Recipe for a Happy Life: A Novel (25 page)

“Why would you do that?” my mother asks. She puts her hand on my arm to get my attention.

“You know what?” I say, turning to face her. “I don’t feel like talking about this anymore.”

“Why would you sabotage your own career?”

“I didn’t,” I say. “I was helping people.”

“You were helping other people,” she says. “At the expense of your own career.”

“I didn’t sabotage anything.”

“Yes, you did. Are you really so afraid of having something good in your life that you’d rather take on the burdens of others, at your own expense? Well, I’ll tell you what happens if you continue doing that. Eventually, you give so much of yourself that you no longer have anything to give. Don’t let that happen to you, Hannah.”

I swivel my chair back around to face the band. Even though my back is to her, I can feel my mother still staring at me.

The band starts to play and I’m grateful for the timing. Now I can do what I always do. Avoid this conversation and hope that it doesn’t get brought up again. Music blares through the club and it’s so loud, we don’t get a chance to talk again.

Forty-one

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a dance floor laid over the pool,” I explain to Jaime. “Why, did you want to take a dip today? You could always walk out to the ocean, or we can go to Hunter’s house.”

“No,” Jaime says. “There’s a setup for a band. And that band’s not us.”

“What?” I say. “Oh, wait, you wanted to perform at this party?”

Jaime doesn’t answer; he just looks at me and shrugs his shoulders in a way that suggests that it’s obvious that his band would want to play tonight.

“But it’s a party for you,” I explain. “Everyone’s here for you. You can’t be the hired help.”

“The hired help?” he asks, furrowing his brow. Clearly, my irony was lost on him. “Hannah, you’ve been out here a month and already you’ve changed.”

“I was just joking,” I say, reaching out to grab his arm.

He jumps back, away from my touch. “I’m an artist,” he practically spits out at me.

Jaime stomps back to the guest house, and I let him go. It isn’t until later, once the party’s already started that I see him again. About forty-five minutes late, he and his bandmates saunter out into the party. They are all drunk. Really drunk.

I’m chatting with Hunter and Skylar about their photography lessons with my mother. They’ve set up a field trip to shoot out in Montauk the following week, and Hunter wants me to come along. It’s not clear yet whether I’ll be given a camera or if I’ll have to play the part of the assistant again, but still, I tell them that I’m in.

“Why is this kid here again?” Jaime asks, walking over to us. He met Hunter the previous night, at their gig in Quogue, and couldn’t understand why he was there. Jaime can’t seem to wrap his brain around the fact that I choose to socialize with a fourteen-year-old.

I try to laugh to make Hunter think that Jaime’s just kidding around, which only comes out sounding incredibly fake. I begin to wonder how much a tiny little glass of wine will actually harm my baby.

“He’s just joking,” I say, wrapping my arm around Jaime. For some reason, I think that if I steady him, he’ll be less drunk.

“Good to see you again,” Hunter says. “You remember Skylar.”

“You were great last night,” Skylar says, and Jaime just stares at her.

“You must be so excited about the baby,” Hunter says. I love that he is trying to salvage this conversation, that he’s trying so hard to see the good in Jaime. I think of Hunter’s mother, and how proud she’d be to see how well she raised her son; how well-mannered he is, even in the face of an uncomfortable situation. Is it possible that this fourteen-year-old boy is more grown up than my twenty-seven-year-old boyfriend?

“Skylar and I are so excited about the baby,” Hunter says, putting an arm around Skylar’s shoulder.

“Why are you excited about the baby?” Jaime says to Hunter, a bit too aggressively.

“I think we should get you some water,” I say loudly to Jaime, and direct him toward the pasta bar. As we walk away, over my shoulder I mouth the words “I’m sorry” to Hunter and Skylar, and Hunter flashes me a smile. A sad smile. I can tell he is the one who feels sorry for me.

I push ahead to the front of the line (“You can do anything you want, generally, as long as you have a big smile on your face,” my grandmother would say), and get Jaime a huge plate of pasta in a thick alfredo sauce. I put a big chunk of bread on the plate, too, and swipe a few pieces of fried calamari from a passing waiter. I’m counting on the carbs and grease to help absorb all of the alcohol that’s undoubtedly made Jaime so mean. We find an empty table, just off the bar, and sit down. I command Jaime to start eating, as I get up to fetch him a large glass of water.

“So, here’s the happy couple,” Hunter Kensington the third says, pulling up the extra chair at our table and sitting down. I suppose that Hunter told his father how excited he was about the baby and that Hunter’s dad naturally assumed we were happy about it as well.

“Hi, Mr. Kensington,” I say.

“Trip,” he corrects.

“Yes, of course. Trip. This is Jaime,” I say. Jaime looks up from his dish of pasta and nods.

“I heard that you are quite the musician,” Trip says. “What kind of music do you make?” From the corner of my eye, I can see Jaime roll his eyes.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself here,” I say. “This is a fun party, isn’t it? Hunter and Skylar are having a blast.”

“They are,” he says. “Great kids, aren’t they? I’m glad you’ve been taking such good care of them. You’re going to make a great mother.”

“Thank you,” I say, and feel a flush come over my cheeks. I’m inexplicably moved by his words.

“So,” he says, taking a sip of his champagne, “will the next party your grandmother plans be a wedding?”

“No,” Jaime says quickly. He laughs into his bowl of pasta. “No.”

“We’re just taking things one day at a time,” I say, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Trip says. “I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous. Of course you should take things one day at a time.”

Jaime grumbles something about how he thought rich people out in the Hamptons had better manners as Trip excuses himself from the table.

“What is wrong with you?” I say, just as soon as Trip is safely out of earshot.

“What’s wrong with me?” Jaime asks incredulously. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me,” I say. “Is there a reason why, since you’ve been out here, all you’ve been trying to do is humiliate me?”

“I’m not humiliating you, babe,” he says. “You’re doing a pretty good job of that all by yourself.”

“Drink more water,” I say. “You’re still drunk.”

Jaime takes a big swig of his water, followed by a huge bite of pasta. With his mouth completely full, he says, “What? You want to get married now?”

“I didn’t say that,” I mutter.

“Good,” he says. “Because the best part of dating you used to be that you never wanted to get married. You’ve always been pretty adamant about that one. The fact that you’re knocked up shouldn’t really change things, you know. Because that would make you a really big hypocrite.”

“You’re an asshole,” I say, and get up from the table. Over my shoulder, I can hear Jaime yelling, “I’m just kidding, babe!” but I keep walking. I have no idea where I’m going, but I just walk.

The truth is that I never thought I’d get married again. I don’t know if it’s the family curse, or that I couldn’t bear to again go through the pain I felt when I lost Adam, but marriage was something that was off the table for me.

And Jaime’s right, even though I’m now pregnant, it doesn’t mean I want to get married. Jaime came out here to see if we could make things work, to see if we could have a baby together. Not to get married. Still, there’s something about the way Jaime so adamantly refuses to entertain the thought of marriage that gives me pause.

I may not ever want to get married again, but I do want to be in a committed relationship, and the point of Jaime being out here is to figure out if we could do that for the long haul. To figure out if we can be a family. Can you be with someone who thinks that your best quality is the fact that you don’t want to ever get married?

I walk past the dance floor and toward the pool, and recognize an unmistakable aroma. Something that I don’t think I’ve smelled since I was in college. I turn toward the smell, and there’s my mother, on a swing, smoking a joint.

“It’s legal, counselor,” she says as I approach her. “Don’t arrest me.” She puts her hands up in the air for effect, joint dangling between her teeth.

“I practice civil law,” I say.

“But you could still make a citizen’s arrest,” she says, furrowing her brow in slow motion.

“So,” I say, slowly and carefully. I don’t want her to think I’m judging. “When did this start?”

“The doctor gave it to me this week,” my mother says, taking a long inhale.

“Is the pain that bad?”

“It’s getting there,” she says. “But I don’t want you to worry about me. I am seriously mellow yellow.”

“You’ll let me know what I can do,” I say.

“Take a hit,” she says. “It’s sad to smoke up alone.”

I take the joint between my two fingers and inhale, then remember that I’m pregnant and choke as I rush to exhale. My choking half to death makes my mother laugh uncontrollably. I pass the joint back to her, pouting.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You just looked so cute choking like that. God, I must be the worst grandmother in the world, suggesting that my pregnant daughter smoke up with me.”

I shrug my shoulders. After all, we both know that my mother smoked and drank when she was pregnant with me, and I turned out all right.

Sort of.

“I’ve got bigger problems,” I say, and tell her everything that has happened with Jaime since the party started. But before I can finish the story, Jaime comes and finds us by the swings.

“Babe,” he says, slurring his words. “I was looking for you. The band’s going to take a break and let us do a few songs and I didn’t want you to miss it. Sweet! Is that a joint?”

My mother nods her head slowly, and Jaime says: “Gray, you are the coolest.”

“I’m going to get some water,” I say, and hop up from the swing. My mother tries to stop me, but she’s smoked so much that she’s moving too slowly to catch up. Jaime plops down on the swing next to her, and grabs the joint.

I walk quickly back to the dance floor, somehow thinking that if I’m in a well-lighted area, I’ll be safe. I spot Rhett and decide that now is as good a time as any to get to know him a little better.

“Hannah.” I’m stopped by Nate. He looks so handsome in his pressed white shirt and rumpled linen pants that I almost have to look away. “We need to talk.”

“I was just on my way to say hello to Adan,” I say, looking over Nate’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I haven’t been very nice to him since he got here.”

Nate puts his hand underneath my elbow. “Please. Talk to me.”

I look into his eyes and he’s got that expression again. The one I can’t decipher. The one that draws me in.

“Where did you go to college?” I ask.

“That’s not what I meant when I said that we needed to talk,” Nate says, laughing despite himself. He looks around the dance floor self-consciously. The bandleader begins a slow song, and the whole dance floor fills up with happy couples, swaying to the beat.

“Do you love him?” Nate asks me. “If you tell me you love him, I’ll let you be. I’ll go away and I won’t bother you anymore.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know the answer anymore.

“Hannah?” he says, but I still can’t speak. “I get the feeling that you don’t love him. I get the feeling that things aren’t over between us.”

“It’s not that simple,” I say.

“If you tell me you love him, I’ll leave you alone. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

I don’t say anything back. It’s like I can’t speak. I can barely catch my breath.

Nate pulls me close and whispers into my ear. We are on the dance floor, arms around each other, dancing slowly. “Listen, we could still make this work, you and I.”

“No,” I say, pulling back. “We can’t. I’ve decided that I want to keep this baby.”

“But do you love him?” Nate asks.

“We’re having a baby,” I say.

“What does that have to do with us?” Nate asks, putting his face close to mine again. “I know I freaked out at first, I know I said that I couldn’t handle it, but the things you have to work for the hardest usually end up being the most worth it.”

“What would we tell our child?” I ask.

“The truth,” he says. “That we’re in love. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“How screwed up would our child be?” I say, pulling back again. For a second, I get a fleeting image of the microfiche machine at the New York Public Library, spending a day searching for my father’s bylines. “I have to try to make this work with Jaime.”

“Tell me that you love him and I’ll go away,” he says.

Nate pulls me tight and I don’t want to pull away. He bows his head down toward mine, our faces only inches apart. “Hannah, I love you.”

“I don’t even know where you went to college,” I say, closing my eyes. “There are so many things I don’t even know about you. Where did you go to college?”

“I went to Michigan,” he says.

I open my eyes and let out a deep breath. “Okay,” I say. “I went to Cornell.”

“Oh no,” he says, feigning upset, “how will we ever make it work?”

The song ends and all of the couples part to applaud the band. Nate and I continue dancing, our faces still only inches apart. I can tell he’s about to kiss me, and I’m about to let him. Even though this is a party for my boyfriend, Jaime. Even though I’m pregnant with Jaime’s child. Even though everyone here knows that, and is staring at me, with their jaws on the ground.

“Can I please have your attention?” a voice slurs from the microphone. I immediately recognize Jaime’s drunken voice and I jump away from Nate like a kid who’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I’d like your attention, please,” Jaime continues.

“My band and I are going to play a few songs for you tonight,” he says as his various band members, who are all in different states of drunkenness, take the stage. “But first, I’ve got an announcement to make. Hannah, where are you, Hannah?” He puts his hand over his eyes, as if the lights are blinding him somehow and he can’t find me. I raise my hand and try to smile. Nate is still standing right next to me. I can’t help but think that if the roles had been reversed, Jaime would have skulked off the dance floor and out into the night.