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Authors: Elin Hilderbrand
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up. So that
was why: Vegas, lap dances, strip clubs, cocktail waitresses with large, enticing
fake breasts. Margot remembered how things like that could seem threatening to a new
marriage. But that kind of jealous anxiety faded away, just like everything else.
At the end with Drum Sr., Margot had found herself thinking,
Why don’t you go to Vegas and get a lap dance?
Autumn said, “Lap dances are harmless. I get them all the time.”
For the first time all day, something struck Margot as funny. “
You
get lap dances?”
“Yeah,” Autumn said. “Guys love it.”
“Oh,” Margot said. She wondered for an instant if Edge would love it if she, Margot,
got a lap dance. She decided he most definitely would not.
Autumn filled her glass with more champagne, and Margot watched the golden liquid
bubble to the top. The kids were playing Frisbee with Emma in the yard below. Margot
remembered when it had been she and her siblings playing in the yard, while her parents
drank gin and tonics on this deck and turned up Van Morrison on the radio. Her mother
used to wear a blue paisley patio dress. Margot would hug Alfie’s trunk, her arms
not even reaching a third of the way around. A tree wasn’t a person, but if a tree
could
be a person, then Alfie would be a wise, generous, all-seeing, godlike person. She
couldn’t let the tent guys cut the branch. The cut would be a wound; it might get
infected with some kind of mung. Alfie might die.
Margot stood up and leaned over the railing. She felt dizzy. She felt like she might
drop.
“We should go,” she said.
Jenna was driving.
They bounced across the cobblestones at the top of Main Street. Town was teeming with
people who had come to Nantucket to celebrate summer. Margot loved the art galleries
and shops, she loved the couple carrying a bottle of wine to dinner at Black-Eyed
Susan’s, she loved the dreadlocked guy in khaki cargo shorts walking a black lab.
She noticed people noticing them—four pretty women all dressed up in Margot’s Land
Rover. Jenna and Finn were wearing black dresses, and Autumn was wearing green. Margot
was wearing a white silk sheath with a cascade of ruffles above the knee. She loved
white in the summertime. The city was too dirty to wear white—one cab ride and this
dress would be trashed.
Jenna took a right onto Broad Street, past Nantucket Bookworks and the Brotherhood
and Le Languedoc, and then a left by the Nantucket Yacht Club. Margot tapped her finger
on the window and said, “That’s where we’ll be tomorrow night!”
No one responded. Margot turned around to see Finn and Autumn pecking away at their
phones. Then Margot looked at Jenna, who was skillfully navigating the streets, despite
that fact that pedestrians were crossing in front of them without looking. Margot
felt bad that Jenna was driving to her own bachelorette party, but Jenna had insisted.
Margot should have hired a car and driver, and then all four of them would be sitting
in the backseat together. And Margot should have made a rule about no cell phones.
What was it about life now? The people who weren’t present always seemed to be more
important than the people who were.
Margot picked her clutch purse off the floor of the car and, against her better judgment,
checked her phone. She had one text, from Ellie.
I miss you mommy.
Margot decided not to be disappointed that her only text was from her daughter, and
she decided not to be horrified that her six-year-old knew how to text. Margot decided
to be happy that someone, somewhere in the world, missed her.
When she looked up, Jenna was pulling into the restaurant parking lot. Margot knew
this was the time to muster her enthusiasm and rally the troops. The group was low-energy;
even Margot herself was flagging. A glass and a half of champagne might as well have
been three Ambien and a shot of NyQuil. If Jenna turned the car around, Margot would
was why: Vegas, lap dances, strip clubs, cocktail waitresses with large, enticing
fake breasts. Margot remembered how things like that could seem threatening to a new
marriage. But that kind of jealous anxiety faded away, just like everything else.
At the end with Drum Sr., Margot had found herself thinking,
Why don’t you go to Vegas and get a lap dance?
Autumn said, “Lap dances are harmless. I get them all the time.”
For the first time all day, something struck Margot as funny. “
You
get lap dances?”
“Yeah,” Autumn said. “Guys love it.”
“Oh,” Margot said. She wondered for an instant if Edge would love it if she, Margot,
got a lap dance. She decided he most definitely would not.
Autumn filled her glass with more champagne, and Margot watched the golden liquid
bubble to the top. The kids were playing Frisbee with Emma in the yard below. Margot
remembered when it had been she and her siblings playing in the yard, while her parents
drank gin and tonics on this deck and turned up Van Morrison on the radio. Her mother
used to wear a blue paisley patio dress. Margot would hug Alfie’s trunk, her arms
not even reaching a third of the way around. A tree wasn’t a person, but if a tree
could
be a person, then Alfie would be a wise, generous, all-seeing, godlike person. She
couldn’t let the tent guys cut the branch. The cut would be a wound; it might get
infected with some kind of mung. Alfie might die.
Margot stood up and leaned over the railing. She felt dizzy. She felt like she might
drop.
“We should go,” she said.
Jenna was driving.
They bounced across the cobblestones at the top of Main Street. Town was teeming with
people who had come to Nantucket to celebrate summer. Margot loved the art galleries
and shops, she loved the couple carrying a bottle of wine to dinner at Black-Eyed
Susan’s, she loved the dreadlocked guy in khaki cargo shorts walking a black lab.
She noticed people noticing them—four pretty women all dressed up in Margot’s Land
Rover. Jenna and Finn were wearing black dresses, and Autumn was wearing green. Margot
was wearing a white silk sheath with a cascade of ruffles above the knee. She loved
white in the summertime. The city was too dirty to wear white—one cab ride and this
dress would be trashed.
Jenna took a right onto Broad Street, past Nantucket Bookworks and the Brotherhood
and Le Languedoc, and then a left by the Nantucket Yacht Club. Margot tapped her finger
on the window and said, “That’s where we’ll be tomorrow night!”
No one responded. Margot turned around to see Finn and Autumn pecking away at their
phones. Then Margot looked at Jenna, who was skillfully navigating the streets, despite
that fact that pedestrians were crossing in front of them without looking. Margot
felt bad that Jenna was driving to her own bachelorette party, but Jenna had insisted.
Margot should have hired a car and driver, and then all four of them would be sitting
in the backseat together. And Margot should have made a rule about no cell phones.
What was it about life now? The people who weren’t present always seemed to be more
important than the people who were.
Margot picked her clutch purse off the floor of the car and, against her better judgment,
checked her phone. She had one text, from Ellie.
I miss you mommy.
Margot decided not to be disappointed that her only text was from her daughter, and
she decided not to be horrified that her six-year-old knew how to text. Margot decided
to be happy that someone, somewhere in the world, missed her.
When she looked up, Jenna was pulling into the restaurant parking lot. Margot knew
this was the time to muster her enthusiasm and rally the troops. The group was low-energy;
even Margot herself was flagging. A glass and a half of champagne might as well have
been three Ambien and a shot of NyQuil. If Jenna turned the car around, Margot would
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