“Twelve thirty or so,” Marge answered. “We got here a few minutes after Russ did.”
“Anything exciting happen?”
“Not really. It’s just a typical Saturday. Mom’s been in the kitchen all day, we went for a walk, Dad started in the garage until the ball game came on. And, of course, I teased your husband for a while.”
“Good for you. He needs someone to keep him in line. He’s been a little moody these days. At home, it seems like lately, I can’t do anything right.”
I turned toward her, too startled to speak again, and wondering: Are you talking about me or you?
Separate bank account. Corporate apartment. A possibility of up to four nights a week spent in Atlanta.
The more I thought about Vivian’s Saturday Surprises, the more I began to suspect that she brought it all up here because she knew I wouldn’t argue with other people around. Of course, once we got home, she’d say that we’d already discussed it, so there was no reason to go over it again; if I even tried, I was doing so because I wanted to start an argument. It was a win-win situation for her and left me no recourse at all, but what bothered me even more than the blatant manipulation was that Vivian didn’t seem to be troubled at the prospect of spending more days apart than we spent together. What would that mean for us? What would that mean for London?
I wasn’t sure. I had no desire to leave Charlotte, but if push came to shove, I would. My marriage was important to me – my family was important to me – and I would do whatever it took to keep us together. As for my company, it wasn’t as if I was firmly established in Charlotte, and if the possibility of a move was on the horizon, I might as well start searching for clients in Atlanta, assuming I had some sense of what Vivian’s upcoming schedule might be. The whole thing was still so vague though, so uncertain.
And yet… if I suggested the possibility of moving the family, I wasn’t sure how Vivian would respond. Would she even want that? I felt as though Vivian and I were sliding on ice in opposite directions, and the more I tried to hold on to her, the more determined she seemed to pull away. She had a desire for secrecy that nagged at me and while I’d assumed that we’d support each other in our employment challenges, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Vivian had little enthusiasm for that kind of mutual reliance. Instead of she and I against the world, it felt like Vivian against me.
Then again, perhaps I was making too big of a deal about all of this; maybe I was too argumentative and focused too much on her faults, not her strengths. Once London was in school and we adapted to our respective work schedules, things might not appear so bleak, and our lives would be on the upswing again.
Or maybe they wouldn’t.
Meanwhile, as I was pondering these things, Vivian was discussing various shows in New York with Marge and Liz. She went on to recommend that they visit a rooftop bar on Fifty-Seventh Street with a view of Central Park that not too many people knew about; I could remember taking Vivian on lazy Sunday afternoons, back when I used to believe I was the center of her world. How long ago that suddenly seemed.
Just then, London emerged carrying two servings of pudding-in-a-cloud, handing one each to Liz and Marge; she followed that with servings for Vivian and me. Despite my inner turmoil, the sight of London’s excitement couldn’t help but make me smile.
“This looks delicious, sweetheart,” I said. “What’s in it?”
“Chocolate pudding and Cool Whip,” London answered. “It’s like a soft Oreo cookie and I helped Nana make it. She said it won’t ruin my appetite because it’s just a snack. I’m going to go eat mine with Papa, okay?”
“I’m sure he’ll love that.” Taking a quick bite, I commented, “Very tasty. You’re a great chef.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said. To my delight, she leaned in for a quick hug before heading back into the house, no doubt headed for my dad’s lap with a couple more desserts.
Vivian had seen London hug me and while she offered a benign smile in response, I wasn’t sure what, if anything, she felt about being left out. As soon as London closed the door, Vivian put her dessert on the table, sugar being the enemy and all. Not so with me, Marge, or Liz. Marge was on her second spoonful when she spoke again.
“You’ve got a big week ahead. London starting school, Vivian traveling, and you’re filming commercials, right? When does that start?”
“We have rehearsal on Wednesday afternoon, and we’ll film on Thursday and Friday, then a couple of days the following week. I also have a casting session next week.”
“Busy, busy.”
“I’ll be okay,” I said, realizing I actually meant it. With London in school, I had eight free hours to work, which seemed like all the time in the world compared to the life I was leading now. I took another bite of the dessert, feeling Vivian’s gaze on me.
“What?” I asked her.
“You not going to eat all of that, are you?” Vivian asked.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because we’ll be having dinner in an hour. It’s not good for you. Or your waistline.”
“I think I can handle it,” I said. “I’m down six pounds this month.”
“Then why try to put it back on?” Vivian asked.
When I didn’t respond, Liz cleared her throat. “How about you, Vivian? Are you still going to the gym and doing yoga at that place downtown?”
“Only on Saturdays. But I work out at the office gym two or three times a week.”