Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,42
a fault, trying the Tom Cruise moves from that terrible movie.
“All right, darling? Must’ve been a terrible shock, seeing your dad today.”
“Yep.”
“Sloanie-Pop still awake?”
“Just barely.”
“And Brianna?”
“Doing homework.” She sat down on the stool. Remembered she hadn’t kissed him that day, and since she’d vowed never to be one of those wives who took her man for granted, got up and kissed him, then sat back down. “So.”
“Right. I’ve been thinking about the situation,” Oliver said, the ice clacking around in the shaker. “Thanksgiving is in three weeks. Perhaps wait till after to address all this muck? Your mum does love that holiday.” He rattled the shaker dramatically over one shoulder, then poured her drink. “And her turkey is the stuff of legend.”
Her second martini of the day. She’d had to drink hers at lunch, since Arwen had thrown down the gauntlet, and fought the afternoon sleepiness that it caused out of sheer will.
But if ever a day called for two martinis, it was today.
“Do you think she’ll leave him?” Juliet said, her voice low.
“I would leave you, darling. And you’d have me murdered and thrown in the ocean in tiny bits and pieces.”
“They’ve been married almost fifty years, Ollie.” Her throat was tight. “How can you cheat on someone after fifty years?”
“Oh, my darling, there, there.” He came around the counter and put his arms around her, and she clutched his shirt. “I’ve no idea. Your father’s a twat.”
“What do I do? Tell him I saw? Tell her? Order him to tell her or I will? Ignore it? I mean, it’s not like they have the best marriage in the world. God. Maybe they have an open relationship.”
“Well, darling, Barb has been incredibly busy this year, and—”
She jerked back. “And what? That gives my father permission to cheat on her?”
“No! Not at all. It’s just that perhaps things on the home front have . . . I’m going to stop talking now. This is awkward, isn’t it? Go on, love. What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. I have to let this sit a little while.”
“Good plan. Maybe talk to a friend? Saanvi?”
Saanvi was one of their summertime neighbors. She worked in New Haven, too, at the hospital, and sometimes she and Juliet had lunch or, more rarely, a glass of wine after work. She couldn’t see bringing up her parents’ marriage, though. Too personal.
The truth was, Barb was Juliet’s best friend. In any other circumstance, Barb was the one she’d go to.
Juliet wiped her eyes and let Oliver kiss her on the cheek. They ate dinner, and since it was late, went to bed, where they made love, tenderly and quietly, since Brianna had ears like a bat. “I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered just before he fell asleep.
“I love you, too,” she said, but the words almost made her cry.
Her father loved her mother, once. Now look.
Ten minutes later, Oliver sound asleep, Jules got out of bed, put on her bathrobe and went to her study. Googled “why do married men cheat?”
All the clichés were true. Boredom. Trying to reclaim lost youth. Not getting enough at home. The thrill of the chase. Lack of communication.
The hard fact was, if someone wanted to cheat, they could. If someone wanted a divorce, he or she could just end things. I don’t want to be married anymore. Well, not to you. And just like that, your carefully built life would crumble.
Juliet’s mother had built a life so carefully. She had always put the family first, and Dad had reaped those benefits. The beautiful home, the respect of the community, Juliet and Sadie themselves, and now, by extension, Oliver, Brianna and Sloane. She saw how hard her mother tried—she’d always seen it. Cooking lovely meals, the house always a haven, trying to make conversation with topics such as “tell me the happiest thing that happened to you today” at dinnertime. She remembered her parents taking ballroom dancing classes, going to Scotland, learning about wine.
So if Barb couldn’t pull it off, who could?
Oliver was perpetually happy, and not tremendously empathetic to people who weren’t, always a little confused as to why they didn’t just shrug off what they couldn’t control and focus on the positive.
Which made it hard to talk to him about difficult, complicated matters like her parents. Or Arwen, since he said things like, “Sounds like you picked a winner in that one!” or “That’s bloody fabulous for her!” missing the point entirely.