Elinor bursts into laughter at the thought of the pea sliding inside the body cast. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s got to tickle or itch. Can you imagine?” She covers her mouth, unable to stop laughing.
Noah frowns. “It was an accident.”
“I know,” Elinor says. “That’s what’s so ironic and funny about it.”
Noah looks hurt. The more hurt he looks, the more Elinor can’t quit laughing. She has to cover her face with her hands and turn away. When she finally turns back to him, he has that same blank, hurt look, a look she finds irresistible. She takes his face in her hands.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know that must have been hard.” She moves closer and rubs her finger against his bristly mustache.
To Elinor’s surprise, Noah bites her finger, closes one eye, and smiles, a broad, mischievous pirate grin that makes her think maybe there’s another side to him beyond the mind-numbing details of acacia trees. In one deliberate motion Noah scoops Elinor out of her chair, twirls her into the family room, and lays her on the carpet.
“All I wanted was a tree!” she shouts.
“I’ll get you one,” Noah shouts back.
He kneels beside her, studying her for a moment. They look at each other the way you might examine a painting in a museum, taking in all the details. Elinor reaches to cup her hands behind his neck, pulling him down to kiss her.
When you’re married, you don’t get to roll around on the living room floor at ten thirty in the morning making out with the city tree surgeon. Ah, but Elinor is married. So this is what an affair feels like? Lying dizzy on your back, seeing the unfinished underside of your coffee table for the first time? How can it be that she’s never kissed a man with a mustache before? It’s thick and bristly against her mouth, like a vegetable brush. She likes the heat and weight of Noah’s body hovering over hers. Noah sweeps her hair out of her eyes and kisses each of her brows, the mustache tickling her forehead. Then he pushes her T-shirt up over her belly and plants kisses between her ribs. Elinor sighs and closes her eyes.
“You’re lovely,” Noah whispers, lifting his head to kiss her on the mouth. This kiss is deeper and warmer and saltier. But the word lovely spins in Elinor’s head. Isn’t lovely just short of pretty? Three rungs below beautiful? Grandmothers are lovely. She should just relax and ulp—Noah’s hand, large and pleasingly rough, massages her breasts. This is better than coffee under a tree.
Noah’s cell phone rings. He groans and rolls over to check his watch. “Damn,” he whispers. “I was supposed to be at another house twenty minutes ago.”
“That’s okay.” Elinor is relieved. This will do for now. She needs to take a shower, for one thing.
She stands and readjusts her bra and shirt. “That was fun.”
“Then I take it it’s all right if I call you?”
“You have the number.”
“Don’t worry about the tree for now,” Noah tells her, rushing to put on his boots, which he’d unlaced and kicked aside. “I’ll help you.” He kisses her on the check. Elinor likes the raw feeling left behind by the mustache.
As he jogs down the driveway toward his truck, she thinks: Down one tree, up one tree surgeon.
Ted and Gina have settled into a routine. Every Tuesday afternoon Ted picks up Toby at the club and takes him to Barnes & Noble, where they study. Afterward, Gina fixes them dinner at her house. Then Ted and Toby finish up homework or play a game. After Gina convinces Toby to go to bed, she and Ted drink coffee or wine then go upstairs to her room and have sex as quietly as possible, a challenge Ted finds exciting. They are cautious of the bed, afraid it might bump or squeak. Instead, they lie on the floor, or Ted lifts Gina up onto the edge of her dresser. Once, he pressed her against the wall as she wrapped her legs around his waist. As Ted gets more excited, Gina covers his mouth with her hand, which smells like onions and garlic and lemons from cooking dinner. He traces circles on her palm with the tip of his tongue, looking into her clear green eyes. Afterward, they usually crawl into Gina’s bed and fall asleep, legs entwined. Ted always leaves before dawn. He sets the alarm on his watch for five AM before even arriving at Gina’s place for dinner, fearful that one morning he’ll wake up in Gina’s arms with the sun blazing into the room and Toby standing beside the bed.
When Ted leaves on Wednesday mornings, it’s still dark and the grass is soaked with dew. An old white Ford station wagon rattles slowly through the neighborhood, a Vietnamese man tossing newspapers thumping into the driveways. The previous hours of homework, dinner, Risk, sex, and short-but-sound sleep leave Ted feeling blissful. He wishes every day were Tuesday.
The sex isn’t even Ted’s favorite part. He particularly likes sitting down to dinner with Gina and Toby. Sometimes they play twenty questions. Toby prides himself in continually stumping Gina and Ted. One evening he bamboozles them twice in a row, with “Howard Johnson” and “manhole cover.”
“Howard Johnson was a real guy?” Gina asks.
“Yep,” Toby says. “He invented premium ice cream by making it all fatty and stuff. Hey, and you know Man Hole was a real guy, too. He was German and he was called Mann Hool. But in English it’s Man Hole.”
“Really?” Gina’s eyebrows arch with disbelief.
“Mom!” Toby laughs, irritated and delighted at the same time. “Mann Hooooooool!” he crows.
Gina is easy to tease, because she doesn’t do ironic humor. This earnestness charms Ted. It’s not in her nature to be sarcastic. She always gives people the benefit of the doubt and looks for the silver lining in everything. By contrast, silver linings are Elinor’s pet peeve. “No kids! You can go to Europe whenever you want to!” well-meaning acquaintances would say to Elinor at parties, feigning envy. El would force a smile and gulp her drink. On the way home, she’d rant: “Does the EU shut the doors as soon as you procreate? I know it’s heinous to take a child on a transcontinental flight and convince him that the Mona Lisa is worth it. I get it!”
“I know,” Ted would say, “I know.” But Elinor’s anger felt directed at him. As she ranted, he found himself ducking and holding his head to the side. Still, while Ted appreciates Gina’s optimism and cheerfulness, he misses Elinor’s dark wit. He’d like to think that his worldview includes both of these outlooks. The truth is, he doesn’t find himself thinking broadly enough to have a worldview. He’s too myopic—that’s what Elinor says. Maybe it’s from looking at people’s feet all day. There’s nothing more myopic than a corn on a big toe. The big toe is essential, though. You can barely walk without your big toe. You can’t stand properly, let alone navigate your way through life.
“You’re so quiet,” Gina says, spooning more salad onto his plate. Her silver bracelets tinkle down her tanned wrists.
Ted smiles and bites into his chicken, which is spicy and juicy, complemented by the cool lettuce, buttery avocado, and tangy mustard dressing in his salad. He washes it all down with a sip of the Zinfandel he’s brought. It occurs to him, in the moment that he swallows and closes his eyes, that he is in love with two women at the same time. He can’t imagine ever not loving Elinor, and the fact that he doesn’t want to be anywhere on the planet right now except in this room with Gina must mean that he loves her. As he opens his eyes, the room seems to tilt sideways. He clutches the edge of the table. He sips water, then more wine. It warms his chest and makes him yearn for an unattainable world: a parallel Zinfandel universe where every combination of desire is possible—marriage with Elinor, and life with Gina, and homework with Toby.
“Oh, my gosh!” Gina laughs at Toby, who’s doing an imitation of his math teacher’s nasal twang. A bit of carrot flies out of her mouth.
“Gross!” Toby howls.
Gina covers her mouth with her napkin, embarrassed. She coughs, sips water, tears shining in her eyes from laughing. Ted looks from Gina to Toby. They are having a moment—a moment without him. He feels like he should leave—sneak out of the house while these two finally share peace.
But Ted stays,
and after supper, he helps Toby with the poem he’s convinced him to memorize—“Paul Revere’s Ride.” He heard a story on the radio about how habits can’t just be taken away; they have to be replaced with new ones. Ted thinks memorizing the poem might help Toby ward off the urge to count and tap. He’s told Toby that whenever he wants to count, he should go over the poem in his head.
“‘One if by land, and two if by sea; and I on the opposite shore shall be,’” Toby says now, standing and rocking. He seems to like the building excitement in the poem, all those exclamation points calling for a holler. “‘And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height, a glimmer, and then a gleam of light!’
“Mom!” Toby shouts proudly to Gina in the kitchen. “I totally memorized five stanzas!”
After Toby goes to bed that night, Ted and Gina sit at the kitchen table sipping port. Gina gets up to retrieve a box of chocolates from the cupboard.
“I was thinking maybe Toby and I could study together Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Ted says. Gina’s back stiffens. She holds her hand in the air for a moment before grabbing the gold foil box. She turns, slides it onto the table, but doesn’t take her seat.
“Have you contacted a lawyer yet?” she asks.
“Why?”
“For a legal separation?” She lowers her voice: “A divorce?”
“Oh.” Ted knows it’s problematic that he hasn’t even thought of this. Problematic that he’s living in limbo. “No.” He wants to be able to say Not yet, but this would be misleading. The truth is, he’s waiting for Elinor to make that move. He should be able to shed this passivity. To know what he wants and go for it. Suddenly he hopes Gina is about to issue an ultimatum.
But she doesn’t say anything.
“Monday and Wednesday would work, too,” Ted says, feeling like a jackass.
Gina sits down, pushes her port glass away, and folds her hands in her lap. “If you break my kid’s heart . . .” She looks up at Ted. There’s a calm sternness in her voice and in her eyes that he’s never seen before—a hardwired protectiveness that almost frightens him. “Elinor might want you back, and if she does you might reconcile with her. If that happens, you’re not going to be able to see Toby anymore. So the more time you spend with him now, the more you’re going to break his heart later.” She looks away from Ted. “I’ll cook dinner for you one night a week because my kid adores you, and I’ll sleep with you because you make me happy and I’m an idiot, but I will not let you . . .” She throws back her head and presses the heels of her palms to the edges of her eyes, blotting back tears. “What am I saying?” She kicks the table leg—a Toby-like gesture. “You already are.”
“Tuesday,” Ted says. “For now, let’s stick to Tuesdays.” He tries to choose his words carefully. He wants to be compassionate. “I’m sorry I haven’t resolved things in my life. I want to. I hope to come on Thursdays, too. At some point.” If this isn’t a vague, half-baked, euphemistic bullshit promise, Ted doesn’t know what is.
12
When Elinor opens the front door, Roger is standing on the porch beside his bucket of cleaning supplies holding out a small package for her. It’s wrapped in newspaper comics with a crumpled bow.
“I know you like to read.” He pushes the present toward her. Charlie Brown is trying to kick a football on the front. Roger bows his head and blushes, his pale cheeks turning crimson along his sideburns and up to the edges of his reddish blond hair. He blushes easily, as though life’s just too embarrassing.
Elinor takes the gift. “Thank you.” Maybe Roger has a crush on her. Or maybe he only feels comfortable when he’s hiding behind a camera.
As he fumbles with his vacuum, his sponge mop falls with a loud smack on the porch.
Elinor crouches to help him. “I have most of this stuff,” she tells him. “If you don’t want to bring so many supplies.” Once inside, Elinor tears open the gift, newsprint smudging her fingertips. It’s a book, a novel, called Cal. “Oh, Roger. I love novels. And I probably should read something contemporary. But you shouldn’t have.” She touches Roger’s arm. His skin is sticky, like a boy’s. She wishes she had a son—a sloppy boy. Thanks to Ted, she’d know how to throw him a softball.
She reads the book jacket. Set in Ireland, the story is about a young man who gets involved with the IRA, then falls in love with an older woman. They end up hiding out together. Uh-oh.
“We read it in my college Irish lit class.” Roger follows Elinor into the kitchen as she reads.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.” Elinor tries to assume a breezy tone. She sets the book on the counter in the kitchen. “Did you remember to bring your résumé or your portfolio?”
Roger snaps his fingers. “Forgot.”
“Next time.” She grabs her purse. “Thanks for the book, really. I have to run. I’m meeting my husband.”
“Oh,” Roger says, the color in his face deepening. “Okay, good luck.”
“Thanks. I think I need it.”
On his way to meet Elinor for coffee, Ted practices what he plans on saying to her.
“Life’s too short to go on living in limbo,” he tells the car radio. “Let’s reach a decision on how we want to move forward.” God, he sounds so formal, like he’s negotiating a business transaction. But what should they do? If Elinor wants to fight to save the marriage, he will. Otherwise, they should get legally separated. Then he can stop feeling like a sneaky adulterer, poised to let Gina and Toby down.
Getting dressed this morning, Ted had hoped Elinor would want a legal separation. But now that he’s driving to the coffee shop, he looks forward to just seeing her, to talking with her. He has the inappropriate longing to tell her about Gina. Of course, he would never hurt El by doing this. But Elinor knows him better than anyone, even though they’ve only been together five years. She’s the one he wants to ask for advice on how to fix his love life. In the past, she was always so empathetic and supportive of Ted. When he went through a period when he hated work, Elinor encouraged and helped him to find a partner and open his own practice. She never made him feel pressured or trapped. She always saw a way out of things. It was as though they were hiking together in a cave and she held the flashlight. Then why the hell should they get separated? An impatient driver honks at Ted as he lingers at a green light.
“Jesus!” he barks, fighting the compulsion to give the guy the finger. “It’s Sunday, for God’s sake. Take it easy!” He punches the accelerator and his tires screech.
Elinor waits for Ted outside the mom-and-pop coffee shop downtown. It’s cool out, and she looks pretty in jeans and a light-blue turtleneck sweater that matches her eyes. Inside, Ted pulls out a chair for her at a tiny marble table. She sits and dunks her Darjeeling tea bag in and out of her cup, pensive about something.
“I miss—” Ted starts.
“I’m kind of seeing—”
Ted laughs; Elinor doesn’t.
They often do this—start speaking at the same time. While they used to say things remarkably similar, giggling at the uncanniness of their timing, now they seem to utter the exact opposite of what the other is thinking.
“You,” Ted says. “I was going to say that I miss you.” He pushes aside his coffee, which he doesn’t feel like drinking. For the first time that he can recall, he’s sick of coffee and milk and foam.
“Oh.” Elinor frowns. “I miss you, too.” She says this as though it goes without saying. All of the thoughts Ted thinks of as epiphanies are already givens for Elinor—starting points. He’s always five steps behind her. Finally, she removes the bag from her cup and sips at the tea.
“I still love you,” Ted says. Although this was not in his rehearsed speech, it’s certainly true. Confusion clogs his head like cotton. The shriek of an espresso machine saws at his nerves.
“I love you, too, Ted.” Elinor lowers her head to meet Ted’s gaze. “I’ll always love you. You know that. But don’t you think this is good for us?”
Ted shrugs. “Wha
t this? What are we doing? That’s what I want to know. Where is this going?”
“Taking a break, I guess. I’m kind of seeing someone.” Elinor looks away as she utters these words.
“Seeing someone,” Ted repeats flatly. “What exactly does that mean?” He rubs his hand under the table and is disgusted when he feels a clump of hardened gum.
“Dating. Hiking.”
“Sleeping together?”
“Not one hundred percent. You know, yet. But that’s not the point.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a tree surgeon. He’s the guy who came to assess our tree.”
“Tree surgeon? Sounds like he assessed more than the tree. Did he file down your burls?”
“C’mon.” Elinor sighs, frustrated. “Let me get this straight. You had an affair, and now you’ve got a grudge because I’m dating while we’re separated?”
“In all those Greek tragedies the guys are severely flawed, right?”
Elinor’s lips curl up in a half smile. She looks out the window at the cars jockeying for parking spaces, people clamoring for their caffeine. “Do you suppose we have control over any of this? Maybe it’s like a Greek tragedy. You know, like Dido and Aeneas. She loves him and he loves her, but he’s like, see ya! Gotta go to the office because the gods said so.”
“Then the gods are assholes.”
“No kidding.”
“That book club of yours is a little hard-core. Don’t you guys ever read mysteries or anything?”
“That’s what the group wants to read. But I chose The Iliad, and Kat chose The Aeneid. We’re trying to mix it up with the classics. Frankly, we don’t fit in. We actually want to talk about the books. Big faux pas. You’re supposed to talk about the book for six and a half minutes, then complain about your husband and kids.”
For once, Elinor doesn’t seem mad at Ted. A little tree surgeon romance and she’s a new person. Fine, but Paul Bunyan can go away now. What does Tarzan know about his wife? He doesn’t know that she hates to lick envelopes and prefers bras that clasp in front and eats her moo shu pork without the pancakes and her favorite comic strip is The Quigmans, and her favorite Rolling Stones song is “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking?” He doesn’t know that she once won a camping trip talent contest by dancing the hula with a frying pan balanced on her head. Tree Guy does not know these things!