Page 7 of The Takeaway

Wisely, Dexter stays quiet, twirling his fork in his pile of linguine.

Ruby pushes back her chair and stands, then walks out of the room. When she comes back, she’s holding the diary from the box labeled 2018 and she's sliding on her reading glasses. She flips to a page and her eyes skim the entry as she paces the kitchen.

“May I read it one more time?” Ruby asks, glancing in Dexter’s direction. He nods to let her know that he’s listening. “Thank you,” Ruby says. She clears her throat and begins to read the entry out loud as Dexter eats his dinner.

August 22, 2018

Ruby and I have come to a disagreement that we can’t seem to get past. I feel that Athena needs to be more social and to perhaps attend a finishing school—are such things truly so far out of style? Ruby seems to think so—as I believe that a daughter sitting in her room just reading books all day is hardly a boon to the optics of a First Family.

I’ve been spending more time with Etienne lately—as much time as I possibly can—and watching her with Julien. She’s a marvelous mother, if more of a free spirited one than I’m accustomed to observing. I remember that when Julien was still quite small, she would hand the baby a hard heel of baguette to gnaw on and cut teeth, and then rub a bit of red wine on his gums when he fussed.

“Are you sure that’s allowed?” I asked her then, watching as she picked the baby up and took her breast out while we were walking along a cobblestone street in the village. She laughed at me as Julien latched onto her nipple, sucking beatifically with closed eyes as her breast swelled out of the top of her shirt. Of course, the baby’s head was mostly covering everything from view, but the casual way she unsheathed it and let my son’s lips find her was…I’m not sure—vaguely erotic, perhaps?—there was something so French about the way she laughed at my face and continued to stroll, the baby pulling nutrients from her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which it was, I suppose.

To think of Ruby doing the same thing when our girls were that age is impossible. It would have never happened. To be fair, she adapted quite easily to the role I needed her to fill—and I loved her for it, as well as loving her for a million other things—but she was not an Earth Mother. Her nipple never would have made an appearance at the Library of Congress or on the campaign trail (thank God). Ruby read to our girls and oversaw their schooling in a way that I could not and did not have time for, but in essence, she parlayed her own top-notch education into a position as a housewife with a three-hundred dollar haircut. Unlike other First Ladies, she does not have a career of her own, or a passion to explore beyond reading. I watch her now as she rotates through a stack of books on the nightstand, wondering what she might have accomplished in her life if she had not changed her intended course in order to marry me.

Indeed, what do all women give up in order to hitch their wagons to a man (for lack of a better phrase at this late hour as I write)? Just what might they have accomplished if they hadn’t begun to date a senator in their twenties? If they hadn’t spent the night of their thirtieth birthday in the arms of a married man and walked away carrying his son? In short, do women ever truly get to fulfill their own potential once they’ve been charged with raising other human beings, or have they forever been shortchanged and made to live muted lives devoted to school pick-ups, public breastfeeding, and acquiescing to the needs of a demanding husband/boyfriend/partner?

Ruby pauses here and holds the book open. “I’m torn between wanting to climb into a time machine, to go back to the Jack of 2018 so that I can punch him in the face, or to applaud him for even partially understanding the sacrifices that come withmotherhood.” She closes the diary and slaps it onto the island, leaving it there as she flops back into her chair and picks up a fork halfheartedly. “But I’m still pissed about the housewife with the expensive haircut comment.”

Dexter tugs at his earlobe as he looks out the window at the sky. “Well,” he says, refocusing his gaze on Ruby. “You’re allowed to take offense to anything he says in these diaries, but you should also take into consideration that you might have had some uncharitable thoughts about him on occasion.” Ruby huffs as she stabs her fork into her pile of salad and Dexter raises his eyebrows. “Does that mean you never sent Sunday a nasty text about the way he sucked his teeth after eating potato chips? Or that you didn't ever complain to your mother about his annoying little habits?”

Ruby gives him a serious stare with a lowered chin. "Clearly you've never been married."

Dexter laughs at the way she says this. "I'm not sure how to take that."

"I don't think anyone could be married to another person for thirty years and not find something objectionable about their spouse. Even small things." Ruby takes a bite of her salad and crunches on a crouton. "Like, haven't you dated someone long-term and gotten annoyed with the way she leaves her hair all over the bathtub rather than clearing the drain? Or the fact that she lies to waiters and tells them she's allergic to tomatoes when the truth is that she just doesn't like them?"

Dexter is hunched over his pasta bowl, forking up more linguine as he laughs. "Sure. I once dated a woman who wanted me to wake up a half hour before she did to make her coffee so that it would cool down to the right temperature before I brought it to her in bed."

"Okay," Ruby says, waving her fork through the air as she chews and swallows. "That's just high-maintenance behavior."

"But seriously." Dexter sets his silverware down and leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest as he levels a gaze at Ruby. "Are you that offended by Jack's comment about you, or is there something else about that journal entry that won't let you move past it?"

Ruby ponders this. "Huh." She uses her tongue to dislodge a flake of cracked pepper from her molars as she looks up at her chandelier, admiring the soft glow of the lights. "Well, I think it's interesting that he compares me to Etienne--and not very favorably, in my eyes--"

"Okay," Dexter encourages her. "Go on. And also keep in mind that you're never going to see a comparison between yourself and your husband's mistress in a favorable light," he adds quickly.

"Right. True." Ruby narrows her eyes. "I think the piece of that entry that catches me is that he wants to explore the ways in which men hold women back. Or, rather, the way they alter the course of our lives. And it's true--they do. Absolutely. Whether or not you have children with a man, once you've agreed to marry him, to go through life with him, you are in essence--almost always--agreeing to do so with an eye towards his work, his goals, his happiness." She pauses, thinking of Sunday and Peter Bond. Of her own mother and the way it took her father's untimely death for Patty Dallarosa to put her law degree to use and to achieve success in her chosen career. Of nearly every woman she ever knew in Washington. "Show me one marriage where the roles are reversed--I bet you can't."

"The Queen of England," Dexter says without a moment of hesitation. He looks pleased with himself.

"May she rest," Ruby adds, bowing her head briefly. "Wonderful woman. Dry British humor, great lover of dogs and horses--I enjoyed her tremendously."

"Whoa," Dexter says, shaking his head as he picks up his fork again. "I sometimes forget that you met the Queen."

Ruby tilts her head. "I would argue though that she had a streak of the old-fashioned to her. I believe that while, yes, the entire family served The Crown, the Queen--in her private moments--most likely put Prince Philip's happiness before her own happiness plenty of times."

"You're probably right." Dexter reaches for a hunk of bread to drag across the plate and sop up the rest of the clam sauce.

"I know I'm right," Ruby says, warming to the idea. "So the fact that Jack realized that and gave it some thought...you're right," she nods, "that's what's sticking with me. He saw me as a housewife with a three-hundred dollar haircutbecauseI let my own goals and dreams be derailed by his work and by raising our children. And he saw that this happened to women all the time. Everyday. From every walk of life."

"Perfect," Dexter says. He sits forward now, elbows on the table, fingers laced together in front of his chin. "So this particular entry gave you an insight into Jack that you didn't have before. You saw in this piece of writing that he was thinking and questioning things you never knew he'd given consideration to."

"Everything he's written has given me a new outlook on him," Ruby says. "Reading about his first kiss, his getting benched by the baseball coach, and even about Etienne. I've covered some ground so far, but these little moments of clarity are amazing. It's like a spark of light in the darkness for me. In losing Jack--and I mean losing him in every sense that I lost him--I felt that I'd never truly know who he was. That he had become a stranger to me over the course of our marriage, and that he'd died a stranger. And now I don't feel that way anymore." Ruby's eyes glisten with unexpected tears. "It's like I'm getting another chance to really see him."

"And through his eyes, you're getting to see yourself as well," Dexter says.

They sit in companionable silence for a moment. Dexter has cleared his plate entirely, finished his salad, drained his wine glass. But Ruby, in contrast, has done little more than push her food around and take a few bites as she's talked.

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