.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “But I am going to go.”
She leaned forward to hug me—not one of those polite hugs women give one another, but a real hug. And then she spun around and, nudging the girls ahead of her, went inside, not bothering to pull the sliding door shut after her. Immediately, the twins started howling, “But Daddy said he’d read to us,” and I heard her answer tersely, “He will, he will, but only if you stop fussing. He’s just saying good night to Claire.”
“Claire too!” one of them sobbed.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car,” Erik said.
“What was that all about?” I asked as we picked our way across the shaggy grass. “When she said you’d given her my number, I assumed this was what you wanted.”
“I do. Or I did. I just had no idea she meant tonight.”
We were standing at my car, parked at the curb. The dog from next door was barking again. “I really do think she meant well.”
“Oh, I’m sure she did.”
“But?”
When he didn’t answer I said, “I’m confused, Erik. Do you not want me to become friendly with her?”
“Of course I want you to be friendly. It just caught me off guard.” He was staring past me. The street was filled with two-story tract houses, each with a bay window and manicured lawn, lights glowing from front porches. This was Erik’s street for over a decade, I thought. His house.
“Hey.” I reached for his hand.
“Hey, back.” He gave my fingers a quick squeeze, his expression softening. “It just annoys me,” he said. “She can’t stand being left out.”
“That’s sad, though.”
“Do not feel sorry for her.”
In the distance, the sky flashed with lightning, and we both turned and looked. “Did you know it was going to rain?” I asked.
“Just thunderstorms.” He smiled. “You’re worried about your run tomorrow, aren’t you?” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you have a big day?”
I shook my head. I liked that he knew this about me: that I needed to run every morning, especially if I had something important at work. “I just…This unsettles me.” I nodded toward her house, though it wasn’t really Annabelle I was worried about, but his changing reactions—one minute wanting me to like her and in the next breath, almost resenting it. Do not feel sorry for her. I scanned his eyes.
“There’s nothing to be unsettled about,” he said. “I promise.” Another flash of lightning, and this time the growl of thunder. From across the street, we heard someone wheeling their trash can down the drive.
“This has to be hard for her, Erik.” I swallowed. “Seeing the girls excited about a new woman.” Seeing you excited about a new woman.
He nodded, then leaned against the car, arms crossed. He was still staring up at the sky. “I know you’re right,” he said. “I’m probably not being very sensitive.” He turned his gaze back to me. “She just always has to control everything.” He sounded tired more than angry, and I thought of Spencer saying Erik’s voice was the same color as Sundays.
“She told me about not wanting Spencer at first.”
“She did?”
“She wanted to reassure me it was okay if I had a hard time with him. I can’t imagine it, though. I’m falling for your boy already.” How could I explain that he was so much easier for me than the girls, who reminded me too much of Lucy, too much of everything I had lost?
He smiled, but it was what my mom called a Cheshire cat smile, sort of floating separate from his face. “Annabelle blames herself for a lot of Spencer’s issues.”
“What? Why?”
“Because she didn’t bond with him right away.”
“But she knows that’s not how it works, right?”
“Intellectually, yeah. She’d be the first to tell you it’s bullshit. But emotionally…”
“That’s awful, Erik.”
“It is.” He was staring up again, head tilted back as if searching for one particular star. A breeze moved through the trees, the leaves making a swishing sound. “I should go tuck the kids in. Apologize to her, I guess.” He sighed. “Can I call you in a bit, or will you be asleep?” He looked at his watch and smiled. “You do realize it’s almost your bedtime?” He was appalled that I was usually asleep by nine thirty.
“You’re a funny man.” I pushed up on my toes to kiss him. “And yes, you should call, and yes, I will be asleep, but I don’t care.”
By the time I got home, the rain was coming down in sheets. An SUV with Arizona plates, a rental, was parked in our drive. Margaret’s pilot. Inside my house, drenched and cold, I moved through the rooms, toweling off my hair, checking that the alarm was set for morning, then wandering down the long hall to the kitchen. I hadn’t eaten dinner and stared into the refrigerator, suddenly ravenous. I ate a yogurt standing up, a handful of Triscuits from the box.
Later, waiting for water to boil for hot chocolate, I felt how bare the room looked, the counters gleaming, no photographs or magnets on the refrigerator. I pictured Annabelle’s kitchen with its drawings taped to the fridge, the whiteboard by the table, laundry piled on a chair. In the doorway to my living room, I took in the vacuumed rug and carefully arranged throw pillows, the wicker basket filled with magazines, the coffee table empty, and I felt how unlived-in my home looked, like something from a furniture showroom.
After Erik called, I lay awake, listening to the patter of rain against the windows, now and then hearing Margaret’s laugh, a man’s deep baritone through the thin connecting wall.