He shrugged. “Barbara talked about it when she met Paige. I mean, Paige didn’t exactly hide her proclivities. So, we had the conversation. The ‘what do you think of this’ conversation. But I got this vibe the entire time.” He ran his hand down his face, then took a sip. “This vibe that the discussion was just that, discussion. That there was nothing real behind it.”
Noah looked Ryan up and down, until Ryan nodded.
“It was fun to talk about, though,” Noah said.
“Yeah, man.” Ryan smiled as he swirled his own Scotch. The memories of the beginning, so sweet and vivid. “Those few days we were talking about it, and then after our first date—” He threw Noah a sidelong glance. “Dinner with them. We really thought we were changing our lives. The sense of possibility and potential. It was so vibrant.”
“Well, sure.”
The smile faded along with the memories. “I guess nothing could live up to that.”
“That’s bullshit,” said Noah, finishing his drink. “You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”
“No,” insisted Ryan, “I’m telling you—”
Noah grabbed Ryan’s Scotch and knocked it back. “At our big dinner a couple months ago, that one where Barbara outed you?”
“Yes,” said Ryan, “I remember it vividly.”
“Good,” returned Noah, poking him in the chest. “That dinner was way beyond that first week, and you were living the fucking life, man. You were different.” He shook his head, as though he couldn’t even believe how different. “I think I’ve known you for something like nine years now, my friend, and you’ve never been so,” he searched for the right word, “alive! So don’t give me that ‘it all fell apart because it wasn’t real’ bullshit. ‘Boo hoo, our debauchery ruined us.’”
Ryan scowled at him. What the fuck did he know about it? He was about to ask Noah that very question when he again got poked in the chest.
“You guys made a stupid choice to do something you weren’t ready for with that party.”
The words hung in the air for a moment.
“When we met Bruce and Paige, we talked to them about their lifestyle. We asked them how they did it. Did you?”
Ryan thought about it. Surely they had. Sometime, at least, in that first date? The more he considered it, though, the more he realized that they’d discussed around the nitty-gritty how-to, preferring instead the flashy lifestyle magazine version of storytelling. “No,” he admitted finally.
“Rules,” said Noah. “First thing they told us. Said you could call them boundaries if you wanted, but they’re fucking rules. And they can be flexible, they can evolve. But they provide safety. So no one wanders off and fucks two people without checking in.”
Ryan nodded.
“And no one gets completely shit-faced, bitches out a woman who won’t fuck him, then cocks off to the host. I mean, seriously, dude!” Noah gave him a look of utter contempt. “You walked into a play party with no rules, no plans. Like a couple of little leaguers showing up for the Super Bowl.”
“Different sports,” said Ryan, off hand.
“Exactly,” said Noah. “That’s my fucking point. Not ready, not equipped, and probably had only the vaguest fucking clue how to even play the game. So of course it was going to end badly.”
“So you’re the big expert now?”
“Hell, no,” Noah blew off the question. “Just doesn’t take a genius to see that crap.”
They sat in silence for a while, and Ryan thought it might be time to get to the reason he’d come over in the first place. “Listen. I wanted to ask you. If something happens, you know, between Jennifer and I. Do you think I could stay—”
Noah didn’t look at him when he told him, “You’re not moving in here. You’re not leaving Jennifer. Honestly, you’re lucky she hasn’t left your sorry ass already.”
He poured maybe four more dollars of Glenlivet into Ryan’s glass and slapped it back into his hand. “Now finish your drink.” He clinked his glass together with Ryan’s. “And then go home and actually talk to your fucking wife.”
Ryan stared into the drink, wondering perhaps if the answers would be clearer when he’d finished it. He knocked it back.
They never were.
46
Jennifer leaned forward into the bathroom mirror and applied a little blush. Keep it subtle, of course, she wouldn’t want anyone to think she had any ideas about what tonight might mean. The text from Paige had only said I’m here if you want to talk, after all. Not I miss you, or, the thought that got her tingling, I want you. But if there was one thing Jennifer was certain about, if she was going to see Paige, spend time with Paige, hang out with Paige, be close enough to Paige that she could smell her, she was going to look better than she had these last few weeks.
Because why bother doing more than getting dressed, right? Her trips to the airport oasis certainly weren’t about anything other than mental health. Half the time she wore yoga pants, especially as the weather began to warm.
Life felt chilly as ever in the Lambert house.
She leaned back from the mirror and looked at herself. She felt tears welling up at the person looking back at her. Hello beautiful, she thought, I’ve missed you.
Jennifer took a deep breath to clear the tears and center herself. That girl in the mirror looked a lot like the version of Jennifer Lambert that she loved, the version that was strong. The version that had only really existed in the physical world for a few brief flash-in-the-pan months as the years changed, just then. Had that version always been inside the chrysalis of her shyness? Or had she been birthed in the crucible of that first crazy night?
And where had she gone?
She knew one thing above the rest, that was for sure: That she was no longer willing to just be. “Today is the day I change my life,” she told the girl in the mirror who looked oh so much the way she wanted to look. Her confidence didn’t appear to be there, her face seemed strained and worried, but otherwise, she was so very close. Just seeing Paige would help push it further.
I want to talk, she’d texted back a few days earlier. Then a bit of back and forth before arriving at tonight.
Paige had offered to take her to the Horn Lodge. I could use a good steak.
Jennifer could use something too, and this chillness at the house had outstayed its welcome. Just about time to make a move, wasn’t it? She felt her train was about to leave the station, and her husband could get on board or not. Really up to him. She always had Plan B in her purse. Plan B: The business card that Rita at work had given her, Hayward-Rosenfield-Palmer, Divorce Attorneys.
She’d handed the card back, in the break room. “It’s not that bad.”
Rita had just looked at her over the top of her glasses.
Jennifer had taken the card back.
A conversation would need to be had, and soon. That conversation would need to spin off into others, and more and more. Bough breaking, cradle rocking. She’d tried, when she’d find him just sitting on the couch, staring at the TV that he hadn’t turned on, here and there she’d sit with him. His grunts, in response to her forays, were noncommittal, his focus never on her.
They’d talked more about coffee brands in the past four weeks than about anything else in their lives.
Tonight, though, tonight was about seeing Paige. Jennifer closed her eyes and pictured their greeting in the Shepards’ foyer. Seeing each other, standing under the warm recessed lighting, Paige’s strawberry hair ablaze in the glow. They’d look into each other’s eyes and all would be forgiven, they’d rush, and hug, and kiss.