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Authors: Rosemary Graham
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up?”
Isabelle looked down at the bed and fingered the frayed edge of the comforter cover.
“Oh my God. Is that it? Is Nick having—” Was it still an “affair” if you weren’t married to begin with?
Isabelle reached across the bed and took Carly’s hand. “It’s not what you think. Yes. He’s seeing someone. But that’s not the reason we’re breaking up. I’ve known about it. We both—”
“Oh my God, Mom. Stop.” Carly yanked her hand away and put both hands up to her ears. This was worse than listening to her father explain the mechanics of getting Ann pregnant. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is.”
Actually, Carly’s mind was racing with questions. But they were questions she didn’t want the answers to. Were they both “seeing” other people? Of all the stupid euphemisms, that had to be one of the stupidest. Is that why they never actually married? Was that part of the deal all along? Who would Isabelle be “seeing”? And when? Those Sundays in her office? In her office? On the couch under the portrait of virginal (so everyone assumed) Julia Bellwin herself?
If it weren’t her life—if it weren’t her mother and her about-to-be-ex-almost-stepfather and there weren’t a seven-year-old involved then, Carly thought, it might be funny.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t burden you with our stuff. Listen, I wish I were the kind of person who could do what Nick’s proposing. It sounds very—European and sophisticated. Everyone thinks I’m nuts for turning him down.” Isabelle shrugged and shook her head. “Sometimes I think I’m nuts for turning him down. But I think it would be confusing for Jess. And . . . I know myself. I won’t be able to build a new life with Nick on the other side of the wall.”
“But you said yourself it’s a crazy market. Where are we going to go?”
“I’ll find something. I know I will. But I—”
Carly cut her off. “You aren’t the only one affected here. What about Jess? What about me? Nick wants us to stay. I want to stay. Jess would want to stay if she had any idea of what was going on. You’re going to ruin everyone’s life because you changed your mind and decided that your open marriage wasn’t so cool anymore?”
Carly was glad to see Isabelle flinch. She wanted to inflict pain. She wanted a fight.
But Isabelle wouldn’t bite. “I’m going to ignore that. I’m not going to try to explain my choices to you. But you’ve just heard some very upsetting news, and I don’t blame you for lashing out.”
Carly wished Isabelle would blame her. She wanted her mother to yell so that she could yell back. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to see mother flinch again.
Carly called Val to discuss.
“I vote for the camp,” said Val.
“Really? I thought you’d say Ohio.”
“Nah. Camp.”
“Why?”
“For one, it’s only a two-hour train ride away, and you can come down to the city on your days off.”
“And you can come up.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t like woods.”
“Okay. What else?”
“Counselors. Have you seen this camp’s Web site?”
“No.”
“I’m looking at it right now. The tennis guy is hot. He goes to Georgetown. And there’s a swimming instructor. Ray Booker. Amherst. And wow. I mean wow !”
“But we hate guys like that.”
“Correction. You hate guys like that. I’m reevaluating my position.”
“Jake?” Jake Alden, a senior at Edward G. Champion, was Val’s lab partner in AP physics. (EGC and Bellwin offered some specialized classes jointly.) For a year, Carly had been hearing the ongoing narrative of this contentious pair. They were both supersmart, both bent on med school, and neither quite trusted the other to do things right. But over the course of the school year, aversion had morphed into attraction, just like in the movies.
And just like in the movies, there were obstacles. Jake’s long-term girlfriend, Juliet Kinkade, for one, and his
Isabelle looked down at the bed and fingered the frayed edge of the comforter cover.
“Oh my God. Is that it? Is Nick having—” Was it still an “affair” if you weren’t married to begin with?
Isabelle reached across the bed and took Carly’s hand. “It’s not what you think. Yes. He’s seeing someone. But that’s not the reason we’re breaking up. I’ve known about it. We both—”
“Oh my God, Mom. Stop.” Carly yanked her hand away and put both hands up to her ears. This was worse than listening to her father explain the mechanics of getting Ann pregnant. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is.”
Actually, Carly’s mind was racing with questions. But they were questions she didn’t want the answers to. Were they both “seeing” other people? Of all the stupid euphemisms, that had to be one of the stupidest. Is that why they never actually married? Was that part of the deal all along? Who would Isabelle be “seeing”? And when? Those Sundays in her office? In her office? On the couch under the portrait of virginal (so everyone assumed) Julia Bellwin herself?
If it weren’t her life—if it weren’t her mother and her about-to-be-ex-almost-stepfather and there weren’t a seven-year-old involved then, Carly thought, it might be funny.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t burden you with our stuff. Listen, I wish I were the kind of person who could do what Nick’s proposing. It sounds very—European and sophisticated. Everyone thinks I’m nuts for turning him down.” Isabelle shrugged and shook her head. “Sometimes I think I’m nuts for turning him down. But I think it would be confusing for Jess. And . . . I know myself. I won’t be able to build a new life with Nick on the other side of the wall.”
“But you said yourself it’s a crazy market. Where are we going to go?”
“I’ll find something. I know I will. But I—”
Carly cut her off. “You aren’t the only one affected here. What about Jess? What about me? Nick wants us to stay. I want to stay. Jess would want to stay if she had any idea of what was going on. You’re going to ruin everyone’s life because you changed your mind and decided that your open marriage wasn’t so cool anymore?”
Carly was glad to see Isabelle flinch. She wanted to inflict pain. She wanted a fight.
But Isabelle wouldn’t bite. “I’m going to ignore that. I’m not going to try to explain my choices to you. But you’ve just heard some very upsetting news, and I don’t blame you for lashing out.”
Carly wished Isabelle would blame her. She wanted her mother to yell so that she could yell back. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to see mother flinch again.
Carly called Val to discuss.
“I vote for the camp,” said Val.
“Really? I thought you’d say Ohio.”
“Nah. Camp.”
“Why?”
“For one, it’s only a two-hour train ride away, and you can come down to the city on your days off.”
“And you can come up.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t like woods.”
“Okay. What else?”
“Counselors. Have you seen this camp’s Web site?”
“No.”
“I’m looking at it right now. The tennis guy is hot. He goes to Georgetown. And there’s a swimming instructor. Ray Booker. Amherst. And wow. I mean wow !”
“But we hate guys like that.”
“Correction. You hate guys like that. I’m reevaluating my position.”
“Jake?” Jake Alden, a senior at Edward G. Champion, was Val’s lab partner in AP physics. (EGC and Bellwin offered some specialized classes jointly.) For a year, Carly had been hearing the ongoing narrative of this contentious pair. They were both supersmart, both bent on med school, and neither quite trusted the other to do things right. But over the course of the school year, aversion had morphed into attraction, just like in the movies.
And just like in the movies, there were obstacles. Jake’s long-term girlfriend, Juliet Kinkade, for one, and his
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