Page 124 of Gifted & Talented

Not really, but he made me want to. And shouldn’t that mean something? “If one politician can hold a government hostage, then yeah, one should be good enough to fix it, too.”

“Not if the system’s broken.”

“Who can fix the system but you?”

“What if no one lets me try?”

“You mean what if they do and you fail?”

“Yeah, sure, what if I fail?”

“Oh, darling, but what if you fly?” I sing-songed.

“I hate you,” said Arthur, and then, “What’s your son’s name?”

I was quiet a second.

And then I said, “It’s Arthur.”

“It is?” he said, sounding awed. “Wait. No. You’re fucking with me.”

“His name is Arthur,” I grudgingly admitted. “It actually is.”

When I found out I was having a boy—I knew it like a dream I’d had, a vision I’d already witnessed from the future—I suggested the name to Ben, thinking he’d shoot it down. He didn’t. He never asked, either, what made me think of it. But what is early motherhood if not a time steeped in nostalgia, wondering how to remedy the past with our dreams for the future, to build tomorrow on the wounds of yesterday?

The procession came to a halt, having reached the clearing Thayer had selected. I realized that Arthur had to leave my side, to go and join his sisters. Meredith was standing alone. Eilidh was a distance away from her. Dzhuliya was several people away in the crowd, not standing with either of them.

“Wait,” said Arthur. “He’s not mine, is he?”

I was so lost in thought that it took me several seconds to decipher what Arthur was asking me. When I realized, I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or throw my hands up and leave.

“Art. We slept togetherover a decade ago. Monster is two years old.”

“Oh. Right.” He laughed. The trees rustled. It felt holy, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“We’ll talk later,” Arthur said, and kissed my cheek. He was off to say goodbye to his father, the archbishop of assholes; the assholiest of them all.

I pulled him back. “Arthur,” I said, with a weird flame of desperation in my voice. “I’m sorry Thayer didn’t want to know you. He missed out. You’re the best person, the very best one. I’ve been meaning to tell you that for a while.”

My eyes were full of tiny remorseful fire ants. My throat was thick with them.

“Nah,” said Arthur, his smile a lilt of gentlemanly disagreement.

Then I let him go, and he went.

69

It turned out Thayer merely wanted some sort of open mic night, a bring-your-own-compliments potluck in service to his life and achievements. Many, many people spoke very movingly, and thus many, many people were moved.

Eilidh, however, began to suffer a heightening anxiety she hadn’t had when she woke up that morning, when she’d thought all she’d have to do was make an appearance, put on a show. How do you celebrate a man who bangs his hot young assistant, even consensually? It was just so disappointing. A cliché, precisely as Meredith had said.

Eilidh looked over at Meredith, whose chin was held staunchly aloft. She and Eilidh still hadn’t spoken beyond normal questions, are you hungry, do you know where the rest of the guest towels are, who wants the Degas. “I actually hate that painting,” Eilidh had confessed in answer to that, and Meredith had looked at her sharply; inquisitively, but with an edge. Eilidh waited for Meredith to criticize, or, less likely, to ask, but instead Meredith merely shrugged and looked vaguely approving.

“We’ll donate it,” she said. “He’d shit his pants to have his name in the de Young.”

Meredith glanced bracingly at Eilidh then, as if she expected Eilidh to disagree, but Eilidh felt too tired. It was exhausting, the weight of disappointment. She didn’t know who she’d wanted her father to be, nor did she feel she knew any longer who he’d actually been. Was it ever love for him, or just convenience? She wanted to ask Dzhuliya, but at the same time the mere existence of the question made her physically ill.

Meredith was watching her now, as if Meredith could read her thoughts. Eilidh wondered if it had solved anything between them, the admission that neither of them had ever really gotten what they wanted, that they’d been at odds with each other because of the way one man had treated each of them,because what each one considered lucky was what the other had. But was that all? Was it only ever miscommunication?

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