Steve and Melinda had never met Drew, although when I had seen Melinda in the grocery store a few weeks ago, she mentioned she had heard that I was seeing someone. I wondered how she’d heard. Was it from a well-wisher passing along happy news or something whispered furtively behind a hand, with a knowing smile? Her husband might not even be dead, you know.
It had been six months, and Drew insisted that I needed to stop caring about other people’s perceptions. For the first two months of our courtship, I refused to go to any restaurant where I might see someone from the neighborhood or church. That generally meant we had to drive twenty minutes in any direction to have a meal. I didn’t rehire Charlotte as my date-night babysitter; I found a girl from the community college bulletin board. Drew grew tired of secret dating, but was patient with me. Annie’s birthday party marked the first time I had brought Drew to any neighborhood function. Greg’s replacement. I tried not to think like that, but I knew others would.
“Okay, so whose house are we going to?” Drew asked again. Fact I never knew: Drew had a terrible time remembering names.
“Melinda and Steve. They have one daughter, Annie, who is Hannah’s best friend. You’ve met her. Rob and Robin will be there, and you’ve met them.” A few weeks ago, we had taken the girls to dinner at the Masters’s house. I’d had the same fears that night as I had today, but I knew Robin and Rob wanted nothing but the best for me. Drew had brought an expensive bottle of wine and a bottle of whiskey. By the end of the night, everyone was talking like old friends.
Robin had pulled me aside as we were leaving. “Claire, Drew is wonderful. I’m so glad to see you happy.”
We embraced, and I felt thankful to have an ally in the neighborhood. When I said that to Drew, he’d sighed. “An ally implies some kind of war, Claire. How do you even know anyone will care?”
As we pulled into the driveway, Melinda met us at the van. “Hi, I’m so glad you came!” she squealed, hugging me, then opening the back door to let the girls out of the car.
Hannah bounded right for the swing set and Annie, leaving Leah in her wake.
Taking the cooler from my arm, Melinda extended her hand to Drew. “I’m Melinda,” she cooed.
I watched her, oddly unaffected by her flirting. She walked uncomfortably close to Drew, and I gauged his reaction. He turned around, caught my eye, and winked. I had told him about Melinda’s reputation as the neighborhood floozy. I have no idea how she’ll be to you. Drew, with his obvious striking looks, commanded her full attention. He was attentive, even ironically flirtatious, in return. She clucked around him, handing him a beer from the fridge and peppering him with questions. Where did he live? What did he do? Every answer was met with a “Really?” or a “Wow, that’s so interesting!” as though he were a CIA operative, instead of a photographer.
As I unpacked the macaroni salad, I pretended to ignore them. I was curious to see how Drew would fit in with the shark pit of suburbia. He wasn’t as obtuse as Greg, who had been oblivious to the gossip and malice. He was an artist, a student of human nature. I can only imagine what his next photography collection will be. I caught myself smiling.
“How are you holding up?” Melinda asked me.
I looked at her, startled. Her head was tilted, her eyebrows knitted—her insincere concerned face. I secretly called it the “fish face” because the expression was always accompanied by a badly disguised effort to ferret out some morsel of information to pass along to the masses. I saw Claire Barnes in Stop & Shop today, and you’ll never believe what she told me… as though delivering their fresh catch of the day.
“Oh, I’m doing well,” I replied, treading carefully. “You know, it will never be easy, but I have a strong support system. So that’s been great.” Drew rested his hand on my shoulder.
“Well, that’s important,” she replied with a knowing smile. “And Drew here, I’m sure he helps, too.”
“Oh, well, Drew has been a friend since we were kids. He’s been fantastically supportive,” I said.
“Oh! So… you’re just friends, then?” She pointed at us, waving her finger back and forth, curiosity disguised as concern.
“We were very close friends growing up,” I said. “And not that it’s anyone else’s business, but yes, we have become an item.”
“Oh, well, are you—” Melinda began, her concerned façade all but dropped in the excitement of such a juicy confirmation.
I cut her off, holding up my hand. “Melinda, thank you so much for asking about me. But at this point, I think I’ve said all I care to say. I’d also prefer it not become gossip fodder, if you can help yourself.”