Everything Changes

for even one moment, to take care of each other and this thing you’ve created. There will certainly be great joy along the way, but there will be hardship too, and that’s why you can never take your marriage, or each other, for granted. Because the minute you do”—he grips the microphone stand for emphasis—“complacency will set in. And complacency is like a virus. It just grows and mutates until it takes over, and the next thing you know, you’re a stranger in your own life, and you’re living with this person you barely recognize, and when you look in the mirror, you barely recognize yourself. . . .”
    His voice trails off for a moment, and the silence in the room is something more than silence; it’s gravity, weighing us all down, locking us into place to witness the charred and twisted wreckage of his derailed train of thought. In the meantime, Norm suddenly becomes aware of the telltale bulge in his suit pants, and attempts to make an adjustment through his pocket, which serves only to call attention to it, and Vivian, standing on the steps in front of him, lets out an involuntary gasp as she takes in his profile. The noise seems to shake him from his stupor, and he flashes her a proud smirk before leaning back into the mike. “So, I guess, what I’m trying to say is this: Take care of each other. Treat your love like the amazing, fragile gift it is. Be protective of it. Vigilant, even. Make love often, whenever you get the urge, wherever you are. But don’t forget to have plenty of sex too. They’re two different things, and a good marriage should have both in good measure. Doubles our chances for grandchildren, hey, Jack?” he says, cracking himself up as he turns to Jack, who is staring intently into his empty drink glass, trying to will himself a refill. “Anyway,” Norm says, wrapping it up. “You’re a great kid, Zack. Your mother and I are very proud of you, and I, personally, feel blessed beyond words to have you in my life again.” He chokes up at that last part, his eyes filling with tears as he nods to emphasize what he’s just said. “Thank you, everybody. Have a good night.”
    In the ensuing, awkward applause, my mother, Matt, and I make a tight beeline for the bar.

Chapter 34
    I go to the bathroom, where I splash some more water on my sweaty face and stare myself down in the mirror for a good five minutes, peering into my own blank eyes for an answer that isn’t there. “Just do something,” I say, utterly disgusted with myself. I collapse against the wall, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor with my head between my knees, eyes closed, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
    A few minutes later, looking for a place to hide, I walk through the kitchen and duck into Jack’s study, where I find Tamara perched on his desk in the dark, legs crossed, sipping at a martini and staring out the window at Central Park. She looks up, alarmed, as the light from the open doorway falls across her, but then relaxes when she sees it’s only me. “Hey,” she says.
    “Hey.”
    “How are you doing?”
    “I’m a little drunker than I meant to be,” I say, closing the door behind me.
    “I know why I’m drinking,” she says. “This is the first time I’ve been out in almost two years, and I’m scared of everybody. What’s your excuse?”
    “Did you happen to catch Norm’s little toast?”
    “Enough said.”
    “Hey, I meant to call you. Turns out I don’t have cancer.”
    “You got your biopsy back?”
    “Yeah. Funny story, actually . . .”
    But I won’t get to tell it, because the force and speed with which she throws her arms around me knocks all the breath out of me, her tears wet against my neck as she whispers, “I knew you’d be okay.”
    Once, as a kid in summer camp, I broke curfew to sneak into the boathouse with Beth Wallen, where we made out in the deep blackness of the country night and held whispered conversations about everything that mattered in the hushed silence of the sleeping camp, the intimacy enhanced by the covert nature of our rendezvous, the palpable risk of discovery. Finding Tamara in the darkened study feels a little bit like that, and I hold on to her, my lips resting on her head, unwilling to let go. After a while, she leans back, resting her forehead against mine. “Okay,” she says wryly, sniffling slightly, “I guess I was a little worried.”
    I take her head in my hands, softly wiping the tears from her cheeks with my