We take our drinks outside, where Greg starts a fire in the fire pit. The men polish off half a bottle of Crown Royal. I stick to my white wine. I’m tipsy, but the men are drunk. Greg waves the white flag early, leaving Drew and me to put out the fire. Greg kisses me goodnight, a little longer than normal, and whispers in my ear that he loves me.
Drew and I stay up, drinking and talking. We debate about politics. Drew is staunchly liberal, active in his causes. Our debates are usually heated, but Drew is much more knowledgeable, as I have little time to give to others. This infuriates him, as he sees my selfish suburban bubble life as unappreciated good fortune. He says I am ignorant of struggle. I say he is ignorant of systemic abuse. He is angry in a way I’ve never seen him. He is also drunker than I’ve ever seen him.
“You are selfish and oblivious to the big world around you,” he says, his arm swinging wildly. He knocks over a citronella candle on the patio table, and the wax snakes its way toward the edge.
“I don’t think that’s true,” I say, stung by his accusation. “Yes, I’m absorbed in my life. I have two small children. I have to be. More people should be focused on their kids. Maybe there’d be less need for social do-gooders if more people raised their children properly.”
“That’s a completely oblivious thing to say. It discounts any extenuating factors. But that’s how you are. Your life revolves around you. You don’t account for how other people feel.”
“Other people like who? Like homeless men on the streets of New York? No, I do not frequently account for homeless drunks on city streets when I make my daily life decisions.”
“Other people like me, for instance.” A beat. The air has shifted. Somehow we are no longer talking abstract politics. Things have gotten personal.
“What does that mean?”
“You have no idea how I feel, for example. You invite me to every holiday, every birthday party, to come here and sit and watch you and your husband either love or hate each other, depending on his moods. And I come. I laugh in all the right places and shake Greg’s hand when I’d really love to sock him in the face. And I do that because you expect it. You have no clue what it costs me.”
I grip the arm of the chair. I know deep down that what he is saying is true, but I’ve never acknowledged it, either to him or myself.
He stands up abruptly. “I’m sorry. I’m going to bed now. Before I say anything else I regret.” He kisses my cheek and leaves me in the dark.
The embers of the fire crackle. I’m confused as to what just happened. With a sinking feeling, I turn to look at our bedroom window, which overlooks the patio and fire pit. I realize the windows are open to the September breeze. Mechanically, I clean up the patio, put the glasses in the dishwasher, and put away the whiskey. I pray that Greg didn’t hear Drew’s words. I’m only mildly concerned that Drew’s and my friendship could change as a result of Drew’s tirade because we’ve had encounters before and lived through them. Our relationship has always been an iceberg. The part the world sees is small and insignificant, where the largest, most complicated parts lie beneath the surface.
I go upstairs and undress quietly. When I climb into bed, Greg is awake. His arm goes around me, and we spoon. We don’t speak. I have no idea if he heard Drew. I strain my ears, trying to imagine if I could hear a conversation taking place twenty feet below the window. I sleep fitfully, replaying the night’s events with different endings in my dreams. When I wake in the morning, I am exhausted.
Sunday passes in a blur of activity. The house fills with family and friends. Drew picks up Sarah from the airport, and I am thrilled to see her. Throughout the day, I wonder if the night before was real. Everyone seems normal. Greg and Drew have resumed their banter, and I relax in the affable atmosphere. Leah cries when presented with her cake and everyone singing, but she loves her presents, ripping into the bright wrapping paper.
Sarah is staying for the week, taking Drew’s place in the guest room. After the party, Drew packs up and gives the girls big hugs with promises to return as soon as he can.
“Come back and visit again soon, Drew,” Greg says, shaking his hand. “Or we’ll come to you one night. Leave the girls with Claire’s parents and come have a wildly fun night in the city.” He puts his arm around my waist. “That actually sounds like a lot of fun. Doesn’t it, Claire?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Sounds good,” Drew says. “I’m sure I’ll be back soon. Are you guys having your holiday party again this year?”