Ah, Trish. The queen of grand entrances. There she stood, wearing a black sleeveless knit dress that just cleared her ass, her long, tanned legs bare. Chunky diamond earrings. Hair gleaming like a crow’s wing. My guests grew still to watch, as Trish knew they would.
“Hi, Trish!” I called gamely.
“Millie!” she cried, swishing over to me in strappy high heels. “I’m so sorry we’re late! Oh, well, happy birthday! Hi, everyone!”
The adoring big sister was a new act, but I decided not to care and accepted her hug. “Thanks for coming.”
“Avery,” Trish said loudly, turning to the man behind her, “this is my little sister, Millie, the one I’ve told you so much about.”
The only one you’ve got, I thought. I had yet to meet the man she’d dumped Sam for. A generic-looking man stepped forward and offered me his hand.
“Avery Smith,” he announced.
This was the guy Trish had dumped Sam for? He was as bland as beige. Medium height, medium build, medium face, medium aged. The only notable thing about him was his choice in clothes—he wore a lime-green polo shirt and bright pink cotton pants.
“Hi,” I said, not shaking his hand. I just couldn’t, not in Sam’s own house. “Nice pants.”
He looked puzzled. I grinned.
“Sam!” Trish continued in cordial ex-wife mode. “Everything looks just great! How have you been?”
“Hi, Trish, good to see you,” Sam answered. He dutifully received the kiss she planted on his cheek to illustrate to Avery and everyone else that there were No Hard Feelings.
“And where’s Danny? Oh, hi, honey!” Now at least Trish seemed genuine, because her eyes teared up when she saw her son. “God, you’ve grown another inch, I think! And so handsome, just like your dad.”
Sam looked my way, and I rolled my eyes. He smiled back with a little shake of his head.
To Avery, Sam gave a stiff nod. My stomach clenched with discomfort…was this the first time Sam and Avery had met? Avery said something and Sam answered, then gestured to the kitchen. He watched Avery leave the room. His face was neutral, but I felt a sudden rush of anger. How could Trish bring her lover here, to what had been her home with Sam? Did she have any idea how that made him feel? She had to know that Sam would be classy about the whole thing, and it seemed like she was taking advantage of it.
I reminded myself not to judge. Sam and Trish were a mystery I didn’t understand, and, as Sam had pointed out to me, I had no firsthand experience of marriage or divorce. Trish was shaking hands with Dr. Whitaker, gave Jill a kiss and then hugged our parents, exclaiming over Mom’s outfit. She seemed cheerful and relaxed, completely at home, despite the fact that she had cheated on Cape Cod’s finest man.
“Hi. I’m Carol.”
I turned, grateful for the distraction, and saw the blond stranger I had glimpsed in the crowd earlier.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Millie, and I’m thirty years old.”
“So I gathered. Happy birthday.”
She had kind brown eyes and a natural, clean beauty that was echoed by her simple, summery outfit of linen pants and silky pink shirt.
“So…do I know you?” I asked curiously.
“Well, actually, I’m more of Sam’s guest. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t get you a present.”
“I knew we’d be friends,” I grinned. “Sam’s guest, is it? Are you from around here?”
“No,” she replied, taking a sip of her Corona. “I’m from Connecticut. But my folks have a place up here that I’m using this summer.”
“That sounds nice. How did you meet Sam?”
“He pulled me over for speeding,” she said dryly.
My eyebrows rose. “Is this how you’re working off your fine? Because I think that might be illegal.”
Carol laughed. “No, no, I had to pay. But he called the next day and we chatted a while, and he asked if I’d like to come to your party.”
“Well, Carol, I’m very glad you did. Especially since you brought me a present.”
So Sam had asked someone out! I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised. It was just weird, thinking of Sam with someone, especially a stranger. Picturing him with Katie was one thing, but this Carol person—
At that moment, Joe walked up. “How’s my birthday girl?” he asked, looping a casual arm around my shoulders.
“Great,” I answered, “now that the shock has receded. Joe, this is Carol, a friend of Sam’s.”
“Joe Carpenter,” he said, shaking her hand. “Hey, Millie, I didn’t know Trish Nickerson was your sister.”
I stared at him in surprise. “You—you didn’t?” Being Trish’s sister had pretty much defined my first eighteen years, and the fact that Joe was oblivious to this was stunning. Then again, Joe hadn’t made studying me his life’s work, as I had done with him.
“So Sam’s your brother-in-law, right?” Joe asked.
“Well,” I said, glancing at Carol, “no, not anymore.”
“Oh, that’s right. Okay. Well, I’m starving. You hungry, Millie?” Joe asked cheerfully.
“Sure,” I answered.
“I’ll get you a plate, then. Nice to meet you, Carol.”
“Nice guy,” Carol commented as we watched Joe’s lovely, jean-clad backside as he walked into the kitchen.
“As nice as they come,” I agreed.
“Pretty gorgeous, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” We exchanged a grin of feminine appreciation.
The party progressed as most parties do, with my guests walking idly around, admiring the spectacular view from Sam’s deck, eating, chatting with each other. I had a nice long talk with Janette about her practice and the inner-city clinic where she volunteered, and we made plans to meet in Boston. Danny chastised me for not attending one of his softball games, a neglect I swore I would quickly amend. My mom buzzed around happily, urging people to eat more, and Sam and my dad had their heads together in the kitchen. I passed Curtis and Mitch, who were holding hands and murmuring to each other, smiling.
“Did you see Pink Pants?” I hissed.
“An unfortunate choice,” Mitch replied with a grin.
“You have such nice manners, young man,” I answered. “Please excuse me, for I, I must, um…”
“Powder your nose?” Mitch suggested.
“That works! It sounds so much better than ‘evacuate my bladder.’ Thank you.” I left them and went upstairs, as the downstairs loo was occupied. Someone was in the upstairs hall bathroom as well, so I went into the master bedroom.
As I passed through, my footsteps slowed. Gone were Trish’s jewelry boxes and perfume bottles that had once adorned the dresser. There were no scarves, no slippers, no earrings on the night table. The bed was made neatly, and on Sam’s bedside table were some reading glasses, a paperback novel and a picture of Danny. My heart tugged at the lonely picture his things evoked.
And how could Trish bear it? She had lost so much…a husband, day-to-day life with her son, a beautiful home, the comfort and security of marriage…and yet she was downstairs, playing star of the Trish Show yet again. Even though she wouldn’t admit it, it must be awful, being back here, outside of the circle that had once revolved around her.
Well, nature was calling my name, loudly, so I went into the master bathroom. As I was tugging up my pants, I heard a voice.
“This room’s got an incredible view,” said a male voice. “Jesus!”
They were in the bedroom. I paused, waiting to flush, hoping they’d quickly leave, feeling slightly embarrassed about being caught in the bathroom.
“The whole house has a great view,” answered a female voice. My eyes narrowed. Trish.
“What’s the market like?” asked the man, who must be Pink Pants.
“Fantastic. The house’s value has doubled in the past four years.”
“Well, it’s ridiculous that he won’t sell it,” Avery replied.
“He says he never will,” Trish answered.
“Too bad you couldn’t get Danny to go to Larchmont. If he’d moved out, you could have had your half in a month.”
“Well, I tried, Avery!” Trish snapped. “But Danny wanted to stay. He knows Eastham, he’s doing great in school, and really, there’s no reason for him to transfer. Besides, I think he feels sorry for his father and didn’t want to leave him.” I ground my teeth at her dismissal.
“I can’t believe you have to wait five years for your piece, Trish. This house is a goddamn gold mine!”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Avery. I wanted to get divorced fast. You wanted me to get divorced fast. Once Danny doesn’t live here anymore, I’ll get my share, okay? Can you drop it now, please?”
My heart was pounding, my face hot. So that’s why Trish had wanted Danny to transfer. She and Pink Pants wanted some cold hard cash. There was no further conversation for a few minutes, and I risked a peek. They were gone. I flushed, washed my hands, then walked over to the bed and sat down. My hands were shaking. Should I tell Sam, I wondered? Should I tell him that his ex-wife had tried to use their son to get some money?
Of course I wouldn’t tell him. It would be one thing if Danny was considering it, but he wasn’t. End of story. It still left a bad taste in my mouth.
Joe was looking for me when I came downstairs. “Hey, Millie,” he said. “Your mom wants you to open presents now.”
“Oh, goodie,” I said. He smiled at me and gave me a soft kiss. My insides squirmed…not from lust this time, but because my dad was watching.
“My father…” I murmured to Joe.
“Right.” He grinned and kissed my forehead chastely, and I smiled back.
Most of the guests were waiting in the living room, where a lovely pile of gifties sat on the coffee table. I loved my birthday in general, and this one was especially great…the party, the end of my educationally focused twenties, the feeling that the next decade would bring wonderful things…a practice, financial independence, a husband, children…security. Love.
My parents gave me the first present. Dad made a big show of leaving the room and coming back with…a bike! Feeling as if I were twelve again, I jumped up and down.
“Oh, Daddy, thanks! I love it!” The Cape was famous for the Cape Cod Rail Trail, formerly a railroad line that had been paved from Harwich to Provincetown. All year round, bicyclists came to the Cape to enjoy the gorgeous views and freedom from cars, and now, so could I. “Dad, thank you so much. Mom, this is the best!”
My parents beamed. “Your mother thought you were too old for a bike,” my dad said proudly. “But I knew my baby girl would like it.”
Curtis and Mitch gave me their trademark gift—a huge basket of skin-care goodies that smelled heavenly…almost as good as the stuff they used themselves. From Katie was a matted and framed photo of the two of us at age twelve, standing triumphantly on Doane Rock. Her boys had made me treasure boxes, little white cardboard containers that they’d reinforced with yards of masking tape and then painted. “For your stuff, Aunt Millie,” Mikey instructed me seriously. “You know, sand, rocks, stuff like that.”
Next, Sam handed me Ethel’s package, a slim, rectangular box.
“It’s a carton of Camels,” he whispered. “Unfiltered. She’ll keep it if you don’t want it.” I stifled a giggle and kicked him on the shin.
The gift was actually a very pretty, very feminine scarf. “Thank you, Ethel,” I said, somewhat surprised at the loveliness of her choice.
“Shit,” she barked, scratching her head vigorously. “It’s nothing.”