The Divorce Party

“He seems to be.” She moves the completed tray out of the way. “And then what am I going to do with him?”

Maggie laughs, running her hands through her hair. Then, giving Eve a small smile, she looks away.

“I think maybe there is another question you can ask yourself,” Eve says.

“And what’s that?” she says. “Do I want to try?”

She shakes her head. “Am I sure I don’t?”

Maggie is silent.

“I’m just saying that’s the one that will kill you one day if you’re not sure and you get it wrong.”

Maggie isn’t sure of anything—which is the main reason she smiles at Eve, and excuses herself. “I’m pretty

sure I want to go and wash up,” she says. “Probably should have done that before helping with the food. Is the bathroom that way?”

“Live and learn,” Eve says, raising her palms.

Then she points behind herself, and Maggie heads that way, toward the back of the house, toward the master suite, toward the bathroom. But as she opens the door, she remembers what is going to be waiting for her. The special padded bathroom, the special tub. Only the bathroom that greets her is old, and not particularly noteworthy.

And there is no padding on the bathroom tub. None that she can see. The tub is white and oval shaped and too small to hold two people at all comfortably. Maggie gets in and lies all the way back, putting her arm over her eyes, her legs hanging over the edge. She tries to take a few deep breaths in, center herself, figure out what she is going to do next.

She needs to decide whether to find out the answer to the question running through her head right now, in this moment in her life: What happens if she stays?

Which is when Tyler walks in.

She doesn’t say anything, just takes her arm off her eyes, blinks. He looks back at her for a moment, and she imagines she is some sight: curled into the tub, in her skirt, her flip-flopped feet hanging out over the side.

“Hey there,” he says.

“Hey.”

“So am I taking you somewhere,” he says pointing in the direction of the driveway, “or are you taking a bath?”

Gwyn

This is perhaps what a wedding is supposed to be like: the barn is gorgeous and full of people, music playing, everyone eating and laughing and swaying. Everything’s candlelit and lantern-lit and dreamlike. You can hear the rain in the background, feel it tumbling along the roof but you almost don’t notice it, except for the light wind it is kicking up and inside—making everyone stand a little closer together.

It all makes Gwyn feel like it is appropriate that she has chosen to wear white. A handmade corseted top, a loose silk skirt. Her hair pulled back with a lily. When she wore yellow on her wedding day, her sister asked her if she was sad that she wasn’t taking her one chance to be the one in all white. I’ll have another chance, Gwyn said. She meant at a party or an event. She didn’t imagine the event would be for the end of her marriage.

No one notices her at first. She is standing just inside the barn’s entrance, the rain falling down behind her, taking it all in. The party is beautiful from this angle. Everyone is drinking champagne and talking in small circles. Even in this weather, everyone has come. If she could zoom in, wire her guests with hidden microphones, she still believes they wouldn’t be talking about her. Everybody gets divorced now, don’t they? Half of everybody, at least. The important part, for them, is that they have a nice party to go to on a less-than-nice night.

She looks straight across the barn and sees Nate and Georgia standing by the bar: Georgia sipping Nate’s beer. She decides to let them be. If the divorce party leaves them hating her a little but feeling more bonded with each other, then fine, she’ll take it. If they come out of this closer—more sure that they will always have each other, that this is their primary family relationship—Gwyn will feel better. She isn’t dying yet, but it is one more thing she wants in line before she does. That her children will always feel loved.

Then she notices Thomas, center-barn, wearing the suit she picked out for him, laughing with the Jordans, Daniel and Shannan, who live off of Dune Road, on the bay. They got divorced themselves, maybe ten years ago now, and Shannan moved to New York City and took up with a male ballet dancer. Now Daniel and Shannan are together again, permanently again. I’m simply too tired to not be with Daniel, Shannan told Gwyn when she moved back out here. And I don’t think that is the opposite of love.

Thomas waves at her. She waves back and points up to the steel rods, then the weather outside—the lightning coming in quicker, brighter bursts; the barn starting to seem too much like a bull’s-eye. But Thomas just shrugs, as if to say: let’s not worry about it.

Fine. He doesn’t want to worry, they won’t worry. Let him have his way this last time. This barn will come crumbling down or it won’t. Only, he won’t get to tell her again that she always worries too much. She wants his last memory of her tonight to be that she didn’t care, didn’t overanalyze, didn’t take on the role of worrier for both of them. For once, she would relax into acceptance of whatever would come. That she, for once, was willing to breathe in and let even the most rational fear go.

A waiter comes by and offers her a braised lamb chop. She takes it, because what else is she going to do? She has a small bite, and looks around at the other waiters carrying trays of spicy cashews and barbecued chicken bites, ahi tuna crackers and soybeans, Thai toast and curry tofu—all disappearing into people’s palms as soon as they appear.

She notices Minister Richards with his wife and decides to go over to say hello, when she feels a pat on her back, and turns to see Maxwell Scalfia, a five-foot-tall doctor who works with Thomas, married to Nicole, another doctor, who is a good ten inches taller than he is. She used to see him almost daily, all those years when it was Thomas and her habit to have lunch together. Mondays and Wednesdays, most Fridays too.

“How are you holding up?” Maxwell asks, stepping on his toes to kiss her cheek.

“Fine, Maxwell, we’re doing fine. Thank you for coming tonight. We’re glad to have you.”