Unfaithful - Natalie Barelli Page 0,29
now,” she says.
“And don’t let him play Xbox tonight please, okay?”
“Yes, mother.”
“And don’t go to bed too late. Both of you.”
“Yes, mother.”
“And I love you.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Okay, go away.”
She giggles, quickly disentangles herself from me, plants a kiss on my cheek and runs back up the stairs.
I’m so happy tonight. For Luis, and for me. It’s the kind of thing I live for, this feeling that we are joined at the hip, meeting the world together, showing it what we’re capable of. Tonight feels like we’re about to embark on a great journey together. Luis’s first major exhibition at one of the most prestigious private art galleries in the country, and me by his side.
But then, as Isabelle, the pretty, millennial-type curator, keeps bringing people over to Luis who absolutely have to meet you, Luis and Perry, the gallery owner, a small, bald man with thick-rimmed glasses, gives a speech that tells of the exceptionally beautiful works that have become Luis Sanchez’s signature, never failing to bring to our attention the urgent issues we confront today, something shifts in my world.
At first, it’s not even a shift, more like a hairline crack quietly creeping up in my line of vision. Maybe it’s because red dots begin to appear next to every artwork, too quickly to keep count. It dawns on me just how many people are here, and who they are: not just art buyers, but serious collectors. They represent institutions and private collections and they have traveled from all over the country to admire—and acquire—Luis’s art works. This has never happened before, and I experience something so unexpected that it takes me a while to recognize it: fear.
Of being left behind.
I used to think that the reason I held the family together was because I was indispensable. I work, I pay the bills, I support my husband in his career. Not for the first time, it occurs to me that my own prospects of success have passed me by. Suddenly, I am just an ordinary math teacher and Luis has chiseled his way into a bigger future while I wasn’t paying attention. Could that be because I work long hours in a small, airless office then come home and put on a load of laundry? I make lunches for the kids to take to school and keep everyone to a regimented schedule of ballet lessons and soccer practice. And now, Luis has met his destiny and he doesn’t need me anymore. My husband doesn’t. need. me. anymore.
If only I’d been better at forging a career, become someone he could be proud to be seen with in public. Suddenly I feel like I never reached my potential, and now it’s too late. That I am a disappointment to everyone. Don’t be silly, says absolutely no one, especially not my mother.
I was looking away, nowhere in particular, lost in that hairline crack that has turned into a chasm by now, when I hear his voice. He is giving his speech, delivering his lines with boyish charm and self-deprecating jokes. It’s a brilliant speech: short and sweet, funny, very interesting and completely different from what I’d expected, had I bothered to think about it. And, most importantly, it holds everyone’s attention. You could have heard a pin drop right until the end.
He’s glowing, my husband, like there’s a halo around him. His eyes are upon me, filled with pride and love and I smile back at him, my eyes similarly sparkling with joy, my cheeks flushed with pleasure in the glow of his love.
But then it dawns on me. It’s not me they’re looking at, those eyes filled with pride and love. I see now that they’re focused on a point just to my left, and I slowly turn around to look over my shoulder, until I locate the object of his adoring gaze.
Thirteen
Isabelle. Beautiful, ethereal Isabelle. Even her name rolls off the tongue like a promise. Isabelle. Young, Isabelle. Very young. I can’t peel my eyes off her. I stare at her shiny blonde hair styled in an elaborate updo, her perfect, porcelain skin, her sparkly blue eyes, and all I can think is, Give up now, Anna. It’s over. Just pick up your bat and go home.
I’ve been slowly edged towards the back of the crowd as people elbowed their way closer to Luis. My outfit, which I was convinced up until now was stylish and professional, suddenly seems all wrong. Like I’ve made an effort, but not the right one.