This Cake is for the Party (18 page)

Excuse me, I say when I see the wind swatting the flaps of blue plush fabric against the chair legs like prayer flags, the men's fingers pressing into the sides of the chair, scraping it into the back of the flatbed truck that is already sprinkled with pink petals even though it's only been parked there for a minute. Wait! I call after them, half running across the lawn like a lachrymose widow, my throat filled with hot and itchy clots of tears, crying now, because I remember the last thing that Paul Farenbacher said to me,
Bis morgen,
which wasn't significant at the time, just a little thing he said to me before I left him for the night, tucked into that chair,
that blue chair
. Wait, I scream, and now Bruce is behind me, he's got his arms around me—my God, he's a big man, his hands are easily twice the size of my shoulders—he's got me, he's holding me in a gesture that is half restraint, half reassurance. You can't have that chair, I blubber through the window of the truck to the woman, who is already sitting in the passenger side, her tight red face concerned and frightened. That chair, I cry. That chair is not for sale.

This Is How We Grow
as Humans

Two weeks before Franny and Richard announce their engagement, Franny meets Pima for a late lunch at Ogden Point. The café has a large outdoor patio on the water, where the cruise ships dock, near a funny red lighthouse covered in graffiti that sits at the very end of the concrete breakwater. Neither one of them orders anything to eat. Franny has a pot of decaffeinated tea with lemon, and Pima has a cappuccino, which she stirs with a little spoon. Franny notices how Pima moves: her thin limbs seem tight at the joints and her eyes make angular, darting movements. A pot of camomile might have been a better choice for her. Franny gave up drinking coffee two years ago. She's also given up white sugar, farmed salmon, genetically modified soy products, and non-organically-grown strawberries.

It's the first warm day of spring and Pima says she wants to feel the sun on her face. She gets up to tilt the umbrella so it doesn't cast a shadow on the table. She has a long pink scarf tied around her head. The tails blow off her back like kite streamers. The sunshine is excellent. Franny closes her eyes for a minute. The direct sunlight blazes her eyelids with orange. When she opens them again, the colour is drained out of everything. Pima is standing above her, wrestling with the umbrella pole in the centre of the table. Her profile is even more severe in monochrome.

Franny invited Pima to lunch because she knows Pima wanted to meet with her. This is an opportunity for Pima to put everything out on the table. Franny's not interested in playing games. She's here to make sure that Pima is okay. They might talk about Richard, because Franny did play a role in their breakup. But more than that, this is about their
friendship
. It's an awkward meeting. But there's something like relief in the way they're sitting in the sunshine. They both realize there's no way to make this pleasant, so they're just going to practise the art of being awkward together.

Can I get anything else for you?

The waitress is dressed in a black miniskirt, heavy boots and skinny bare legs. She has a piercing on her face: a small silver stud through the skin on her cheekbone.

No, Pima says. Thank you. She doesn't turn around when she says this. Once she's sure that she's secured the umbrella, she sits down. Franny notices the perfect shape of her ass, the way her slim thighs curve in dark denim. When she moves, it looks effortless. It's like she's floating back down to her chair rather than sitting in it.

Well, the waitress says.

I'm sorry, Franny answers. She makes eye contact so the waitress will know that they aren't trying to be difficult. We haven't even looked at our bill yet, she says.

It's just that it's the end of my shift. The waitress raises her shoulders.

Of course, Franny tells her. We'll be ready in a sec.

The girl bites her lip and turns away.

Someone else could take care of our bill, Pima says.

She just wants her tip, Franny says, staring into her teacup. She lets her focus go past the surface of the liquid, like she's looking into a well. A reflection of her forehead trembles in the tea. She didn't order anything to eat because she's too anxious. On the blackboard above the service counter the specials are written in pale yellow chalk. The soup of the day is
menestrone
. She can't stop looking at the misspelling. Her nervous stomach turns again, slow and gluey.

Pima looks down into her purse and rearranges a collection of crumpled-looking receipts and linty tissues. I hate being rushed, she says.

Franny sips her tea.

I haven't talked to Richard, Pima tells her. He asked me to stop calling.

Franny nods. That's probably good, she says. To give yourself some space for now.

Pima says, We might never be friends again.

The way she says it, Franny can't tell if Pima is talking about her or Richard. Franny has always believed that it is reasonable to expect to be friends with your lovers after you've broken up. It's starting to feel unreasonable to her now.

The waitress looks at Franny when she takes her money. When she smiles, the silver stud on her cheek jerks up a little. Thanks, she says. It's just that my ride is here and I have to get going. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to rush you.

Franny glances at Pima, who's examining a business card she found in her purse while sorting through it. Oh, we don't feel rushed at all, Pima says, without looking up. She slips the card into her daybook and then pulls out a pack of du Mauriers and slaps them on the table. Franny hates to see Pima smoking. She's too beautiful to be a smoker.

Are you going somewhere for the long weekend? Franny asks the waitress.

We're going to Sombrio Beach.

Surfer?

No. Not really.

She doesn't seem to be in a hurry anymore now that she has their money. She looks over her shoulder. There's a blue Vanagon in the parking lot. A man with blond dreadlocks taps the steering wheel and bobs his head. A German shepherd sits in the passenger seat.

Have you ever been to Sombrio Beach? the waitress asks Franny.

Franny shakes her head.

Oh, she says. You have no idea. Just going to Sombrio can inspire you to become a more evolved person. When you're there, it's like you're not even a person anymore. You're part of the sand, you're part of the driftwood.

The waitress smiles again and lurches off in her black boots. And to think Franny was just sticking up for this girl!
A more evolved person.
What is she, fifteen years old? What does she know about the work it takes to be an evolved person? Her soles are thick wedges, making her feet look like magnets that she has to pull off the ground with each step.

Pima picks at the bleached white threads that fall from the edge of her denim shirt cuffs. The shirt is old and frayed and soft, with pearly snap buttons. She's had that shirt for years, probably long before Franny even knew her. He convinced me to not talk to him for one year, she says.

Don't you think maybe it's a good idea?

It just means he wants to fuck you without having to think about me.

Franny doesn't say anything at first. She takes a breath. Paresh, her therapist, has been coaching her to redirect aggression and not take it on personally. In a calm voice, Franny says, Maybe it means he needs time to think things through.

Whatever, Pima says, and opens the pack of cigarettes with her teeth.

On the breakwater, a group of divers are getting ready. They wear rubbery wetsuits peeled down halfway, which makes them look like weird fruit in the sun. They lug their black equipment over the rocks. One of the divers needs help carrying his tank to the starting place where everyone is gathered. The weight of the tanks looks like they would pull the people straight down to the bottom of the sea.

I always knew when he was cheating on me, Pima says, holding an unlit cigarette. I knew every single time, and I knew it this time too.

I thought he'd told you, Franny says. When it first happened, I thought you two had broken up.

This isn't exactly true. What Richard had said was that their passion had died a long time ago. Pima was cold and distant. She wouldn't have sex with him anymore. Something inside Pima had shut down, Richard told Franny, and their relationship felt dried-up and unhealthy. It had been like this for some time. He had leaned into Franny and placed his mouth very close to her mouth without kissing her. His breath was woodsy, like clipped branches. He said, Fran, you feed me. I have never felt this way about a woman before. I want to be with you for the rest of my life.

Pima looks at her. The angle of the sun catches the green in her hazel eyes, turning them acidic. I feel sorry for you, Franny. You know that?

Pima is entitled to her anger. She's been with Richard for the past four years, and Franny's not the first woman he slept with while they were still living together. Franny knows what they say about a person never changing. But there's a
dynamic
that is set up between two people. Richard's cheating is something that happened between Richard and Pima. Richard lived with Pima all of those years, but now he is with Franny and he wants to get married. Franny is not Pima. As Pima turns mean in front of her, Franny holds this thought close to her chest like it's a smooth, warm stone.

Listen, Pima says. Richard does this. You should know. He will keep doing it. I feel like warning you, except that right now I can't stand you.

I think—Franny starts. This isn't easy to say, but she needs to find out if it's true. She tries again. I think you're still in love with Richard, she says.

One end of Pima's silk head scarf stirs in the wind. It strokes her shoulder blade like the tip of a cat's tail. You are walking a dangerous line, she says. I think you should take a look at what you're doing. Why do you hate yourself, Franny? Why do you hate yourself so much?

Pima has it backwards. And it's just like her to put on that self-righteous, patronizing tone now, at this vulnerable point, when they could truly get to something
real
. Classic Pima. She's the one with low self-esteem, not Franny. Why else would she stay in a relationship with a man who didn't love her? Everyone knows that loss of libido is a sign of depression. But she's not supposed to know that Pima stopped wanting sex, so Franny tries to respond with something meaningful and generous. I'm glad you're being honest with me, she says. I've always admired that about you.

Pima laughs an ugly laugh. You admire honesty, she says. And you've decided to shack up with a man who doesn't even know what that word means. It's fascinating, human nature, isn't it?

Heavy splashes from the water in front of them. They listen to the sound of bodies falling into the ocean and then the divers are all underwater and it's quiet again. They sit without talking for a few minutes.

Watching the ripples on the surface of the water, Franny says to Pima, You couldn't pay me to strap that stuff to my body.

Pima lights her cigarette with a pale pink lighter and stares at the water, blowing out smoke. You know that they piss in their wetsuits? she says. They wet themselves to keep warm.

If she had turned to Franny at that moment, if she could have looked at her with even a sliver of something gentle, Franny might have told her the truth: that being with Richard isn't exactly as she expected. That she's afraid something is wrong with her. That she's actually in love with both Pima and Richard.

Franny met Richard and Pima at the same time, a dinner party, so there were no allegiances at first. The party was on an old blue houseboat, where Steve, the editor of
Western
Food and Wine
, was living at the time. Steve has that condition that makes him completely hairless. He doesn't even have eyebrows or eyelashes. He's a large man, always ducking under door frames, his biceps easily the size of Franny's neck. But without hair, Steve has this vulnerable look. Franny had just started as a copy editor when she came to the party, but Steve had promised her she'd be writing restaurant reviews by the end of the year.

Lots of people from the magazine were there. Flower boxes hung on all the houseboats along the boardwalk, packed with alyssum, heaps of purple lobelia. Franny wandered inside, looking for a corkscrew. Even though it was a calm day, the floor of the house shifted when the water moved beneath it. Steve introduced her unceremoniously on his way out to the grill, with a platter of slick raw salmon in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other: Richard and Pima, meet Franny, from the magazine.

He left, and the three of them looked at each other.

Do you know Steve from college? Franny asked them.

Richard used to date Steve's sister, Pima said. She wore pink sandals with sequined straps, polished toenails like pale shells. Franny thought she was very thin. Her collarbones were so prominent, it looked like it would hurt to give her a hug. But she moved easily in her body, and this grace made her beautiful.

Long time ago, Richard said, and scratched the back of his neck.

Pima smiled. I broke them up. But Steve doesn't hold that against me. Does he, babe?

Richard put his hand on the small of her back and she moved in close so her waist dovetailed with his hip. You need an opener for that? he asked Franny, and nodded at her bottle of wine.

Franny looked up at him. There was a smudge of something on his throat, like charcoal, or newsprint. I really do, she said.

It's in the kitchen, Richard told her, and led the way. Pima followed them, her sandals gently slapping the floor.

Steve has a corkscrew mounted on his kitchen wall, with a handle that works like you're pressing a seal onto a legal document. You hardly have to use any force. Franny has one too, but a different model. Hers sits on the kitchen counter.