“What?”
“There was a British couple with us, friends of his mother’s that he’d invited along. They wondered aloud if we should look for him, but I told them not to bother. An hour turned into two, and Matt never returned.”
“My God, did you contact the police?”
“That’s what the Brits suggested, but I explained that my husband had done this a few times before, and I knew from experience that I had to wait forty-eight hours to file a missing persons report. I went home with Joy alone. Thirty-six hours later, Matt showed up at the Blend.”
Roman blinked. “Why didn’t you call him?”
I almost laughed. “This was long before cell phones.”
“So where was he?”
“He’d run into ‘a friend’ at the concession stand, and the two of them took off on a cocaine-fueled bender.” I met Roman’s eyes. “I suspected the ‘friend’ was female, but he never admitted it.”
Roman shook his head. “So what did you do?”
“I divorced him—eventually. It took a few more years.”
“Good heavens, why?”
“Because even though Matt acted like a grade-A jerk during our marriage, most of the time he’d been supportive and caring, a passionate lover, and a besotted father; he loved Joy more than anything. But finally, I got tired of forgiving the eternal boy crap and found the strength to leave.” I gestured to the lighted baseball stadium. “ ‘The great beginning had seen a final inning,’ you know?”
Roman smiled. “Who can argue with an Ira Gershwin lyric? ‘The Man That Got Away,’ right?”
I laughed. “You’re the one who said I reminded you of Garland in A Star Is Born.”
“It’s the outfit, sweetie. Retro-adorable. So what happened to you and Matt after that?”
“I moved to Jersey, and he hit bottom. He went into rehab, straightened out, relapsed, straightened out again.” I touched Roman’s arm. “Don’t get the wrong idea, okay? Matt’s worked hard since then to turn his life around, and I honestly think he’s going to be fine. He has no interest in becoming an addict again.”
“I understand.” Roman folded his hands over his belly. “But, you know, Clare, there’s something else on my mind, now that you’ve brought up your marriage to Matt.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s clear that you and he are still close—two snow peas in a tenderly steamed pod, if you will. When I see you two together, it’s as if your marriage never ended.”
“It ended, Roman, trust me on that.”
“So the last inning’s played then? The game’s over? There’s nothing between you?”
Roman’s phrasing made me shift on my plastic seat. Nothing between me and Matt? That wasn’t true. There was a living, breathing daughter between us; a vital coffee business; an important family relationship with his mother; a long-standing friendship; and the residual affection that didn’t just evaporate after years of sharing a life. But that answer was far too nuanced for what Roman wanted to hear. So I adjusted the $300 skirt that Breanne was nice enough to buy me and cleared my throat.
“There’s no chance of our marrying again,” I said firmly. “And Matt wants to move on with his life, you understand?”
“Yes. But, sweetie, here’s the million dollar question: Do you?”
“Yes, of course. I have only one reservation about Matt getting married again.”
Roman sat up a little straighter. “Do tell.”
“Matt strayed during his ten-year marriage to me. And he led a pretty wild life in the decade after we parted. If he starts to feel restless, he may stray on Breanne, too. Does she understand that possibility is more likely than not?”
Roman actually laughed. “Breanne’s no fool. Matt’s been a playboy for years, and she’s ready to endure his extracurricular activities. Unlike you, Clare, Breanne understands that there are at least as many types of marriages in the world as cultural cuisines.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning...” He shrugged. “Not everyone believes one should marry for love.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what do you believe?”
The Puckish smile returned. “ ‘What fools these mortals be... ’ ”
“Excuse me?”
“Lovers deceive and are deceived, Clare. It’s been that way for centuries. Look at you and Matt. You imagined your love to be firm and constant, but it wasn’t. He strayed, and you lost faith in him.”
Oh, God. “I never really thought of it that way.”
“Injured parties never do. They’ve been injured, after all. But your ex-husband still wants you back, doesn’t he?”
I sat motionless for a moment. It was true: Matt did want me back. The man’s taxicab confession outside of Fen’s had implied exactly that. But I didn’t like the way Roman asked the question, and I hadn’t forgotten bridezilla’s fitting room fit. Breanne specifically ordered Roman to find out whether or not I wanted Matt back.
Well, the food critic was a good interrogator, I had to give him that. But I was no slouch, either, so I simply replied, “Matt and I are over. He knows it as well as I do. That’s why he proposed to Breanne in the first place.”
Roman nodded, appearing pleased with that answer. “Breanne’s getting up in years. She doesn’t want to remain single for a lot of reasons. She and Matt have been linked in the public eye, and their nuptials will silence the gossips in the tabloids. I sense Matteo has his own reasons for wanting to link himself with Breanne, as well, reasons that have nothing to do with the sentimentalities to which you still subscribe.”
“Don’t be condescending, Roman. Just because I believe in the virtue of fidelity doesn’t make me a fool.”
“Forgive me, Clare. I don’t mean to be rude.”
“So what are you saying? Breanne and Matt are marrying for convenience, both of them?”
“You of all people should know why. Love is fleeting. But a partnership where two people thoroughly understand each other? Well, that can last forever.”
We sat in silence after that, and I considered Roman’s words. The train lurched suddenly and then began to move. With mixed feelings, I watched the dark tennis center fade from view. My past with Matt was fading, as well. And yet—if I wanted to admit the truth to myself—something more than friendship did still quietly burn between us.
I considered that reality as the train rolled out of Flushing Meadows Park and into Willets Point, land of auto grave-yards. Stacks of dead cars had been dumped here for years. In the evening shadows, the sprawling heaps of smashed-up chassis looked like a depressing installation of modern art.
It was hard to remember that the rusted, twisted metal had once been shiny and new. I thought about the people who’d ridden around in those vehicles: the first dates and shopping trips, Sunday drives and passionate kisses. But now every last one was junked, useful to the scrap man, maybe, but of little value to the people who’d once cherished them.
For years I’d treasured the old, applauded the preservation of the historic. Now I thought about the history between Matt and me. Up to now, I’d been treating his wedding as just another party to cater. Sure, I’d been telling myself it would be okay, but the mind and the heart were two very different organs.
I didn’t want Matt back—that wasn’t the issue. But the man had been my first lover, my passionate bridegroom, the father of my only child. Would I really be able to see him commit to another woman without feeling an emotional impact?
I had no answer to that question, and there was no more time to consider it. The train plunged us underground once more, and a short black tunnel blotted out my elevated view. A few moments later, steel wheels squealed to a halt in the station, and the conductor put the brakes on my musings.