Page 37

37 | The O.K. Corral SASHA

When I finally emerge from my room, the villa feels empty. The quiet is deep. Ethan and Stephanie have left, already en route to dinner.

I am staying calm. By which I mean that I am telling myself I am calm, but my body is a blender on chop. I am pushing mental images out of my mind of Bart with orange makeup running down his face and onto his furry pumpkin costume; of Nettie’s mouth dropping open as she absorbs another disappointment and pulls further into herself. Me, spending the rest of my career making videos of Larry the cat in Do It Furr Fashion.

I have a plan: I will talk to Stephanie and the rest of the group about the situation and see what we can figure out. Hopefully, there’s some reasonable solution. A way for me to avoid failing everyone at once.

I grab my clutch and head up toward the restaurant, too anxious to truly appreciate the sun setting this one last time over the horizon, a laser pointer finding focus until it dips out of view. The world’s most gorgeous eye exam. “This one?” it asks. “Or this one?”

Stephanie’s laughter rings out, greeting me before I arrive. And, as I crest the steps, I see that everyone is already taking their seats at the long outdoor dining table. I expect to find Martin in the seat of honor at the head, but he’s nowhere in sight. I wonder if Stephanie is disappointed or if she’s already gathered enough intel for a lifetime of salacious dinner-party stories.

Too late, I realize: I am freaking out so much about the weather that I have forgotten to have postcoital panic. This is the first time I am seeing Ethan after doing the deed. I should be feeling preteen awkward. I should have run out of things to say before I began. I don’t know if it’s the other pressing issues, the man himself or my blossoming maturity (it’s not this), but, instead, when I spot him, I just feel warm inside.

Damn. I like this man. Like, like him, like him.

Tonight, Ethan’s PT (it’s time I make these perfect T-shirts an official thing) is navy blue and it’s a fantastic color on him. His hair is just disheveled enough; his stubble is freshly trimmed. His skin is sun-kissed. His trousers hug his butt like I would if no one was around. Having gone there has not quelled my desire to go there again.

Not even my Kaitlin guilt—or fear of widespread VIM hatred—can stave off the horn dog in me when it comes to Ethan.

For a second, when I see him see me, when he looks up from conversation and a hundred-watt smile spreads across his face, I forget how fucking unhinged I am. How close to the edge. I just want to walk over to him, like he’s not my damn employer, and tuck myself under his arm, bury my face in his chest. And then I want to live there forever.

I feel like he’s mine.

I smile back. Until I remember. He’s not.

He is not my boyfriend. This is not the prom. We will not be slow dancing to “November Rain.” And that is a damn shame.

He is the boss. His ex-wife is a woman I know, who I will have to see daily at pick-up. I am a grown woman. I have a job to do. My kids need me at home tomorrow. And I’ve got to find a way to get to them while remaining Professional Sasha with the others. I’ve got to be in two places at once, like a million mothers before me. I need to split and duplicate like a cell.

Maybe the full-time job is a pipe dream now that we’ve complicated our relationship, but I can still leave Derek, Stephanie, Charlie and Jackie with a good impression of me. They can still be great references, who think of me for other projects. I won’t dwell on the opportunity I traded for a tryst.

Ethan watches my face fall, and his follows mine off the cliff. His brow furrows in silent communication. He tilts his head. Are you okay?

There’s more than I can say with my face. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I frown. And then Jackie is grabbing my arm and ushering me over to the table.

“There you are! I feel like I haven’t seen you all day! How’s your crotch? Those jellyfish are monsters! Clearly in league with the lizards.”

“Crotch is well,” I say, as I arrive at the table, recovering enough to present as normal. “And it thanks you for asking.”

Ethan’s hand is on the back of the chair beside him like he’s expecting me to sit there. Like we’re a thing . A normal couple, out to dinner, with friends. But he’s across the table, and there’s no inconspicuous way for me to walk the perimeter and get to him.

Some lovers move heaven and earth. I am foiled by a dining table.

Also, I’m not sure I would go there even if I could. I don’t like how lifted I felt when I saw his face, how—for the first time in years—I had the impulse to lean on a man for comfort. I don’t like how hungry I am to get him to myself again. That does not feel safe. Or wise. I am leaving tomorrow no matter what. I am back to real life. To my kids. To my mom and her faltering memory. To my practiced balancing act. I will not make the same mistakes I made with Cliff. When I return home, this thing between us goes away. Poof . So, maybe there’s no point in prolonging the pain.

Wait, pain? Will I feel pain? Heat blooms at the back of my neck, flowering into full panic.

But I have no time to assess because I am the last one standing. I quickly settle into a seat between Stephanie and Jackie, with Ethan, Derek and Charlie across from us.

“It’s boys against girls!” Stephanie giggles, pointing out the gender divide on either side of the table. “Can you guys handle it?”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “I’m down to try.”

Under the table, Ethan nudges my foot with his own, shoots me a secret smile.

Maybe this is high school prom, after all.

I do my best to smile back, but my heart isn’t in it. The world is leaden on my shoulders. I busy myself spreading my napkin on my lap.

“What’s with you?” Jackie asks, concerned.

The vibe of this crew is light and airy tonight. They’re effervescing around each other, on the brink of completing a job well-done. They’re eating bread and sipping fizzy drinks. I am a lone dark cloud.

“Is it the medicine?” Stephanie asks.

“The ointment?” I say.

“Oh, right. Damn shame they didn’t give you anything better.”

“It’s fine,” I try, but then confess because I have come to trust these women: “I’m just stressed.”

“Is everything okay at home?” Ethan asks, breaking into our huddle. The genuine concern in his voice breaks my heart.

I wasn’t planning on bringing this up at the start of dinner, but I guess I have passive aggressively ushered the issue in with my mood.

“I’m just worried about the weather tomorrow. And the shoot.”

“Oh!” says Stephanie. “No worries. It looks like it’s supposed to clear up in the late afternoon. We can just bump everything to later in the day or even the following morning.”

But what a way to go .

I feel my shoulders tighten. “The problem is, I’m supposed to leave tomorrow late morning.”

“Oh,” says Ethan, waving away my concerns. “Don’t even worry. You’ll just stay another day. We can change your flight to ours.” He smiles. Is even delighted. “Extra time. On the island, I mean.” He clears his throat. “For work.”

Smooth.

They are all nodding— Yes! More time! —and I know they mean well. They have no idea that a tornado is swirling inside my brain. But I am suddenly struck by a loneliness and alienation so intense that it threatens to bury me. None of them understand.

I am a single parent. I don’t function as they do.

“The thing is, I can’t,” I say, careful not to let my voice wobble. I am worried I’m about to cry and there is no way on God’s green earth that I am letting that happen.

“Why not?” asks Charlie.

He means it in the most good-natured, innocent way, but I have to work to keep the frustration out of my voice.

“Because Sunday is Halloween,” I say. This explanation has no impact on my listeners. They are all waiting for more. “I need to get back to my kids.” I direct this to Ethan, knowing that he’s the only parent, the one most likely to get it.

“Oh,” he says, brow crinkled. “Well, they’re with Celeste, right? Is she able to take them trick-or-treating?”

Maybe it’s irrational. Maybe it’s unfair. But the disappointment that floods my body at his words penetrates to my soul. And, once there, it begins to crystalize into anger. So typical. They’re all the same. The injustice!

“I promised them I’d be there,” I say, with forced calm.

“I’m sure they’ll understand.” He shrugs. “It’s Halloween. Kids are psyched as long as they’re plied with candy. We do need you here.”

“I like those mini 100 Grand bars,” Charlie is saying. “I steal those from my nephew.”

The others begin debating the merits of Almond Joy versus Snickers and questioning the point of Now and Laters, in general, as the storm inside me continues to wail. I need to resolve this thing, but I don’t want to come across too intense.

Only Derek sees me. Like really sees me. With those assessing eyes.

“Sasha, have you checked into alternate flight options that would still get you home in time?” he asks, cutting across the chatter.

“I know from when I originally booked flights that there isn’t one.”

“Okay. So, what can we do?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I don’t want to leave you guys in the lurch. I was thinking about contingencies I’ve used for inclement weather before and they might work if we try to move ahead in the morning, but I can’t guarantee it will have the aesthetic effect Charlie wants.”

Derek is nodding. And now Stephanie is on board too. “Girl, don’t worry,” she says, laying a manicured hand on my forearm. “We got this. We really need you more for the video content anyway. You’ve already organized every last element for the photo shoot. Your attention to detail is so good, it’s frankly a little concerning. We’ve done a bunch of shoots here now. We’re pros. Maybe you and Peter can just get up early and try to capture the video footage before the storm hits?”

“Do what, now?” says Peter, from down the table. He has stopped pretending to participate and is reading a book.

Stephanie explains and he nods.

“Oh, sure. I’m down. Whatever. I can also handle it myself probably if you have to go.”

“Thank you guys so much,” I say, exhaling. I am beyond relieved by how relaxed they’re being. Like my absence is not a big deal. “I would never want to be unprofessional or let anyone down. I hate the idea of not finishing a job.”

“Then finish,” says Ethan, shrugging like it’s a no-brainer, his tone bordering on harsh. “Stay here. Finish. Your kids will be fine. Relax .”

I don’t know if he realizes his voice is dripping with condescension, but I am fully drenched. How dare he blow up my spot! Especially when everyone else is respecting my needs.

This is the man I squandered my dream job for?

“How do you know they’ll be fine?” I bite back, before I think to stop myself.

“Because I have a kid too. And I know.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s watching your kid right now?”

He shrugs. “My ex-wife.”

“Who is also…?”

“Who is also what?”

“Who is also their mother !” Now I’m making a scene. All eyes are on us. The mention of Kaitlin has upped the tension exponentially.

“So?”

“So, I am the only parent to my kids! The only one. And when I don’t show up for them, it means no one does.”

Ethan looks a bit taken aback. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself—”

“I’m not being hard on myself. It’s you being hard on me! I’m their mother, and I take that seriously. I need to get back and keep my promise.”

He leans in and narrows his eyes, angry now. “Oh, so, I don’t take being a parent seriously? Because I keep my work commitments? You’re here to do a job. A job we were expecting you to complete. There’s a lot riding on this!”

My mouth drops open. I could catch flies.

Derek puts up his hands, palms out, like he’s breaking up a fight. And he is looking at both of us like he knew this would happen. Like we are two kids he’s been trying to keep from murdering each other this whole time. Speaking of parenting.

“Okay. Okay,” he says. “Everyone is great at their job. Everyone is great at parenting. All the kids are thriving. The kids are all right. The magazine is all right. And everything is fine .”

But nothing is fine. Ethan’s face is flushed. I’m sure mine is too. And I can’t help but think it’s in painfully stark contrast to just hours before, when our faces were flushed for different reasons.

Derek maintains pointed eye contact with me, as if reprogramming my brain into a state of calm. “The shoot has gone beautifully,” he says. “You’ve done an amazing job. It will not be a problem. With your prep in place, we are more than equipped to handle one tiny shoot. If you and Peter can manage to shoot the video before the storm hits tomorrow morning, fantastic. If not, we got you, so you can be with your kids. Because we all understand how important that is.”

He shoots Ethan a meaningful look.

Then, slowly, without taking his eyes off us, he retracts his arms. Like he’s making sure the bomb is fully defused.

There’s a deep, prolonged silence as Ethan and I glower at each other, awash in equal parts rage and humiliation.

“Well, that was awkward!” says Stephanie with a grin, peering around for a waiter. “Can I get another drink over here?”

Jackie squeezes my knee under the table in solidarity.

After that, the conversation slowly returns to normal. And, as my pulse follows suit, I studiously ignore Ethan, focusing my gaze anywhere but across the table. Anywhere but on his perfect T-shirt and perfectly imperfect face.

I eat dinner as quickly as I can, barely tasting my chicken and rice, and then excuse myself early to go pack. And, when I leave, I’m sure everyone is relieved. I am officially a drag. I am so frustrated. Frustrated that my position and Ethan’s are so different. That being “the divorced dad” means everyone thinks he’s a god if he manages to throw an apple in a lunch box, while I feel criticized for every missed Silly Sock Day. Frustrated that he thinks I can just choose to stay. Frustrated that he thinks I make choices instead of compromises—like a man. That, despite all that, I still want him. That nothing is ever simple.

As I walk down the steps with my lantern toward the villas, I hear a sound behind me like footsteps. I turn expecting to find Ethan, standing there contrite and wanting to talk, come to a resolution. But he is nowhere to be found. It is just an iguana. It stares me down like I am the alien and then scurries away.

Maybe it’s right.