Coda Books 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (MM)

hair on the pillow. I felt the movement against my shoulder. “He was more than thirty years older than me. I was only twenty-two. My parents had died the year before in a car accident. I had no money. I was working as a waitress. It wasn’t like we loved each other. It was an arrangement.”
    I’d certainly never met Nicholas, but the idea of a thirty-year age difference disturbed me. As did the word “arrangement.” “But he married you, right?”
    “He wanted a son. That was his primary concern. And I said I could give him one.”
    “And in return?”
    “He promised I’d be taken care of for the rest of my life.”
    “Financially, you mean?”
    “Yes. It sounds horrible, I know. But I had no money, and he was kind. He never mistreated me. He could have picked up a wife anywhere, but he picked me. I don’t know why, but he did.”
    “So you had a baby?”
    “Yes. I counted myself lucky that I gave him a son right away. That was what he wanted. And he pampered me and brought me gifts and gave me shopping money. He hired nannies to take care of the baby. I thought I was lucky. It didn’t really occur to me that I should do more, you know? Cole was being taken care of. That seemed like enough.”
    “But?”
    “But I was miserable. I thought once we were married, I’d fit in with him and his friends. I think he assumed the same thing, but it never happened. I was a joke. The young, stupid, trophy bride. I could barely open my mouth without embarrassing him.”
    “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
    “It was. Trust me. I had barely graduated from high school, and there I was, suddenly in this world of people who not only went to college, but who had traveled all over the world. Who had seen these things I’d barely managed to read about. People who were actually cultured.”
    “Why did he marry you if you were so different?”
    “I think at first he found my ignorance endearing. He would sort of pat me on the head and say, ‘Silly Grace’. But over time, the cuteness wore off, and ‘endearing’ became ‘embarrassing’. One night, we were at this party—some kind of charity dinner, I don’t know—and I was trying to mingle with the wives, even though they were all older than me. I wanted him to be proud of me. And one of them said….” She stopped and took a deep breath. “You have to promise not to laugh.”
    “That’s what she said?”
    She elbowed me. “No! I mean, you have to promise not to laugh when I tell you.”
    “I promise.”
    She sighed, obviously not convinced. “Well, she said how the Pantheon was nothing like she expected. That it was so much smaller. And I said, ‘I’m so jealous. I’ve always wanted to go to Greece.’”
    “Ah,” I said. “You were thinking of the Parthenon.”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s an honest mistake.”
    She laughed. “No, it’s not. Not to people like them, at any rate. It was stupid.”
    “So, what happened?”
    “She laughed at me. She said, ‘Honey, you’ll never be one of us. Why don’t you go hang out in the kitchen, with the mistresses?’”
    I could see why she would have developed her air of haughty nonchalance as a shield against their derision. “The mistresses probably would have been more fun.”
    “Probably.”
    “Were there any good times?”
    “A few. In Vail, especially. We’d go skiing. Back when my Cole was little, not even ten yet. Nicholas would ski on his own, and even though Cole could already ski better than I could, he’d stay with me. We’d go down the green slopes together. That’s one of my only memories of feeling like I was a real mother.”
    “He still has that condo.”
    “Does he? I’m surprised.”
    “I’m not.”
    She shifted, looking away from me to stare at the motionless ceiling fan over the bed. “He came to live with me for a bit, right after his father died.”
    “I didn’t know that.”
    “It was only a few months.”
    “What happened?”
    “He turned sixteen and bought himself a car. I hardly saw him after that. He didn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
    “Sounds like a normal sixteen-year-old to me.”
    “Maybe. I don’t know. He was so angry. His father was dead, and I think he was trying to sort out his sexuality. I’d try to talk to him, and he’d just walk away.”
    “So you quit trying?”
    “I think that’s what he wanted.”
    I thought she was wrong. No child wants his mother to give up on him.
    We lay for a while in silence, suddenly awkward.