We Could Be Beautiful (29 page)

“I think I am being careful. I cooked a budget dinner last night. That whole dinner barely cost anything to make.” That wasn’t completely true. I had somehow spent $140 on my ingredients.

“Yes,” he said, “and the bell peppers looked lovely. I will eat one later.”

“They were lovely.” I pouted.

The waiter set down the silver tray of oysters, their greasy bodies like oil spills. Those shells probably weren’t even real. They were probably from the 99 Cents store. And the big cubes of ice—how tacky, they couldn’t even get the small ice. William took an oyster, diligently squeezed lemon and then Tabasco on top, and tipped it back into his mouth. I could see the knob of his Adam’s apple working as he swallowed.

“Please, have one,” he said, and put an ugly oyster on my plate.

I added lemon slowly, then added more lemon. He was watching. I waited for the right moment. I wasn’t sure if I would really do it or not, and then I did it. When he looked down, for just a split second, to adjust his napkin, I dropped the oyster on the ground. “Oops,” I said, and in the commotion—the waiter coming to clean it up, William saying, “Oh, what a pity”—I topped off my prosecco and quietly drained the glass.

26

W
e attended mass before our meeting with Father Ness. The theme of the day was grace. How does God’s grace save the believer? I tried, but I just couldn’t connect the dots. Save the believer from what?

William was his usual serious church self, sitting upright like a soldier. He held the book for us when it was time to sing. I sort of hummed along. William preferred me in a dress. I wore the blue one he had called “breathtaking” once. He wore his usual suit and a hand-painted tie with imperfectly spaced dots on it.

As I watched him take communion, I thought, as usual, that he was the most handsome man in the line. I didn’t see Marge anywhere. I hoped she hadn’t died. She was my favorite thing about church.

•

The small courtyard behind the church offices was scattered with leaves. Our white wrought-iron chairs were chipped and uncomfortable. Just as Father Ness appeared in the doorway, William leaned over and said, “Don’t mention that we live together. It’s against protocol.”

Father Ness had taken his robe off and now wore black pants and a black short-sleeved button-down with a white band at the neck that looked like a dog collar. His skin was sagging, and the whites of his eyes were a yolky yellow, and his cheeks were hollowed out to almost nothing, but his friendly face was working hard against all this decay. He reminded me of an overanimated preschool teacher. This was clearly a man who was determined to be optimistic despite it all.

“Hello, folks.” He sat down, opened a ratty binder. “How are we doing today?”

“Very well, Father, and yourself?”

“Always feel better after a service.” He clapped twice. “So.” He flipped the pages in the binder. “I assume you want a marriage service?”

“Yes,” William said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It’s shorter than the nuptial mass, darling,” William said.

“Great,” I said.

“Any preference on readings? We’ll pick one from the Old Testament, one from the New, and one from the Gospels, in case you didn’t know, Catherine.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What would you suggest, Father?”

“Genesis two-eighteen from the Old Testament, Letter to the Hebrews from the New Testament, and from the Gospels, I like to recommend Mark ten-six.”

“I see,” William said, considering this. “Those sound perfectly fine to me.”

Father Ness wrote that down with his golf pencil. Without looking up, he said, “Catherine, does this sound good to you?”

“Whatever William wants,” I said.

“Very accommodating,” he said slowly, concentrating. “All righty.” He turned to a new page in his binder, with a badly pixelated heart icon at the top and a list of questions. “Now for the fun stuff. How did you meet?”

“At an art exhibition,” William said.

“Here in New York?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Since May.”

“Love at first sight then.”

William put his hand on my knee. “Yes.”

“And where do you live?”

“I live on the Upper East Side and Catherine lives in the West Village.” I was impressed by the ease with which William delivered this lie. I’d never heard him lie before. He was confident. I would have believed him if I didn’t know the truth.

“Catherine, what do you love about William?”

“Oh, wow, putting me on the spot here. Okay. Well, I love William’s kindness, and how hardworking he is.” William smiled. “His smile.”

“Good. William, what do you love about Catherine?”

“Her good nature, her home-cooked meals, and”—he looked at me—“how I feel safe in your arms.”

“Great.” Father Ness wrote that down. “Now let’s talk about family planning. Here are some pamphlets.” He flipped back and forth through the binder, finding none. “Where could they be? Oh, here we are,” he said, producing a wilted pamphlet. “I only have one. You can share. Sharing! An important tool for marriage!” He handed it over. It was called “Together for Life.” On the cover, a catalog man and woman stood together, with hokey rays of light expanding brilliantly between them. “Now, if you open it up, we’ll start at the third section. Find it? Okay. These are the points we’re going to hit.” He peered over and read them upside-down, though it seemed like he had them memorized. “Develop effective communication skills. Practice Natural Family Planning. Pray together. Enjoy romantic time together. Managing your finances. Okay, number one. How is your communication?”

William and I looked at each other. “I would say we are good communicators,” William said.

“You express love for each other frequently?”

“Absolutely.”

“Catherine, you agree?”

“Yes.”

“How do you communicate when there is an argument?”

“We don’t argue,” I said.

“Well, darling, sometimes we do. I do have one example. May I share it?”

“Please,” Father Ness said.

“Catherine?”

“Please,” I said.

“Recently Catherine went through my personal items. This upset me. I brought it up and asked her not to do it again. I think we resolved that well.”

“Do you agree, Catherine?”

I was in shock—was he really telling the priest about this?—but managed to say, “I agree.”

“Good. I know how you feel, William. I don’t like it when my roommate cleans out my backpack.”

I thought, Roommate? Backpack? Are you a freshman in college?

“Catherine, were you cleaning?”

“No.”

William laughed. “Catherine isn’t very fond of cleaning.”

“So you clean then, William?”

“We have housekeepers,” I said.

“Ah, how nice for you.” Father Ness looked us over then, looked at our clothes. It seemed it had taken him until this moment to realize we might be rich. “William, I understand your distress. But when a couple is married, everything is shared. That is sometimes hard, but it’s how it goes. One must not have secrets.”

“There are no secrets,” William said.

“Catherine, would you agree?”

“Yes.”

William squeezed my hand.

“Let’s talk about the family. Do you plan on having children together?”

I looked at the dead leaves on the ground.

“As soon as possible,” William said.

“Do you know how many?”

“One, at least,” William said. “Or two if we’re lucky.”

“Great.” Father Ness wrote a two. “Children are a real gift.”

We smiled politely.

“Okay, on to the next. This can be uncomfortable, but we need to touch on sex. Until you are ready to have children, the rhythm method is the way to avoid pregnancy, as you must already know.”

“Yes,” William said.

“And as far as the sex itself, only moral sex acts are acceptable.”

William didn’t even flinch. “Of course.”

“Enjoying romantic time and praying together. Tell me about that.”

“Catherine and I are very romantic,” William said. “We go out quite often.”

“Where do you go?”

“Dinner,” William said, looking at me. “Galleries.”

“We walk the dog,” I added.

“Good. And praying together?”

“Well, we could be doing a little more of that,” William chuckled. “Right, Catherine?”

“Right,” I said.

“You can start by saying grace before dinner,” Father Ness said. “Even in restaurants, people do it. My roommate and I do it all the time.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. I wondered if they shared a backpack when they went out for dinner, too.

“Absolutely,” William said.

“Finances. Tell me about that.”

“I think we’re okay.” William squeezed my knee. “Right, Catherine?”

“Definitely,” I said.

“Well,” Father Ness said, “if you should ever find yourselves at a point where budgeting is necessary, I’m a fan of Microsoft Excel. I’m sure you know it.”

“Yes,” William said.

“A spreadsheet can be very helpful in getting down to the nitty-gritty.”

When the leaves on the ground began to swirl madly and the first raindrop hit my face, I said, in a tone that suggested emergency, “It’s raining.” When Father Ness said, “I think that’s about all we need to cover anyway,” I thanked God for making it rain. It came down so fast, we all got wet. We stood in the doorway, watching the water pound down in sheets. “I need to laminate these pages,” Father Ness said, brushing the droplets off his crappy binder with a sweep of his weathered, energetic hand.

•

In the cab William put his arm around me. I was wet and shivering. I probably wasn’t even that cold, but shivering was something to do, and it was something that said, I am not happy.

“I think that went well, don’t you?”

“I guess so.” I put my arm around his chest. “But it was a little uncomfortable, honey.”

“Because I was honest? About you looking through my things?”

“Why did you tell him that?”

“They always want to hear a little bit of dirt. This way, Father Ness knows we’re working through our issues. If there were no issues, there would be nothing to work through.”

“Okay, but why do you care what he thinks?”

“He’s our priest, darling. It’s important to be honest.”

“We weren’t completely honest though.”

“We were honest about the things that matter.”

“You’re such a good liar,” I said. “Oh my gosh, I even believed you.”

“Well.” He kissed my forehead. “I promise never to lie to you.”

I remember we were driving by the Jamaican juice place on Houston Street, and I remember the island-blue color of its awning through the rain, and I remember a dad standing outside with a child on his shoulders. Though this could have been wrong. There could have been no dad. We could have been on a different street. I could have made it all up, I could have been seeing things. I could have been seeing only what I wanted to see and not the rest. “I know you’ll never lie to me,” I told him. “I know that.”

•

As usual, Doreen was early with Max. He wore a black hoodie with bright white strings and an expression of defeat. “I’m in a rush,” Doreen said, tapping her long umbrella on the ground. Her tangerine Ralph Lauren polo shirt was wet in splotches. The street was slick and black. For now it had stopped raining. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No problem. We’ll see you later.”

“Thanks, Catherine.”

“Mom, I want to go with you.” Max groaned.

“Honey, you can’t come with me. It’s violin time. You need to practice. You want to get better, don’t you? I’ll be back in an hour.” She looked at her watch. “Hour and a half. Okay?”

Max rolled his shoulders spasmodically. “I don’t want to practice the violin today.”

“Honey, I’ve got to go. Violin is important for college—trust me.” Doreen blew a kiss and jogged away in her pin-striped skirt. The umbrella in her hand looked like a spear.

“Mom!” Max shouted. She turned and waved and then kept jogging.

I knelt to meet him at eye level, which was really, really nice of me. I was so nice. His eyes were the glowing color of a beehive. His long curly black hair hung over his face. “How are you, Max?”

“I don’t know.” He let the violin drop from his hand. It landed on the doormat with a thud. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay.” I picked up the case. It was heavier than I thought. “I’ll carry this up for you. Do you want some cookies?”

“Yes please, or wafers,” he said, and followed me up the stairs, past the room where Stan was playing a song expertly, or at least that’s how it sounded to my novice ear. I wondered if this bothered Max—the fact that Stan was better at the violin. Maybe that’s why he was so upset. He sat on the couch, and seemed a little happier when Herman jumped on him. I brought him a Coke and some Oreos.

“Thank you, Catherine,” he said.

I sat next to him with my Pellegrino. We listened to Stan play. “Do you know what song that is?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“Allegretto, by Suzuki.”

“Oh, do you like that one?”

No response. He twisted the Oreo until it came apart and licked the white innards.

“Have you been watching that show on the Disney Channel?” Wow, I sounded so lame.

“I don’t know.” He licked. “Sometimes.”

“You like Oreos?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you okay? Is something bothering you?”

He tapped his black Converses together. “Yeah.”

“What is it?”

When he looked up and I saw his eyes, I thought he might cry. “I don’t know.”

The violin lay heavy on the floor. “I know, the violin isn’t your favorite thing.”

“Can we practice in the living room with you today?”

“I have my massage.”

“Oh.” He slumped deeper into the couch and put a hand on Herman, who had curled up next to him.

“Don’t worry, it’s only an hour. And you can have another Coke afterwards, okay?”

“Yeah.”

I wanted to hug him, but this seemed inappropriate, so I got him more Oreos instead. Then Stan stopped playing and we heard the door open.

“Want me to walk you down?”