Eight Hundred Grapes (26 page)

I forced a smile. “Great.”

Michelle forced a smile too. I sat down beside her.

“Benjamin,” Michelle said. “Shoo. Give us some girl time.”

Ben looked at me nervously, but I nodded that it was okay. He smiled, patted Maddie’s head. “I’m going to get this one a juice. Would you like something?”

I wasn’t sure whom he was addressing, but Michelle answered. “The usual . . .”

We watched Ben walk away, holding Maddie, making her laugh as they moved through the party. Ben held her high over his shoulders so she could see every person, every pretty dress.

“My daughter loves him a lot, doesn’t she?” Michelle said, looking sad, perhaps that she had kept them apart for so long when they so obviously were meant to be together. “Hard not to, I guess.”

I wasn’t sure how to react to that, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t wait for a reaction.

Michelle looked away again, something catching her eyes. “Jesus, is that Henry Morgan?”

She motioned with her eyes in Henry’s direction. Henry was talking to a couple of party guests, the guests laughing at what he was saying, funny and confident Henry.

She shook her head. “I’m breathless. The inimitable Henry Morgan.”

“How do you know him?”

“I don’t know him personally, but I’m a huge fan. He was the guest conductor at La Scala when I was in Italy for the Venice Film Festival years ago. He is simply brilliant. That is to say, brilliant like Bernstein was brilliant. I’ve never seen anything like it. The passion he exudes up on the podium, conducting with his whole body . . .”

She was still staring, like she wanted to eat him. Why had I invited her again?

“Is he a friend of the family? Benjamin mentioned that your mother was a cellist. I would love to meet him if you don’t mind introducing us, if it isn’t an imposition, of course.”

“Benjamin would be glad to do that,” I said.

Michelle heard the edge in my voice. Then she smiled, returning to
her mission, which apparently was to win me over. I wanted to give her a tip that complimenting my mother’s special friend probably wasn’t the best way to go.

“I didn’t
really
have the chance to say it earlier,” she said. “But I
really
appreciate being included tonight. It means a lot to me. And to Maddie. She has
really
taken to you.”

I smiled, trying not to count the
really
s.

“Of course, I realize our first meeting did not go as well . . . but I’d like to fix that,” she said.

“Being here tonight is all you need to do.”

She cocked her head, and nodded, as if she appreciated that. “For what it’s worth, your wedding dress is stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite as pretty as that.” She shrugged. “At least not running down Sunset.”

She gave me a sly smile. And I couldn’t help it. I laughed. It was all she needed. Michelle threw her head back, laughing even louder. Which was when I looked around, noticing. People were staring at Michelle, basking in that laughter, wanting to know what she was laughing about.

Michelle leaned in. “Isn’t this lovely? I’m sorry that it took so long for Benjamin to tell you about what was going on with Maddie and me,” she said. “I would have come right out and told you myself, but I didn’t think it was my place.”

“It had to come from him, though I appreciate you saying that.”

“Still, when we were in Shere last month? I certainly did push him. I told him that we absolutely had to get this all out in the open. That things really would be much better when you knew about us.”

That stopped me. “Wait, where?”

She shook her head, confused. “Surrey. Benjamin came to take care of Maddie while I was filming reshoots for this horrible movie about a bakeshop owner who falls in love with a man who is allergic to gluten. That’s what it’s about. It’s that bad. I play the underappreciated bakeshop owner, of course . . .”

Michelle was still talking, but I was stuck on the trip Ben had taken to London last month to finalize the purchase of our new home. I hadn’t been able to reach him at the hotel, and he had felt badly about it, going
on about how busy he was: telling me about a work dinner at our new neighborhood restaurant, telling me he had to stay a few extra days because the sellers were being difficult about the inspection. I didn’t realize he had been telling me a slew of lies.

Ben had claimed to be setting up our home, but he was doing two things, and the other had to do with his other family. Maddie and Michelle, the center.

“He helped on the other side too,” Michelle said.

I tapped back into what Michelle was saying.

“When we got back from Shere. I had a bunch of press to deal with, and Ben was able to help with Maddie then as well. You know, our house being a mere stone’s throw away from where you’ll be living. Isn’t that grand?”

My heart started racing. “Ben didn’t mention that you were nearby.”

“Very. In fact, we have this lovely tree house in our backyard, this tall tree house that Maddie essentially lives in. She likes to have her tea parties there. Really, she likes to do everything there. I spent fifty thousand pounds on the damn thing, so that’s probably good.” She laughed. “Anyway, the last time Ben was visiting, she took him up into the tree house for one of her tea parties, and he showed her his house. Apparently, you can see it clear as day from up in her little tree. The red door and everything.”

I felt like I was spinning, unable to get my bearings. Suddenly, I understood what she wanted me to know. My streets in London were never going to be my streets. My house, never going to be just my house. London wasn’t going to be about Ben and me putting down roots in a new life. It was going to be, at least in part, about fitting around the roots that Michelle had planted.

Michelle jerked forward as if she realized what I realized, looking like she felt badly for saying the wrong thing. She smiled ruefully. “Ignore me, I’m just talking too much!” she said.

The transparency of Michelle’s intention—pretending to be a friend, to deliver this information—was almost so cruel that I admired it. But I also realized it was a means to an end. What she really wanted, what she still wanted, was Ben.

It was the only thing she could see. The way it was the only thing Henry could see when he looked at my mother, the only thing Finn could see when he looked at Margaret. The only thing so many of us could see when we wanted something that we weren’t supposed to have.

Michelle raised her hands in surrender. “I shouldn’t have gotten into all of that. The important thing is that we’re here now. I need to learn to keep my mouth shut! Now I’ve gone and made a mess of things, just when they seemed to be getting back on track for the two of you.”

The tone in her voice was so sweet—but even her tone couldn’t hide her eyes. Her urgency. There was urgency there for Michelle because this was her last chance too. Before the wedding, before Ben made me his permanently. It was her last chance to convince me that we shouldn’t want that.

She leaned forward, performing. “I’m just such an honest person. It’s very hard for me to keep secrets,” she said.

“You kept Maddie from Ben.”

Michelle gave me a wry smile, the gloves off. “Well. Sometimes it isn’t.”

This was when we were interrupted. Five of the older wine club members—seventy-five years old—unable to hold off any longer, surrounded us to ask Michelle for her autograph.

“For our grandchildren,” their leader said.

Then, like a
whoosh
, Deputy Sheriff Tropper in his pinstripe suit was stepping in to run crowd control. He knocked the old women back. Drawing a two-foot barrier between them and Michelle.

“Ladies, you need to form a line. Ms. Carter only has two hands.”

Michelle laughed, giving the old women a hearty shrug, smiling at Tropper gratefully. The mixed emotion she had been showing to me was gone from her face. Her winning smile back in its place.

A Few Good Men

B
en held two glasses of scotch in one hand, Maddie’s hand in his other, when I caught up to him. He gave me a smile, but I couldn’t make myself smile back.

“We need to talk,” I said.

Ben tilted his head. “Okay . . .” he said.

I took him in—tall and strong in his suit. Michelle could have any man in the world, and yet she was entirely fixated on this man—a man who wasn’t available to her. Was it as simple as that? It would be easier to believe it was—Michelle wanting what she couldn’t have, Michelle thinking she was entitled to it. Though she wanted him also because he was her child’s father, the two things rolling around together, the generous and selfish parts of herself, to make Ben feel like he was her soul mate.

Ben sent Maddie back to Michelle and took my hand, walked us to the edge of the tent, the vineyard side, the moon and stars shooting out over the vineyard, shining over the vines.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“I had a little talk with Michelle.”

He looked at me anxiously. “I knew her coming was a bad idea.”

“I’m just trying to understand if your visit to London was about our future there or your future there.”

“Our future.” He held my face in his hands. “Everything is about our future.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me about Surrey?”

“Surrey?” Ben looked at me, realizing what I now knew. “Georgia, come on.”

“It was more than Maddie, wasn’t it? You were trying to see if you could be a family. If you could be with her.”

Ben shook his head. “Of course not. It was always about Maddie.”

“What happened to no more secrets, Ben?”

“Nothing. Michelle tries to paint things in a light that she wants to see them in,” he said. “I told you Michelle is complicated.”

“Is she complicated or is she a liar?”

He pulled back, as if deciding how honest with me he needed to be. He picked his drink up, stalling.

“Look, when she came back, I had a moment, sure. I had a moment of thinking about this woman who broke me who was now the mother of my kid. Any man would have had the same moment of hesitation.”

I looked away from him, my heart dropping. “You didn’t tell me, though.”

“How would it have been helpful to tell you that? To tell you I was having a moment? Do you share with me every guy that crosses your mind?”

I was too struck by what he said to fight back. How could I fight back? He was right—any man would consider the most beautiful woman in the world, if she wanted him, if she was the mother of his child.

“I know Michelle is throwing you, and throwing out your idea of our plan together. But don’t let her.”

He leaned in and put his face up to my ear, whispering.

“The important thing is what I decided. I decided to stay with you. It was the easiest decision I ever made.”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around him, trying to trust his words. Still, something felt off in his explanation. It didn’t feel like the whole story. The whole story was that Michelle had left Ben. Now she wanted him back. That seemed to be the story.

And here was the problem—it wasn’t about Ben messing with our master plan—with my idea of what our ordered and lovely life was going to look like. It wasn’t about knowing I was going to have to navigate Michelle.

It was about the fact that when Ben said it was the easiest decision he ever made, staying with me, he shielded his eyes. He shielded his eyes and, even if he wasn’t saying it out loud, I knew he only wanted that to be true.

I told Ben I needed a minute alone and walked to the bar, pouring myself sparkling wine, downing a glass. The bartender stared at my speed, not saying anything, but wanting to say something. I gave him a look, daring him.

I took the bottle itself and moved away from the bar. I moved toward the corner, where I could watch Finn on his side of the party, Bobby on his. My mother looked back and forth between them as she stood there with Henry; Henry, who looked uncomfortable—not because he was there—I had learned enough about Henry to know there probably wasn’t any room in the world he felt uncomfortable in. No, he was uncomfortable because he saw how agitated my mother was and he thought he was causing it. He was uncomfortable because he cared.

I poured more sparkling wine into my glass when Lee came up to me in the corner, like she belonged there too. “The bartender says you took the last of the good stuff. Care to hand some of it over?”

She took my glass out of my hands, making it her own. “You okay?” she said.

I nodded.

She took a long sip, my heart racing. “You don’t seem it,” she said. She looked at me, debating whether she knew me well enough to say it. She turned away, apparently deciding against it. Then, thinking again, she turned back.

“You shouldn’t feel badly about it,” she said.

“What’s that?”

She motioned toward Michelle, back with her daughter and Ben. “It would be hard for anyone if Michelle Carter was their husband’s ex,” she said. “Even Michelle Carter.”

Then she handed the glass back over. I smiled. “Thanks.”

“You should feel badly about pretending not to know me when you met me yesterday. If you want to feel badly about something, feel badly about that. Why did you do that?”