“Sure, man,” said Noah, frowning.
“Really, I don’t think we—”
“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” asked Sam, a note of pleading in his voice.
“Nothing,” said Ryan.
“They’re swingers,” said Patti, with a scowl that made no secret of her distaste.
The S word silenced the room, then hung over the table like a pendulous storm cloud.
Sam’s face moved from a confused lack of understanding, to surprise, to disbelief, to a bit of jealousy, then back to sadness. Patti got up from the table and walked out of the room.
“Patti!” called Ryan after her.
“Like from the seventies?” asked Sam.
Ryan turned to Jennifer, wrestling internally with the desire to flee.
“Bruce and Paige are swingers,” Noah said to Sam.
“Really? Wow!” Sam blinked a few times, taking in the new information. “I didn’t think people still did that.”
“Guys, c’mon,” said Ryan, much of the wind gone from his sails. “Do you really think we would do—”
Jennifer took his hand under the table. She’d been tussling with the flight urge and had squashed it. She appreciated Ryan’s attempt to stay in the negative, or at the very least neutral, but she’d reached her edge.
Barbara pointed at them. “This is a bad idea. This road you’re going—”
“Why?” snapped Jennifer, locking eyes with the other woman.
Barbara jumped.
“Seriously, how do any of you people know what’s good for us?”
Ryan nodded and opened his mouth to speak, pausing when Jennifer squeezed his hand.
“No, please tell me, when the four of you are in such dire straits that poor Sam cowers in fear of Patti, and the two of you talk endlessly about the risks you never took.” Jennifer pointed at Ryan. “Well, we’re happy. And it’s working.” She turned to him. “Right?”
“Yeah,” said Ryan. “Never been happier, actually.”
Noah made a dramatic flourish of a sigh. “And you’ve thought through all the risks inherent in—”
“Sometimes risks are worth taking,” said Ryan.
“You’re happy now, sure,” said Barbara. “But how long do you think this could possibly—”
“Barb!” Jennifer slammed her hand down on the table, making all the silverware on her side jump. “It’s not your decision!”
“I know,” said Barbara, softening a bit. “I’m just trying to look out for my friends.”
“So,” began Sam, who Jennifer had forgotten was still at the table, “It’s like wife swapping?”
“Look, guys,” said Ryan. “It’s not a big deal.”
Barbara shook her head. “You really think it’s not a big deal?”
“Well, fine, maybe it is a big deal. For us!” He was approaching Jennifer’s level of seething indignation and defensiveness. “We’ve had long conversations about us, looked at it from every angle.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jennifer. “There isn’t a complaint you could level that we haven’t already considered.”
“Seems like there could be a lot of conflict. Issues. Jealousy.” Sam seemed to be processing the concept more for himself than to the rest of them.
“Of course there could be!” Jennifer’s mind raced. “But they’re no worse than they are in the vanilla world!”
Sam looked up at her. “What’s that?” he asked.
She looked to Ryan for help, trying to apologize with her eyes that this had spiraled so far out of control.
He took a deep breath. “It’s their,” he shook his head and rephrased, “our name for people like you.”
Sam’s expression held no more sadness or withdrawal than usual, but even so he looked exceedingly hurt as he repeated, “People like us.”
Jennifer felt hot crushing panic and embarrassment. They’d done this, they had to fix it. “Look, Sam, we weren’t—”
Sam pushed back from the table and stood up. “I’m going to go check on Patti.” He left his napkin hanging over the back of his chair and went to the door. He stopped and looked back. “So you… did it… with them?”
Somehow his phrasing made it all the worse. Both Ryan and Jennifer nodded.
Sam returned the nod, then left the room.
“You had to bring this up?” Jennifer seethed at Barbara.
“You’ve really thought it through?”
“Yes,” said Ryan, “We have.”
“Well,” said Barbara, raising her wine glass. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
Jennifer shook her head, grabbed Ryan’s hand, and left the room.
They made a big noisy show of getting their coats and shoes, flinging the front door open to retreat.
“Sorry,” said Noah.
They stopped in the doorway and turned back toward him.
“For the record,” he said, “I don’t think it’s an especially good idea.”
“Thanks,” said Jennifer, turning away and stepping outside. “Very helpful.”
“But I’m glad you guys are happy.”
Ryan stepped out of the house. “Thanks,” he said. “Next time, maybe try without all the judgment.”
The Lamberts left.
28
The 2007 Bodegas Avanthia Mencina might a bit too special occasion-y, so Bruce slid it back into the wine fridge. As he bought more variety, it seemed, the problem became deciding which bottle in his fridge didn’t qualify for a special occasion. “Perhaps something from the Pacific Northwest instead,” he suggested to himself and reached up to the top row. Those six bottles were certain to not be wait and hope bottles.
He held a Matello Pinot Noir in his hands. This should be lovely for the four of them and had a fun name to boot. He closed the door to the walk-in closet that housed his wine collection and pulled the metallic cap off. He stopped in the hallway, pulling his wine key out of his pocket to open the bottle before returning to the group, so that no one had to see the inevitable part where he put it on the floor between his feet to get extra leverage.
He smelled the cork. “Yes, this is perfect.”
Bruce returned the wine key to his pocket and glanced at the clock as he walked toward the living room. Only 9:30. The boys wouldn’t be back until midnight at the earliest, and before then he planned to double bolt the door, so they had to ring the bell. A bit nefarious perhaps, but as Adam had begun griping more about this big scary secret he was convinced his parents shared, yet covering his ears whenever Bruce tried to talk to him about it, he didn’t feel bad locking him out of the house.
Hunter was another story. Their sixteen-year-old had somehow managed to start dating a senior, and a gorgeous one at that. Well, gorgeous as far as Bruce was willing to allow himself to think, anyway. He found it hard not to be proud. Took after his old man, perhaps; Paige was a year Bruce’s senior.
But that goodwill and pride had stopped when, last Thursday, he’d snuck his girlfriend in, hoping his parents would turn in at a reasonable hour so they could head to the basement. When Bruce and Paige had decided to continue their House of Cards marathon with a couple rounds of, “Maybe one more episode,” instead of turning in, his gawky sixteen-year-old sensibilities had come out, as he tried to sneak her back down the front hall steps and out the door.
Kevin Spacey may as well have told him he was grounded.
Tonight, though, there’d be no surprise teenagers, and they could actually have friends over at home, an exceedingly rare occurrence. The thought occurred to him that he hadn’t checked the hot tub temperature in a few days. With the air hovering just below twenty degrees outside, tonight would be a lovely night for some skinny dipping indeed. He smiled.