Page 40 of 28 Summers
Mallory feels a deep sorrow. She had assumed that the Gladstones would stay together season after season, year after year, in their house on Deepdene Road. The life they’d created seemed normal, happy, and, above all, permanent. Whenever Mallory thought of Leland’s parents, she pictured Steve setting out the recycling bins as Geri climbed into her Honda Odyssey dressed in her tennis whites. The Gladstones hung Christmas lights; they had a house account at Eddie’s. They skied and went on European river cruises. When they went to visit Leland in New York, they took her to a Broadway show and then out to dinner at one of Larry Forgione’s restaurants. Apparently, news of Leland’s relationship with Fiella Roget hadn’t bothered them in the slightest. They both embraced Fiella—and how wonderful is that? Mallory is horrified that slatternly, slothful Sloane Dooley has managed to pry the Gladstones apart. Maybe there was a loose seam or a fault line—or maybe the problem is marriage itself. Marriage is a gamble with even odds; half the time it works, half the time it doesn’t.
Mallory throws back what’s left of her wine and goes to the fridge for another bottle. She’s glad she’s not the one who’s getting married this weekend.
The talk turns to Fiella, which feels inevitable. Fiella Roget learned the “art of storytelling,” as she puts it, at her grandmother’s feet. Fiella grew up in Petit-Goâve, Haiti, with one new cotton dress and one new pair of sandals per year. She had a rag doll named Camille that she dragged everywhere and a picture Bible. Her favorite story was Daniel in the lions’ den.
“If you think about it,” she says, “Shimmy Shimmyis just a postmodern retelling of that story from the perspective of a young woman of color.”
Leland’s eyelids flutter closed—clearly she has heard this a few thousand times—and although Mallory could listen to Fifi all night, she knows she should gracefully end the evening.
“I’ll clear the dishes,” she says. “You’ve had a long day. Sleep as late as you want tomorrow. I go running early, but I’ll set out things for breakfast.”
“Leland will go to bed,” Fifi says. “But I’m a natural night owl. I’ll help you clean up. One more glass of wine and I’ll spill the salty stories—losing my virginity to Mr. Bobo the loan shark, then stealing money from his wallet in the night. He was a heavy sleeper and I never got caught, though I shudder to think what would have happened if—”
Leland clears her throat. “Fifi, stop.”
“I can handle the dishes,” Mallory says. “But thank you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mallorita,” Fifi says, picking up the breadbasket. “Let me help you.”
“Mallorita” seems to be her new nickname, which is fine, though Mallory is sensing some pretty heavy static coming from Leland. Mallory and Fifi start washing the dishes and wrapping up the leftovers. It’s nearly eleven, and Mallory wonders if the rehearsal dinner in South Bend is over. Are Jake and Ursula spending the night separately? Do people who have been together for so long follow the usual traditions? Mallory guesses yes. Ursula will stay at her mother’s house and Jake and Cooper will stay with Jake’s parents. The wedding is at five o’clock the next evening. Mallory isn’t sure how she’s going to feel tomorrow at six o’clock, when Jake is officially married. Will all of her love, longing, guilt, joy, misery, and confusion condense inside her? Will her heart become a black hole? Or maybe she’ll feel exactly the way she does now—numb. Jake isn’t hers; he has never been hers. Their time together is something she borrows. Or, okay, steals.
The bedroom door slams, startling Mallory so badly that she cuts her finger on the serrated bread knife. A line of blood rises. It’s not bad, but still—what the hell? Mallory spins around, sucking her finger. Fifi is standing at the head of the harvest table, the last of the dirty silverware clutched in her hand like a postmodern bouquet of flowers.
“Please excuse her,” Fifi says. “She’s throwing a tantrum.”
Mallory doesn’t need to ask why; she knows why: Leland is jealous. Fifi paid too much attention to Mallory, and Mallory was unsuccessful in reflecting that light back onto Leland. Mallory wonders if this happens often, maybe even every time they’re out with someone else.
“I cut myself,” Mallory says.
“Let me see.”
“No, it’s fine. I just need a Band-Aid.”
“She’s insecure,” Fifi says. “I have to admit, I’m starting to find it tiresome.” The statement is an invitation for Mallory to join Fifi in some Leland-bashing. There’s no denying it’s tempting. Leland has real flaws—but then, so does everyone. And Leland must be traumatized about her parents’ split and her father’s relationship with Sloane Dooley, of all people. Can anyone blame Leland if she feels sensitive, even suspicious?
“I’m going to bed,” Mallory says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Mallorita.”
The nickname instantly becomes cloying. Fiella Roget hasn’t known Mallory long enough to bestow a nickname on her. But this is how she draws people in, how she wins them over, makes them feel special.
“My finger,” Mallory says. “I’ll see you in the morning. Stay up as late as you want, but please don’t go walking on the beach.”
“Is it not safe?” Fifi asks.
“It’s safe, but…”
“You’ll worry?” Fifi says. “That’s sweet.” Before Mallory knows what’s happening, Fifi takes Mallory’s wounded finger into her mouth and sucks on it gently. Maybe it’s the effect of the wine, but Mallory has the sensation of stepping out of her body and watching this interaction from a few feet away. She sees herself with her finger in Fiella Roget’s mouth. Her first thought isHow bizarre, how bizarre,which makes her want to laugh because, guess what, kids, this reallyisbizarre. Mallory’s finger instantly feels better, held tight by Fifi’s lips and tongue.
The bedroom door opens and Fifi quickly but gently removes Mallory’s finger from her mouth and pretends to study the cut.
“What’s going on out here?” Leland asks.
“Nothing,mon chou,” Fifi says. (The whole history of the world, Fiella has come to realize, is a matter of timing. Five more minutes and she might have been able to kiss adorable, straight-as-a-pin Mallorita. There’s no denying that, for Fiella, there is still a deep thrill to be found in such conquests.) “I’m coming to bed.”
The next morning, when Mallory gets home from her run, she hears Leland and Fifi screaming at each other. They’re in the kitchen; Mallory can see them through the screen of the back door. Leland is wearing white silk pajama shorts and a matching camisole. Fifi is naked. She’s standing in a shaft of sunlight that makes her skin look like molten gold. Fifi’s breasts are firm and upturned; her stomach is a smooth, flat plane with a dark oval divot for a navel. Fifi’s lower half is blocked from view by the counter.
“You’re trying to seduce her!” Leland says. “Not because you’reattractedto her, not because you find herinteresting…you’re doing it to make meangry!”
