Page 100 of Is This for Real?
Callie invites us to some cocktail party, which could have clients for Rory. I tell Rory he should go without me because I’m in the middle of working on my miniature art gallery, which I have to deliver next week. I feel more sympathetic toward Callie now. I don’t understand how she could have given Rory up, but I don’t view her as a threat.
Rory says, “It could be material for your next book. It’s at this rooftop loft space in Tribeca.”
That does give me a moment’s pause, mostly because the last rooftop vibe inspired my impassioned, failed declaration to Jamie, and I hope this setting doesn’t similarly inspire Callie.
“Take pictures if it’s really fabulous so I can use it as a setting. But I’ll come to the next one. And you should have fun. I’m just going to be sitting here in my pajamas, working,” I say.
The art gallery studio structure is done; I’m creating the food for the table now: fruit, cheese, and crackers. “Will you come back here afterward?”
“I don’t know. It might go really late,” he says. “I don’t want to wake you guys.”
“Hmm . . . I miss you. Should I come to your apartment and work there?”
“We can just hang out tomorrow.”
I’m back in the Sunday brunch spot. Maybe I should go, but I still have a lot of work to do on this project.
I’m making tiny strawberries, and the red clay stains my fingers. I wash my hands and make a chicken stew for Zelda and me. Rory is having dinner with his dad before he goes to Callie’s party. I hope that dinner goes well.
Rory sends me a picture of the space. It’s a gorgeous, high-ceilinged room with white columns, similar to the Brooklyn art space, but then glass-wall windows on two sides with views of midnight Manhattan, apartment building lights twinkling in the dark like stars. An outdoor wraparound deck has firepits and heaters. It would be a good space for a wedding. I show Zelda as we eat dinner.
And then another picture, a selfie of Rory and Callie against the dark sky. Her head is close to his, and Rory is smiling—not a full smile, not the half smile, but the dimmed smile he’s been making lately.
Zelda shakes her head.
“Why are you shaking your head?” Even though I know why.
“I don’t trust Callie.”
“But I trust Rory. And things are good. I got a bit worried when he freaked out about his parents, but, you know, we still can’t get enough of each other.”
“Okay, okay, I don’t need to hear the details. I’m heading out.”
I wave goodbye, and the door shuts behind Zelda.
Rory texts to ask if he can come over, and I text back yes, surprised. Twenty minutes later, and Rory is in our living room.
He slumps into the couch. “I wasn’t feeling it. I met my dad for dinner and . . .”
“And?”
“I just don’t want to hear all this stuff about my parents’ marriage. I don’t want to hear all the negative stories of she did this, he did that. I know that’s really immature of me, but I don’t want to look behind the curtain. They're each just presenting one side, and I don't want to take sides.” Rory splays out his hands in a gesture of defeat.
I hug him. “I think that’s normal. I didn’t like it when my mom complained about my dad. I didn’t want to take sides.”
“I thought you’d agree with Callie. Callie said it was good for me to hear that marriage is not some crazy lovefest.”
“Not through your parents’ marriage. You need an example of hope.”
“And it’s not like I don’t know marriage is difficult. My father’s a marriage counselor. And his practice was in our brownstone basement. This one woman used to cry so loudly that I could hear it through the door, up the stairs, and into our living room. I’ve seen couples arrive separately, barely looking at each other. So, I know.”
I rub his back. I don’t know what to say to console him. His dad shouldn’t be sharing all this with him.
“And my dad is even doubting his ability as a marriage counselor. How can he be failing at his own marriage and counsel others?”
“Maybe that will make him better, give him more insight into the process.”
Rory runs his hand through his hair. “Maybe.” His hand finds mine and holds it.
