45
We have Sunday brunch on the back porch, and I notice there’s no music coming from the treehouse. Jack is saying how much he liked the Old Sloop Inn, how the crab cakes were the best he ever had. “Sam, I Am” is about me. All those songs are about me. I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact of it and the fact that I didn’t know. I wonder if he thinks of me every time Missy performs it, or if it’s like “The Star-Spangled Banner” to him now, a bunch of words you’ve heard too many times.
“So it’s a go then?” Granny asks. “Sam?”
I come to. “So what’s a go?”
“The wedding?”
“Well, of course,” I say, taking Jack’s hand. “We’re definitely getting married.”
“Yes,” my mother says, “we assumed that, dear. She means out here. Is it a go to have the wedding on Long Island?”
“For sure,” Jack says for me. And I don’t want to argue. It’s beautiful out here, even if it’s full of ghosts.
“Yes, I’ll call and set a date as soon as we’re back home,” I say. Then, “Did you guys know Wyatt was a big deal in the music business? Like he’s a success?”
“Like he has a band?” Granny asks.
“No, more like he’s written a bunch of really big songs for a pop star, who at some point was his girlfriend,” I say, scooping eggs onto my fork to avoid looking at anyone.
Jack says, “I have to admit I never saw that coming. He doesn’t give off a vibe that would make you think he’s got anything going on.”
“It’s news to us,” my mom says. “Good for him.”
My dad is watching me. He is the only witness to the conversation that Wyatt and I had last night, and I have the feeling that he didn’t mention it to my mom. He’s seen behind the curtain, and I like that he’s protecting my privacy this way. I can’t remember the last time my dad and I shared a secret.
“Yes, good for Wyatt,” he says.
Jack and I are quiet as we drive home on the Long Island Expressway. He’s getting in and out of the express lane like he’s trying to shave fifteen seconds off his best time in a race. I have an email from Eleanor saying that she’d like to see me in her office on Monday morning at ten. All this mystery is really getting on my nerves. After I was pulled off that client, I spent an entire week just sitting at my desk waiting for someone to make a decision about me. I organized my files. I color-coded a spreadsheet I’ll probably never use again. And somehow they needed another week to mull it over without me there. It feels like Eleanor wants to punish me before she fires me. I reply, “See you then!” and immediately regret the cheery exclamation point.
I sneak looks at Jack and wonder what he’s thinking about, staring ahead at the road. Is he as gobsmacked as I am about Wyatt? Did he like being out at the beach with my family? Did he get that that song is about me? He’s millions of miles away, so I ask the annoying question.
“What are you thinking about?”
He turns to look at me, like he’s surprised I’m there. “Elliot.”
“Elliot?”
“Yeah, he needs to move our Tuesday evening tennis to Wednesdays. But Wednesday is my push day at the gym and if I switch it to Tuesday, it’s too close to the Fritz workout for proper recovery.”
“Ah,” I say. “Tricky.”
He keeps driving and chewing on his dilemma.
“Eleanor emailed. Wants to meet with me tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” he says. “Then you should take a few weeks off before you start looking for another job.”
“I’m not necessarily getting fired.”
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Samantha. Come on.”
I want to teach art, is on the tip of my tongue. Jack and I are getting married, I should be able to tell him my dreams. I just don’t want to hear him tell me I can’t, that it’s impossible. That I’ve established myself as a consultant and I need to stick it out. It’s not like I want to be a trapeze artist, I just want to be doing something creative with kids.
“I want to teach art,” I say to the passenger window.
“Did you say something?”
“No,” I say. Then, “I want to teach art.”
“That would be fun,” he says.
I turn to him, relieved. “Right? All those kids making things out of clay and construction paper. Everyone going in totally different directions with the same assignment.”
“You could use a glue gun every day of your life.”
I laugh. “Exactly. That’s exactly what I want to do.”
Jack reaches for my hand, and as dumb as that confession is, I feel heard. And if Jack thinks it makes sense, maybe it’s possible.
“But you’re an HR consultant. It’s your whole résumé. So you’ve just got to make the best of that.”
I’m quiet for the next thirty minutes, and as we head through the tunnel, I start to feel afraid. I’ve reconnected with Wyatt and we’ve said goodbye. I feel a dread that reminds me of the drive back to the city after Wyatt and I said goodbye on the beach, my mother seething. I have an irrational premonition that I will be abandoned and stop sleeping again. And Gracie’s not coming back for a month.
I text Travis: I know you knew about Wyatt. It’s unbelievable that you didn’t tell me. We can fight about this later, but give me his number.
Travis: I figured if it mattered to you you’d google him
Me: Who fucking googles people
Travis: Everyone Sam
He sends it, and I text Wyatt: It’s Sam. Travis gave me your number. Just wanted to say goodbye again. And wow. Also congratulations.
Wyatt: Ha, thanks. I’m headed back to LA tomorrow
Me: So can we be in touch? Like say happy birthday and send funny internet stuff?
Wyatt: Like cat videos?
I’m smiling at my phone and I check to make sure Jack isn’t looking at me. He’s not.
Me: Yeah, like that