Читать книгу Last Night at Chateau Marmont - Лорен Вайсбергер, Lauren Weisberger, Lauren Weisberger - Страница 7

Brooke stepped into the hallway of the maternal medicine ward at NYU Langone Medical Center and pulled the curtain closed. Eight down, three to go. She rifled through the remaining files: a pregnant teenager, a pregnant mother with gestational diabetes, and a first-time mother struggling to nurse newborn twins. She checked her watch and did a few calculations: if all went as smoothly as she anticipated, she might actually get to leave at a decent hour.

‘Mrs Alter?’ Her patient’s voice called out from behind the curtain.

Brooke stepped back inside.

‘Yes, Alisha?’ Brooke pulled her white scrub coat tightly around her chest and wondered how this woman wasn’t shivering in her paper-thin hospital gown.

Alisha wrung her hands and, staring at her sheet-draped lap, said, ‘You know how you said the prenatal vitamins were really important? Like, even if I haven’t been taking them since the beginning?’

Brooke nodded. ‘I know it’s hard to look on the bright side of severe flu,’ she said, walking over to the girl’s bedside, ‘but at least it got you in here and will give us a chance to get you started on the vitamins and discuss a plan for the rest of your pregnancy.’

‘Yeah, so about that … is there, um, like some sort of samples you could give me?’ Alisha refused to meet her eyes.

‘Oh, I don’t think that should be a problem,’ Brooke said, smiling for her patient’s sake but irritated with herself for neglecting to inquire whether or not Alisha could afford the prenatals. ‘Let’s see, you’ve got another sixteen weeks … I’ll leave the full supply with the nurses’ station, okay?’

Alisha looked relieved. ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly.

Brooke squeezed the girl’s forearm and stepped back outside the curtain. After getting Alisha’s vitamins, she half-sprinted to the dietitians’ dreary fifth-floor break room, a windowless cubicle with a four-seater Formica table, a mini fridge, and a small wall of lockers. If she hurried, she could cram down a quick snack and a cup of coffee and still make it to her next appointment on time. Relieved to find the room empty and the coffeepot full, Brooke pulled a Tupperware container of precut apple wedges from her locker and began to smear them with travel-sized packets of all-natural peanut butter. At the exact moment her mouth was full, her cell phone rang.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asked without saying hello. Her words were muffled from the food.

Her mother paused. ‘Of course, honey. Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘Because, Mom, it’s pretty busy here, and you know I hate talking at work.’ The overhead intercom drowned out the second half of her sentence.

‘What was that? I couldn’t hear you.’

Brooke sighed. ‘Nothing, never mind. What’s up?’ She pictured her mother in her signature khaki pants and Naturalizer flats, the same ones she’d worn her entire life, pacing the galley kitchen of her Philadelphia apartment. Despite filling her days with a never-ending stream of book clubs, theater clubs, and volunteer work, it still seemed like her mother had way too much time on her hands, most of which was filled with calling her children and asking them why they weren’t calling back. While it was lovely her mother got to enjoy her retirement, she’d been a lot more hands-off with Brooke when she was teaching from seven to three each day.

‘Wait just a minute …’ Her mother’s voice trailed off and it was momentarily replaced by Oprah’s before that, too, abruptly ended. ‘There we go.’

‘Wow, you turned off Oprah. It must be important.’

‘She’s interviewing Jennifer Aniston again. I can’t stand to listen to it anymore. She’s over Brad. She’s thrilled to be forty-whatever. She’s never felt better. We get it. Why do we have to keep talking about it?’

Brooke laughed. ‘Listen, Mom, can I call you later tonight? I only have fifteen minutes left of break.’

‘Oh sure, honey. Remind me then to tell you about your brother.’

‘What’s wrong with Randy?’

‘Nothing’s wrong with Randy – something’s finally right. But I know you’re busy right now, so let’s just talk later.’

‘Mom …’

‘It was thoughtless of me to call in the middle of your shift. I wasn’t even—’

Brooke sighed loudly and smiled to herself. ‘Do you want me to beg?’

‘Sweetheart, if it’s a bad time, it’s a bad time. Let’s talk when you have a little more time.’

‘Okay, Mom, I’m begging you to tell me about Randy. Literally pleading. Please tell me what’s up with him. Please?’

‘Well, if you’re going to be so insistent … fine, I’ll tell you. Randy and Michelle are pregnant. There, you forced it out of me.’

‘They’re what?’

‘Pregnant, sweetheart. Having a baby. She’s still very early – only seven weeks, I think – but their doctor says all looks well. Isn’t that just wonderful?’

Brooke heard the television go on again in the background, quieter this time, but she could still make out Oprah’s recognizable laugh.

‘Wonderful?’ Brooke asked, setting down her plastic knife. ‘I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use. They’ve only been dating for six months. They’re not married. They’re not even living together.’

‘Since when are you such a prude, my dear?’ Mrs Greene asked, clucking her tongue. ‘If you’d ever told me that my educated, urbane, thirty-year-old daughter would be such a traditionalist, I never would’ve believed it.’

‘Mother, I’m not sure it’s exactly “traditionalist” to expect that people try to limit baby-making to committed relationships.’

‘Oh, Brooke, relax a little. Not everyone can – or should – get married at twenty-five. Randy’s thirty-eight and Michelle is almost forty. Do you really think anyone cares at this point about some silly little legal document? We should all know well enough by now that it hardly means a thing.’

Brooke’s mind circled through a number of thoughts: her parents’ divorce nearly ten years earlier, when her father left her mother for the school nurse at the high school where they both taught; the way her mother sat Brooke down after her engagement to Julian and told her that women could be perfectly happy these days without getting married; her mother’s fervent wish that Brooke wait to start a family until her career was fully established. It was interesting to see that Randy, apparently, operated under a completely different set of guidelines.

‘Do you know what I really find amusing?’ her mother asked without missing a beat. ‘The thought that maybe, just maybe, your father and Cynthia will have a baby, too. You know, considering how young she is. Then you’d have a brother and a father who are expecting. Really, Brooke, how many girls can say that?’

‘Mom …’

‘Seriously, sweetheart, don’t you think it’s pretty ironic – well, I’m not sure “ironic” is the right word, but it’s pretty coincidental – that your father’s wife is a year younger than Michelle?’

‘Mom! Please stop. You know Dad and Cynthia aren’t going to have any children – he’s going to be sixty-five years old, for god’s sake, and she doesn’t even want—’ Brooke stopped, smiled to herself, shook her head. ‘You know, maybe you’re right, and Dad and Cynthia will jump on the bandwagon. Then Randy and Dad will be able to bond over feeding schedules and naptime. How sweet.’

She waited for it and wasn’t disappointed.

Her mother snorted. ‘Please. The closest that man came to a diaper when you two were babies was watching a Pampers commercial. Men don’t change, Brooke. Your father won’t have anything to do with that child until it is old enough to express a political opinion. But I do think there’s hope for your brother.’

‘Yeah, well, let’s hope so. I’ll call him tonight to congratulate him, but I have to—’

‘No!’ Mrs Greene screeched. ‘We never had this conversation. I promised I wouldn’t tell you, so act surprised when he calls you.’

Brooke sighed and smiled. ‘Great loyalty, Mom. Does that mean you tell Randy everything even when I swear you to secrecy?’

‘Of course not. I only tell him when it’s interesting.’

‘Thanks, Mom.’

‘Love you, sweetheart. And remember, keep this to yourself.’

‘I promise. You have my word.’

Brooke hung up and checked her watch: five minutes to five. Four minutes to get to her next consultation. She knew she shouldn’t call right then, but she just couldn’t wait.

She remembered as soon as she dialed that Randy could be staying after school to coach the boys’ soccer team, but he picked up his cell on the first ring. ‘Hey, Brookie. What’s going on?’

‘What’s going on with me? Not a goddamn thing. What’s going on with you is a much more relevant question.’

‘Jesus Christ. I told her no less than eight minutes ago, and she swore she’d let me tell you myself.’

‘Yeah, well, I swore I wouldn’t tell you she told me, so whatever. Congratulations, big brother!’

‘Thanks. We’re both pretty excited. A little freaked out – it happened a lot faster than either of us expected – but excited.’

Brooke felt her breath catch. ‘What do you mean “faster”? You planned this?’

Randy laughed. She heard him say, ‘Give me a minute,’ to someone in the background, a student probably, and then he said, ‘Yeah, she went off the pill last month. The doctor said it would take at least a couple months for her cycle to regulate before we’d even be able to tell if pregnancy was a possibility due to her age. We just never figured it would happen immediately …’

It was surreal to hear her big brother – an avowed bachelor who decorated his house with old football trophies and dedicated more square footage to his pool table than he did to his kitchen – talk about regulated cycles and birth control pills and doctor’s opinions. Especially when all bets would’ve been on Brooke and Julian as the likeliest candidates to make a big announcement …

‘Wow. What else can I say? Wow.’ It really was all she could say; she was worried Randy would hear her voice catch and interpret it the wrong way.

She was so excited for Randy, she felt a lump in her throat. Sure, he managed to take care of himself just fine, and he always seemed happy enough, but Brooke worried about him being so alone. He lived in the suburbs, surrounded by families, and all of his old college buddies had long since had children. She and Randy weren’t really close enough to talk about it, but she’d always wondered if he wanted all that or if he was happy with his life as a bachelor. Now hearing his excitement confirmed how badly he must have longed for this, and she thought she might cry.

‘Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Can you imagine me teaching the little guy how to throw a pass? I’m going to get him a kid-sized pigskin right from the outset – none of that Nerf crap for my boy – and by the time he’s grown into his hands, he’ll be ready for the real deal.’

Brooke laughed. ‘So you obviously haven’t considered the distinct possibility that you could have a girl, huh?’

‘There are three other pregnant teachers at school, and all three of them are having boys,’ he said.

‘Interesting. But you are aware that, although you all share a work environment, your future child and their future children are not required by law or physics to be the same gender, right?’

‘I’m not sure about that …’

She laughed again. ‘So are you guys going to find out? Or is it too early to ask that question? I don’t really know how these things work.’

‘Well, being that I know we’re having a boy, I don’t really think it’s relevant, but Michelle wants to be surprised. So we’re going to wait.’

‘Aw, that’s fun. When’s the little one due?’

‘October twenty-fifth. A Halloween baby. I think that’s good luck.’

‘I do too,’ Brooke said. ‘I’m marking it in the calendar right now. October twenty-fifth: I’ll be an aunt.’

‘Hey, Brookie, what about you guys? It’d be pretty nice to have first cousins be close in age. Any chance?’

She knew it was hard for Randy to ask her such a personal question so she was careful not to jump down his throat, but he’d hit a nerve. When she and Julian had married at twenty-five and twenty-seven, respectively, she’d always figured they’d have a baby around her thirtieth birthday. But here they were, already past that and nowhere near even starting to try. She’d broached the subject with Julian a few times, casually so as not to put too much pressure on either of them, but he’d been just as casual with his response. Namely, that a baby would be great ‘someday,’ but for now they were doing the right thing focusing on their careers. So although she did want a baby – actually wanted nothing more, especially now, hearing Randy’s news – she adopted Julian’s party line.

‘Oh, someday of course,’ she said, trying to sound casual, the exact opposite of the way she felt. ‘But now’s just not the right time for us. Focusing on work, you know?’

‘Sure,’ Randy said, and Brooke wondered if he knew the truth. ‘You’ve got to do what’s right for you guys.’

‘Yeah, so … listen, I’m sorry to run but my break’s over and I’m late for a consult.’

‘No worries, Brookie. Thanks for the call. And the excitement.’

‘Are you kidding me? Thank you for the incredible news. You made my whole day – my month. Congrats again, Randy. I’m so excited for you guys! I’ll call later tonight to congratulate Michelle, okay?’

They hung up and Brooke began the trek back to the fifth floor. Incredulous, she couldn’t stop shaking her head as she walked. She probably looked like a crazy person, but that would hardly draw attention at the hospital. Randy. A father!

Brooke wanted to call Julian and tell him the news, only he’d sounded so stressed earlier, and there really wasn’t time before her consult. With one of the other nutritionists out on vacation and an unexplained influx of births that morning – nearly twice the usual amount – her day felt like it was moving at warp speed. It was good: the more she moved, the less time she had to wallow in her exhaustion. Besides, it was exciting and challenging when they got hit like this, and although she complained to Julian and her mother, she secretly loved it: all the different patients from every walk of life, each in the hospital for hugely varied reasons but still in need of someone to fine-tune a diet to their specific condition.

The caffeine hit exactly as planned, and Brooke banged out her final three appointments quickly and efficiently. She had just finished changing from scrubs into jeans and a sweater when one of her colleagues in the break room, Rebecca, announced that their boss wanted to see her.

‘Now?’ Brooke asked, watching her evening begin to disintegrate.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were sacred: they were the only days of the week she didn’t need to leave the hospital and head uptown to her second job, a position as a visiting nutritionist for the Huntley Academy, one of the most elite all-girls private schools on the Upper East Side. The parents of a Huntley alumna who’d died in her twenties of severe anorexia had set up a fund at the school for an experimental program where a nutritionist was available on site to counsel the girls on healthy eating and body image awareness twenty hours a week. Brooke was the second person to staff the fairly new program, and although she’d originally accepted the position solely as a way to supplement her and Julian’s income, she had found herself growing more and more attached to the girls. Sure, the anger, the awkwardness, the never-ending obsession with food sometimes wore her down but she always tried to remind herself that these young patients didn’t know any better. Plus the job had the added bonus of giving her more experience working with adolescents, something she lacked.

So Tuesdays and Thursdays she worked only at the hospital, from nine to six. The other three days a week her schedule shifted earlier to accommodate her second job: she worked at NYU from seven in the morning until three in the afternoon and then took two trains and a crosstown bus to get uptown to Huntley, where she’d meet with students – and sometimes their parents – until close to seven. No matter how early she forced herself to bed, and regardless of how much coffee she sucked down when she woke up, she was perpetually exhausted. The dual-job lifestyle was absolutely grueling, but she estimated she needed only one more year of work before being both qualified and experienced enough to open her own private pre-and postnatal nutrition practice, something she’d dreamed about since her very first day of graduate school and the very thing she’d worked diligently toward since then.

Rebecca nodded sympathetically. ‘She asked if you’d stop in before you left.’

Brooke quickly packed up her things and headed back to the fifth floor.

‘Margaret?’ she called out, knocking on the office door. ‘Rebecca said you wanted to see me?’

‘Come in, come in,’ her boss said, shuffling some papers on her desk. ‘Sorry to keep you late, but I figured there was always time for good news.’

Brooke sank into the chair opposite Margaret and waited.

‘Well, we’ve finished calculating all of the patient evaluations, and I’m happy to report that you received the highest marks of the entire dietitian staff.’

‘I did?’ Brooke asked, barely believing she’d come in first among seven.

‘It wasn’t even close.’ Margaret absentmindedly slicked on some ChapStick, smacked her lips, and returned her gaze to her papers. ‘Ninety-one percent of your patients evaluated your consultations as “excellent,” and the remaining nine all ranked them as “good.” The next best on staff had an “excellent” rating of eight-two percent.’

‘Wow,’ Brooke said, aware that she should be aiming for a little modesty but unable to stop smiling. ‘That is great news. I’m so happy to hear it.’

‘So are we, Brooke. We’re extremely pleased, and I wanted you to know that your performance doesn’t go unnoticed. You’ll still be assigned cases in the ICU, but as of next week, we’ll be replacing all of your psych shifts with neonatal. I’m assuming that’s okay with you?’

‘Yes, yes, that’s wonderful with me!’ Brooke said.

‘As you know, you’re only the third most senior on staff, but no one else has your background and experience. I think it’ll be a perfect fit for you.’

Brooke couldn’t keep herself from beaming. Finally, that extra year of coursework in child, adolescent, and newborn nutrition in grad school, plus her optional double internship – both in pediatrics – had paid off. ‘Margaret, I can’t thank you enough for everything. That is just the best news ever.’

Her boss laughed. ‘Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

As she walked to the subway, Brooke sent up a silent thanks, both for her semipromotion and, almost better, the fact that she didn’t have to.

She jumped off the train at the Times Square stop, quickly weaved her way through the masses of people underground, and strategically emerged onto the street at her usual Forty-third Street stairwell, which was closest to their apartment and allowing her to avoid the crush of humanity she’d otherwise encounter walking along Forty-second Street. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss their old apartment in Brooklyn – she’d loved nearly everything about Brooklyn Heights and hated almost everything about Midtown West – but even she had to admit that both their commutes were a little less hellish.

She was surprised when Walter, her tricolored spaniel with a black eye-mask patch over one eye, didn’t bark when she inserted her key into the apartment door. Nor did he race to greet her.

‘Walter Alter! Where are you?’ She made kissing noises and waited. Music was playing from somewhere in the apartment.

‘We’re in the living room,’ Julian called back. His reply was punctuated by Walter’s frenetic, high-pitched woofs.

Brooke dropped her bag just inside the door, kicked off her heels, and noticed that the kitchen was significantly cleaner than she’d left it.

‘Hey! I didn’t know you were getting home early tonight,’ she said as she sat down next to Julian on the couch. She leaned over to kiss him but Walter intercepted her and licked her mouth first.

‘Mmm, thank you, Walter. I feel so welcome.’

Julian muted the television and turned to face her. ‘I’d be happy to lick your face too, you know. My tongue probably can’t compete with a spaniel’s, but hey, I’m willing to try.’ He grinned and Brooke marveled at that fluttery feeling she got when he smiled like that, even after all these years.

‘Tempting, I have to say.’ She ducked around Walter and actually managed to kiss Julian’s wine-stained mouth. ‘You sounded so stressed earlier, I figured you wouldn’t be home until so much later. Is everything okay?’

He stood and walked to the kitchen, returning with a second wineglass, which he filled and handed to Brooke. ‘Everything’s fine. I realized after we hung up this afternoon that we haven’t spent an evening together in almost a week. I’m here to remedy that.’

‘You are? Really?’ She’d been thinking the same thing for days but hadn’t wanted to complain when Julian was at such a crucial point in the production process.

He nodded. ‘I miss you, Rook.’

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. ‘I miss you, too. I’m so glad you came home early. Want to run out for some noodles?’

For their budget’s sake, she and Julian made it a point to cook as often as possible, but they both agreed that the cheapie corner noodle joint didn’t really count as eating out.

‘Do you mind if we stay in? I was looking forward to a quiet evening with you tonight.’ He took another sip of wine.

‘Sure, fine with me. I’ll make you a deal …’

‘Oh no, here we go …’

‘I will go slave over a hot stove to prepare you a delicious and nutritious meal if you agree to rub my feet and back for thirty minutes.’

‘“Slave over a hot stove”? You can make a chicken stir-fry in like two minutes. Not a fair deal.’

Brooke shrugged. ‘Okay. There’s cereal in the pantry, although I think we’re out of milk. You could always make yourself some popcorn.’

Julian turned to Walter and said, ‘You don’t know how good you have it, boy. She doesn’t make you work in exchange for kibble.’

‘The price just went up to thirty minutes.’

‘It was already thirty minutes,’ Julian whined.

‘That was thirty minutes total. Now it’s thirty minutes feet and another thirty for the back.’

Julian pretended to weigh this. ‘Forty-five minutes and I’ll––’

‘Any attempts at bargaining only add time onto the total.’

He held up his palms. ‘I’m afraid there’s no deal.’

‘Really?’ she asked. ‘You going to fend for yourself tonight?’ she asked, grinning. Julian was an equal partner with the cleaning, bill paying, and dog care, but he was useless in the kitchen and he knew it.

‘As a matter of fact, I am. I’m fending for both of us, actually. I cooked dinner for you tonight.’

‘You what?’

‘You heard me.’ Somewhere in the kitchen a timer began to beep. ‘And it’s ready as we speak. Please be seated,’ he said grandly in a faux British accent.

‘I am seated,’ she said, leaning back against the sofa and kicking her feet up on the coffee table.

‘Ah, yes,’ Julian called cheerfully from their miniature kitchen. ‘I see you’ve found your way to the formal dining room. Perfect.’

‘Can I help?’

Julian walked back in holding a Pyrex casserole dish between two oven mitts. ‘One baked ziti for my love …’ He was about to set the dish down on the bare wood before Brooke yelped and jumped up to retrieve a trivet. Julian began to spoon the steaming pasta.

Brooke could only stare. ‘Is this where you tell me you’ve been having an affair with another woman for the entire duration of our marriage and you want my forgiveness?’ she asked.

Julian grinned. ‘Shut up and eat.’

She sat down and helped herself to some salad while Julian spooned ziti on her plate. ‘Baby, this looks incredible. Where did you learn to do this? And why aren’t you doing it every night?’

He looked at her with a sheepish smile. ‘I may have picked the ziti up at the store today and just heated it in the oven. That’s possible. But it was purchased and heated with love.’

Brooke held her wineglass aloft and waited for Julian to clink it. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said, and meant it. ‘Absolutely, incredibly perfect.’

As they ate, Brooke told him about Randy and Michelle and was pleased to see how happy he was, even going so far as to suggest they drive to Pennsylvania and babysit for their new niece or nephew. Julian brought her up to date on Sony’s plans now that the album was nearing completion and told her about the new manager he’d hired on the recommendation of his agent.

‘Apparently, he’s the best of the best. He does have the reputation of being a little aggressive, but I think that’s probably what you want in a manager.’

‘Well what did he seem like when you interviewed him?’

Julian thought about this. ‘I’m not sure “interview” is the right word. It was more like he laid out his entire plan for me. Says we’re at a crucial junction right now, and it’s time to start really “orchestrating the action.”’

‘Well, I can’t wait to meet him,’ Brooke said.

‘Yeah, he’s definitely got a little of that smarmy Hollywood thing going on – you know, where you feel like they’re always working an angle? – but I like how confident he is.’

Julian emptied the remainder of the wine bottle evenly between their glasses and sat back in his chair. ‘How’s everything at the hospital going? Was it a crazy day?’

‘It was, but guess what? I got the highest ratings in patient evaluations of anyone on staff, and they’re going to give me a few more peds shifts.’ She took another sip from her wineglass; it would be worth the next morning’s headache.

Julian broke into a huge smile. ‘That’s great news, Rook. Not the least bit surprising, but absolutely great. I’m so proud of you.’ He leaned over the table and kissed her.

Brooke did the dishes, then took a bath while Julian finished some work on the new website he was designing for himself, and they met back on the couch, each clad in flannel pajama pants and T-shirts. Julian spread the throw blanket across both their legs and grabbed the clicker.

‘Movie?’ he asked.

She glanced at the clock on the DVR: ten fifteen. ‘I think it’s too late to start one now, but what about a Grey’s?’

He looked at her with a horrified expression. ‘Seriously? Can you, in good conscience, make me watch that after I cooked you dinner?’

She smiled and shook her head. ‘I’m not quite sure “cooked” is a fair word, but you’re right. Your choice tonight.’

Julian scrolled through their DVR list and clicked on a recent CSI episode. ‘Come here, I’ll do your feet while we watch.’

Brooke flipped herself around so she could rest her legs in his lap. She could’ve purred with happiness. On television the detectives were examining the mutilated body of a presumed prostitute lying in a landfill outside of Vegas, and Julian watched with rapt attention. She didn’t love the gadget-oriented murder mystery stuff as much as he did – he could watch them find killers by scanning and lasering and tracing things all night long – but tonight she didn’t mind. She was happy to sit quietly next to her husband and focus on the wonderful sensation of his kneading her feet.

‘I love you,’ she said as she rested her head on the armrest and closed her eyes.

‘I love you, too, Brooke. Now be quiet and let me watch.’

But she had already drifted off to sleep.

She had just finished getting dressed when Julian walked into their bedroom. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, he looked stressed out.

‘We have to go right now, or we’re going to be late,’ he said, grabbing a pair of sneakers from their shared closet. ‘You know how much my mother loves late.’

‘I know, I’m almost ready,’ she said, trying to ignore the fact that she was still sweating from her three-mile run an hour earlier. Brooke trailed Julian out of the bedroom, accepted the wool coat he handed her, and followed him down to the street.

‘I’m still unclear why your dad and Cynthia are in the city today,’ Julian said as they ran-walked from their apartment to the Times Square subway station.

‘It’s their anniversary,’ Brooke replied, shrugging. It was unnaturally cold for a winter morning, and she desperately wanted a cup of tea from the corner bodega, but they didn’t have a second to spare.

‘And they decided to come here? On a freezing day in March?’

Brooke sighed. ‘I guess it’s more exciting than Philly. Apparently Cynthia has never seen The Lion King and my dad thought it’d be a good excuse to visit us. I’m just glad you’ll get to tell them the news in person …’

She sneaked a look at Julian and saw him smile, just a little. He should be proud of himself, she thought. He’d just gotten some of the best news of his career, and he deserved it.

‘Yeah, well, I think it’s safe to say that my parents are going to be lacking in the enthusiasm department, but maybe your parents will understand,’ he said.

‘My father already tells anyone who will listen that you have the songwriting talent of Bob Dylan and a voice that will make them cry,’ she said, laughing. ‘He’ll be thrilled, guaranteed.’

Julian squeezed her hand. His excitement was palpable.

Brooke managed a weak smile as they transferred to the 6 train.

‘What’s wrong?’ Julian asked.

‘Oh, nothing’s wrong. I’m so excited for you to tell them all I can barely stand it. I’m just slightly dreading having to deal with the awkwardness of both sets of parents in one room.’

‘Do you really think it’s going to be that bad? It’s not like they haven’t all met before.’

Brooke sighed. ‘I know, but they’ve only really seen each other in big groups: our wedding, holidays. But never one-on-one like this. All my father wants to talk about is how the Eagles will do next season. Cynthia is excited to be seeing The Lion King for chrissake and thinks no trip to the city is complete without lunch at the Russian Tea Room. Then we have your parents: the most intense, intimidating lifelong New Yorkers I’ve ever met, who probably think the NFL is a French nonprofit group, who haven’t seen a musical since the sixties, and who won’t eat anything unless it’s prepared by a celebrity chef. You tell me: what are they all going to say to each other?’

Julian squeezed the back of her neck. ‘It’s brunch, baby. Some coffee, a few bagels, and we’re out. I really think it’s going to be fine.’

‘Yeah, sure, as my dad and Cynthia blather on nonstop in their manically happy way and your parents sit in stony, silent judgment of them. Sounds like a delightful Sunday morning.’

‘Cynthia can talk shop with my parents,’ Julian offered meekly. He made that face that said, I don’t even believe this myself, and Brooke started to laugh.

‘Tell me you didn’t say that,’ she said, her eyes starting to tear up as she laughed harder. They emerged at Seventy-seventy and Lex and began walking toward Park Avenue.

‘Well, it’s true!’

‘You’re so sweet, do you know that?’ Brooke asked, leaning over to kiss his cheek. ‘Cynthia is a high school nurse. She watches out for strep throats and gives out Motrin for cramps. She knows nothing about whether Botox or Restylane is recommended for a particularly deep smile line. I’m not sure where their professional experiences overlap.’

Julian feigned offense. ‘I think you’re forgetting that Mom was also named one of the best in the country at varicose vein removal,’ he said with a grin. ‘You know how big that was.’

‘Yes, of course. Big.’

‘All right, I hear what you’re saying. But my dad can talk to anyone. You know how easygoing he is. He’ll make Cynthia love him.’

‘He’s a great guy,’ Brooke agreed. She grabbed his hand as they approached the Alters’ building. ‘But the man is a world-renowned breast augmentation specialist. It’s only natural that a woman would assume he’s sizing up her breasts and finding them inadequate.’

‘Brooke, that’s idiotic. Do you assume that all dentists you encounter in social situations are staring at your teeth?’

‘Yes.’

‘Or any psychologist you meet at a party is analyzing you?’

‘Absolutely, one hundred percent, beyond a doubt.’

‘Well that’s just ridiculous.’

‘Your father examines, handles, and evaluates breasts eight hours a day. I’m not suggesting he’s some pervert, but it’s his instinct to check them out. Women can feel it, that’s all I’m saying.’

‘Well, that begs the obvious question now.’

‘Yeah?’ she asked, glancing at her watch as their awning came into view.

‘Do you feel like he’s checking out your breasts when he sees you?’ Poor Julian looked so crushed at the mere mention of it that Brooke wanted to hug him.

‘No, baby, of course not,’ she whispered as she leaned in and hugged his arm. ‘At least, not after all these years. He knows the situation, and he knows he’s never getting his hands on them, and I think he’s finally over it.’

‘They’re perfect, Brooke. Just perfect,’ Julian said automatically.

‘I know. That’s why your dad offered to do them at cost when we got engaged.’

‘He offered his partner, and not because he thought you needed it––’

‘Why, because you thought I needed it?’ Brooke knew that wasn’t it at all – they’d talked about it a hundred times and she knew that Dr Alter had only offered his services the way a tailor would have offered a discounted custom suit – but the whole thing still irked her.

‘Brooke …’

‘Sorry. I’m just hungry. Hungry and nervous.’

‘It’s not going to be nearly as bad as you’re anticipating.’

The doorman greeted Julian with a high five and a backslap. It wasn’t until he ushered them into the elevator and they were whisking up toward the eighteenth floor that Brooke realized she hadn’t brought anything.

‘I think we should run back out and pick up some cookies or flowers or something,’ Brooke said, tugging Julian’s arm urgently.

‘Come on, Rook, it doesn’t matter. They’re my parents. They really don’t care.’

‘Uh-huh. If you believe your mother isn’t going to notice when we show up empty-handed, you’re delusional.’

‘We’re bringing ourselves. That’s all that matters.’

‘Okay. You just keep telling yourself that.’

Julian knocked and the door swung open. Smiling at them from the doorway was Carmen, the Alters’ nanny and housekeeper of thirty years now. In a particularly intimate moment early in their relationship, Julian had confided to Brooke that he called Carmen ‘Mommy’ until his fifth birthday because he just hadn’t known any better. She immediately flung her arms around Julian.

‘How’s my baby?’ Carmen asked him after smiling at Brooke and pecking her on the cheek. ‘Your wife here feeding you enough?’

Brooke squeezed Carmen’s arm, wondering for the thousandth time why Carmen couldn’t be Julian’s mother, and said, ‘Does he look like he’s starving, Carmen? I have to pry the fork from his hands some nights.’

‘That’s my boy,’ she said, gazing at him with pride.

A shrill voice came from the formal living room down the hallway. ‘Carmen, darling, send the children in here, please. And don’t forget to snip the stems before you put the flowers in a vase. The new Michael Aram one, please.’

Carmen glanced around for the flowers but Brooke merely held out her empty hands. She turned to Julian and gave him a knowing look.

‘Don’t say it,’ Julian muttered.

‘Fine. I won’t say I told you so because I love you.’

Julian led her into the formal living room – Brooke had been hoping they would skip the living room altogether and move straight to the eating part – and found both sets of parents sitting opposite each other on identical, low-profile, ultra-modern couches.

‘Brooke, Julian.’ His mother smiled but didn’t stand. ‘So glad you could join us.’

Brooke immediately interpreted this as an attack on their tardiness. ‘So sorry we’re late, Elizabeth. The subways were just so—’

‘Well at least you’re here now,’ Dr Alter said, both hands cupped rather effeminately around a fat orange juice glass, exactly the way she imagined he cradled all his breasts.

‘Brookie! Julian! What’s up, guys?’ Brooke’s dad jumped up and embraced them both in one bear hug. He was clearly turning up the camp factor for the Alters’ benefit, but Brooke couldn’t really blame him.

‘Hi, Dad,’ she said, hugging him back. She also walked over to Cynthia, who remained trapped by all of their bodies on the couch and gave her an awkward standing-sitting hug. ‘Hey, Cynthia. Good to see you.’

‘Oh, you too, Brooke. We’re so excited to be here! Your father and I were just saying that we can barely remember the last time we were in New York.’

It was only then that Brooke was able to really absorb Cynthia’s appearance. She wore a fire-engine-red pantsuit, probably polyester, with a white blouse, black patent leather flats, and a triple strand of faux pearls wrapped around her neck, and topped off the entire ensemble with a highly curled and lacquered updo. She looked like she was channeling Hillary Clinton at a State of the Union address, determined to stand out in a sea of dark suits. Brooke knew she was only trying to fit in with her notion of how a wealthy Manhattan woman might dress, but her calculations were all wrong, especially in the midst of the Alters’ sleek, Asian-inspired apartment. Julian’s mother – although twenty years older than Cynthia – looked ten years younger in her fitted, dark jeans and featherweight cashmere wrap over a sleeveless, stretchy tunic. She wore a pair of delicate ballet flats with a discreet Chanel logo and accessorized only with a single gold bangle and her massive diamond ring. Her skin glowed with a healthy tan and light makeup, and her hair swung loosely down her back. Brooke immediately felt guilty: she knew how intimidated Cynthia must feel – after all, Brooke felt that way in her mother-in-law’s presence all the time – but she was also embarrassed at how badly she had miscalculated. Even Brooke’s dad looked uncomfortably aware that his khakis and tie were out of place next to Mr Alter’s short-sleeve polo shirt.

‘Julian, sweetheart, I know you want a Bloody. Brooke, would you like a mimosa?’ Elizabeth Alter asked. It was a simple question but, much like everything the woman asked, it felt like a trap.

‘Actually, I’d love a Bloody Mary as well.’

‘Of course.’ Julian’s mom pursed her lips in some sort of indefinable drink disapproval. To this day, Brooke wasn’t sure whether her mother-in-law’s dislike of her had to do with Julian and the fact that Brooke supported his musical ambitions, or if the woman found Brooke distasteful all on her own.

They were left no choice but to take the two remaining chairs – both straight backed, wooden, and unwelcoming – that sat opposite each other but were wedged between both couches. Feeling vulnerable and awkward, Brooke tried to jumpstart the conversation.

‘So, how were your weeks?’ she asked the Alters, smiling at Carmen as she accepted a tall, thick Bloody Mary complete with lemon wedge and celery stalk. It was all she could do not to drain the whole thing in one gulp. ‘Busy as always?’

‘Yes, I just cannot even imagine how you both maintain schedules like that!’ Cynthia said a bit too loudly. ‘Brooke’s told me how many, uh, procedures you both do in a day, and well, it’s enough to exhaust anybody! Me, I get a strep outbreak and I’m ready to collapse, but you two! Geez Louise, it must be madness.’

Elizabeth Alter’s face broke into a wide, immensely condescending smile. ‘Yes, well, we do manage to keep busy. But isn’t that so boring! I’d love to hear what’s going on with the children. Brooke? Julian?’

Cynthia sat back, deflated and properly reprimanded. The poor woman was walking through a minefield she was helpless to navigate. She absentmindedly rubbed her forehead and looked suddenly very tired. ‘Yes, of course. How are you two doing?’

Brooke knew better than to offer any details about her own job. Although her mother-in-law had been the one to get Brooke the interview at Huntley, she’d done so only after thoroughly satisfying herself that Brooke wouldn’t reconsider a career in magazines, fashion, auction houses, or public relations. If Brooke simply had to use that graduate degree in nutrition, she couldn’t understand why she didn’t at least serve in an advisory role to Vogue or serve as a private consultant to her legion of Upper East Side friends; anything, really, with a little more glamour than, in her words, ‘a dingy ER with homeless people and drunks.’

Julian knew enough to step in and save her. ‘Well, I actually have a little announcement,’ he said with a cough.

Suddenly, although Brooke was so excited for Julian she could barely contain it, a wave of panic washed over her. She found herself praying he wouldn’t tell them about the showcase, since he’d undoubtedly be disappointed by their reaction and she hated to watch him go through that. No one brought out that protective instinct in her like Julian’s parents; the mere thought of what they’d say made Brooke want to bundle him up and take him straight home, where he’d be shielded from their meanness and, worse, their indifference.

They all waited a moment while Carmen brought in a new pitcher of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice and then turned their attention back to Julian.

‘I, uh, just heard from my new manager, Leo, that Sony wants to showcase me this week. Thursday, actually.’

There was a beat of silence when everyone expected someone else to say something, and Brooke’s father was the first one to speak. ‘Well, I might not know exactly what showcasing is, but it sure sounds like good news. Congratulations, son!’ he said, leaning across Cynthia to clap Julian on the back.

Dr Alter, looking irritated at the use of ‘son,’ scowled into his coffee before turning to Julian. ‘Why don’t you explain to we laypeople what that means?’ he asked.

‘Yes, does that mean someone is finally going to hear your music?’ Julian’s mother asked, tucking her feet under her like a young girl and smiling at her son. Everyone pointedly ignored the emphasis on ‘finally’ – everyone except Julian, whose face registered the hit, and Brooke, who witnessed it.

After all these years Brooke was certainly accustomed to hearing Julian’s parents say awful things, but she never hated them any less for it. When she and Julian were first dating, he had slowly revealed how fundamentally his parents disapproved of him and of the life he’d chosen. During their engagement, she’d seen their objection to the plain gold band Julian insisted on giving Brooke rather than one of the ‘Alter family estate pieces’ his mother had pushed. Even when Brooke and Julian conceded to marrying at the Alters’ home in the Hamptons, his parents had been horrified at the couple’s insistence that the wedding be small, low-key, and off-season. After they were married and in the years since, when the Alters acted more freely in front of her, she saw at countless dinners and brunches and holidays just how toxic they could be.

‘Well, basically it means that they realize the album is close to being finished and they really like it so far. They’re going to arrange a showcase of industry people, sort of introduce me to them in a private performance, and then gauge the reaction.’ Julian, who was usually so modest he wouldn’t even tell Brooke when he’d had a good day at the recording studio, couldn’t help but beam with pride. She wanted to kiss him on the spot.

‘I might not know a whole lot about the music industry, but that sounds like a huge vote of confidence on their part,’ Brooke’s dad said, holding his glass aloft.

Julian couldn’t contain his smile. ‘It is,’ he said, grinning. ‘It’s probably the best-case scenario right now. And I’m hoping—’

He stopped as the phone began to ring and Julian’s mother immediately began to look around for a handset. ‘Oh, where is that damn phone? That must be L’Olivier calling to confirm a time for tomorrow. Hold that thought, dear. If I don’t reserve them now, I’m not going to have flowers for tomorrow night’s party.’ And with that, she unfolded herself from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘You know your mother with her flowers,’ Dr Alter said. He sipped his coffee, and it was unclear whether or not he’d even heard Julian’s announcement. ‘We’re having the Bennetts and the Kamens over for dinner tomorrow and she’s been in a tizzy about the planning. Christ, you’d think the decision between stuffed sole or braised short ribs was a matter of national security. And the flowers! She must have spent half the afternoon with those fegelas last weekend, and she’s still wavering. I told her a thousand times: no one cares about the flowers; no one will notice. Everyone throws these lavish weddings and spends tens of thousands of dollars on mountains of orchids or whatever the hell is in fashion these days, and who ever even looks at the damn things? Such a colossal waste, if you ask me. Spend the money on great food and booze – that’s what people really enjoy.’ He took another gulp, looked around the room, and squinted. ‘Now, what were we talking about?’

Cynthia gracefully stepped in and smoothed over the tense moment. ‘Well isn’t that just some of the greatest news we’ve heard in ages!’ she said with excessive enthusiasm. Brooke’s dad nodded excitedly. ‘Where exactly will it be held? How many people are invited? Have you decided yet what you’re going to play?’ Cynthia peppered him with questions and for once Brooke didn’t find the interrogation irritating. They were all the things Julian’s own parents should have asked but never would, and Julian was clearly delighted to be on the receiving end of such interest.

‘It’ll be at a small, really intimate downtown music venue, and my agent said they were inviting about fifty people in the industry – television and radio bookers, music execs, some people from MTV, that sort of thing. Most likely nothing too exciting will come of it, but it’s a good sign that the label is happy with the album.’

‘They rarely do these for their debut artists,’ Brooke announced with pride. ‘Julian’s actually being too modest – it’s a very big deal.’

‘Well at least that’s good news,’ his mother announced, taking her seat on the couch again.

Julian’s mouth tightened and his fists clenched by his sides. ‘Mom, they’ve been supportive with the way the album’s been taking shape for months now. Sure, the senior execs were pushing for more of a guitar focus, but ever since then, they’ve been great. So I don’t know why you have to say it like that.’

Elizabeth Alter looked at her son and appeared momentarily confused. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I was talking about L’Olivier. It’s good news that they have enough of the calla lilies I was wanting, and the designer I like the most is available to come over and install them. Don’t be so touchy.’

Brooke’s father glanced at her with a look that said, Who is this woman? Brooke shrugged. She, like Julian, had accepted that his parents were never going to change. It was why she stood by him a hundred percent when he rejected their offer to buy the newlyweds an apartment near theirs on the Upper East Side. It was why she chose to work two jobs rather than take the ‘allowance’ they’d once proposed, understanding all the strings that would accompany it.

By the time Carmen announced brunch was ready, Julian had gone completely silent and glazed over – turtled, Brooke always called it – and Cynthia looked rumpled and exhausted in her polyester pantsuit. Even Brooke’s dad, who still valiantly searched for neutral conversation (‘Do you believe this brutal winter we’re having this year?’ and ‘You into baseball, William? Yanks seem like an obvious choice, but I know a man’s team isn’t always determined by where he’s from …’) appeared defeated. Under normal circumstances Brooke would have felt responsible for everyone’s misery – after all, they were all only there because of her and Julian, right? – but today she let it all go. Suffer one, suffer all, she thought, and excused herself to use the powder room, which she bypassed immediately for the kitchen.

‘How’s it going out there, love?’ Carmen asked as she spooned apricot jam into a sterling silver bowl.

Brooke held out her empty Bloody Mary glass and paired it with a pleading look.

‘That bad?’ Carmen laughed and motioned for Brooke to pull the vodka from the freezer as she prepared the tomato juice and Tabasco sauce. ‘How are your parents holding up? Cynthia seems like a real nice lady.’

‘Uh-huh, she’s lovely. They’re grown-ups and they made their own idiotic choice to come visit. It’s Julian I’m worried about.’

‘Nothing he hasn’t seen before, love. No one deals with them better.’

Brooke sighed. ‘I know. But he’s depressed for days afterward.’

Carmen plunged a celery stalk into the thick Bloody Mary and handed it to Brooke. ‘Reinforcement,’ she announced, and kissed Brooke on the forehead. ‘Now get back out there and protect your man.’

The actual eating part of brunch wasn’t half as bad as the cocktail hour. Julian’s mother threw a minor hissy fit over the crepe filling (although everyone else loved the chocolate ones Carmen whipped up, Elizabeth thought they were far too fattening for an actual meal), and Dr Alter disappeared for a spell into his study, but as a result, neither of them insulted their son for over an hour. Good-byes were blessedly painless, but by the time she and Julian put her father and Cynthia into a cab, she could see Julian was withdrawn and unhappy.

‘You okay, baby? My dad and Cynthia were so excited. And I can barely—’

‘I don’t feel like talking about it, okay?’

They walked in silence for a couple minutes.

‘Hey, we have the whole rest of the day free. Absolutely nothing to do. Want to go to a museum while we’re up here?’ Brooke asked, taking his hand and tugging gently on his arm as they walked toward the subway.

‘Nah, I don’t think I’m up for the Sunday crowds.’

She thought for a moment. ‘You’ve been wanting to see that 3D Imax movie for a while. I wouldn’t mind going with you,’ she lied. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

‘I’m fine, Brooke. I really am,’ Julian said quietly, pulling on his wool scarf. She knew he was the one lying now.

‘Can I invite Nola to the showcase? It sounds so fabulous, and you know Nola can’t miss any opportunity at fabulousness.’

‘I guess – but Leo said it’s going to be really small, and I already invited Trent. He’s only in New York on this rotation another couple weeks and he’s been working like crazy. I thought he could use a night out.’

They talked more about the showcase, and they discussed what he would wear, which songs he would play, and in what order. She was happy she could draw him out, and by the time they reached their apartment, Julian seemed almost like himself.

‘Have I told you how proud I am of you?’ Brooke asked when they stepped onto their own elevator, both clearly relieved to be home.

‘Yeah,’ Julian said with a small smile.

‘Well come inside, baby,’ Brooke said, pulling him down the hallway by the hand. ‘I think it’s about time I showed you.’