Wife 22

how we feel about our marriage.

“What’s it like how?” asks William. “You must be more specific, Zoe. I hate the way your generation asks such vague questions. You expect everybody else to do all the work, including clarifying what you meant to ask in the first place.”

“Shit, Dad,” says Peter. “She was just asking to be nice.”

“Peter Buckle-this is our anniversary dinner. I would appreciate it if you didn’t say shit,” I say.

“Well, what am I allowed to say?”

“ ‘Dang.’ ‘Rats.’ Or how about ‘bananas’?” I suggest.

“As in, Bananas, Dad? She was just asking to be nice?” says Peter. “Are you bananas?”

William nods at me from across the table and for a moment I feel united. Which causes me even more duress as I think of Researcher 101 asking me to imagine his hand on the back of my neck.

“How about I take Peter and Zoe to California Pizza Kitchen?” asks Caroline. “We can meet up with you afterwards. What kind of food are you in the mood for, Zoe?” Caroline raises her eyebrows at me. She and I are still debating as to whether Zoe has an eating disorder.

“Vegetarian lettuce wraps,” says Zoe, shooting William a questioning look.

“It’s okay. I want you all to stay,” I say. “And your father does, too. Right, William?”

“Alice, would you like your present now or later?” William says.

“I thought P.F. Chang’s was my present.”

“It’s only part one of your present. Zoe?” says William.

Zoe rummages around in her purse and pulls out a smallish rectangular package wrapped in dark green paper.

“Did you know that emerald is the official twentieth-anniversary color?” asks William.

Emerald? I flash back to the day in the jewelry store with Nedra. Her making me try on that emerald ring. Oh, God. Had William solicited her to help him pick out a ring for our twentieth anniversary? An emerald ring like the one that belonged to my mother that I threw out the car window the week before we got married?

Zoe hands me the package. “Open it,” she says.

I stare at William, shocked. His gifts are usually last minute, like fancy jams or a gift certificate for a pedicure. Last year, he gave me a book of forever stamps.

“Now?” I ask. “Wouldn’t it be better to wait until we’re home? Anniversary gifts are kind of private, aren’t they?”

“Just open it, Mom,” says Peter. “We all know what it is.”

“You do? You told them?”

“I had some help with this one,” he admits.

I shake the package. “We’re on a budget. I hope you didn’t do anything crazy.” But I really, really hope he did.

I rip open the paper excitedly to reveal a white cardboard box that says Kindle.

“Wow,” I say.

“Isn’t it cool?” says Peter, grabbing the box out of my hands. “Look, the box opens like a book. And Dad preloaded it for you.”

“I ordered it a month ago,” says William, by which he means I want you to know I put some thought into this.

“He got you The Stand. Said it was your favorite book when you were in high school. And the Twilight series-apparently many mothers are into the books,” says Zoe. “I think it’s gross, but whatever.” She looks at me suspiciously, as a fifteen-year-old daughter is apt to look at her mother. I nod as innocently as possible while simultaneously trying to look delighted.

“The latest Miranda July, You Are She Who Knows Something I Used To but Forgot,” says Zoe, “or something like that. You’ll love her. She’s awesome.”

“And Pride and Prejudice,” says Peter.

“Wow,” I say. “Just wow. I’ve never read Pride and Prejudice. This is so unexpected.”

I put the Kindle back in its box carefully.

“You’re disappointed,” says William.

“No, of course not! I just don’t want to scratch it. It’s a very thoughtful gift.”

I glance around the table. Everything seems out of plumb. Who is this man? I barely recognize him. His face is lean because of all the running. His jaw firm. He hasn’t shaved in days and he’s sporting a light stubble. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was hot. I reach across the table and pat William’s arm awkwardly.

“That means she loves it,” translates Peter.

I look down at the menu. “I do,” I say. “I really do.”

“Great,” says William.

“I was twelve when I started to work,” says Caroline. “After school I’d sweep the theater while Mom was in rehearsals.”

“Hear that, kiddos?” I say, spooning a second helping of Kung Pao chicken onto my plate. “She was twelve. That’s the way they do it in Maine. You kids need to contribute. You need to get a job. Raking lawns. Delivering newspapers. Babysitting.”

“We’re okay,” says William.

“Well, actually we’re kind of not,” I say. “Pass the chow mein, please.”

“Should I be scared? Is this something I should be scared about? I have fifty-three dollars in my savings account. Birthday money. You can have it,” says Peter.

“Nobody has to give up their birthday money,” says William. “We all just have to be more frugal.”

I look at my Kindle guiltily.

“Starting tomorrow,” says William. He raises his glass. “To twenty years,” he toasts.

Everybody raises his or her glass but me. I’d already pounded down my Asian pear mojito.

“I only have water,” I say.

“So toast with your water,” says William.

“Isn’t it considered bad luck to toast with water?”

“If you’re in the Coast Guard,” says William.

I raise my water glass and say what’s expected. “To twenty more.”

Zoe studies my conflicted face. “You’ve answered my question about what twenty years of marriage is like.”

She looks at William. “And without any further clarification from me.”

An hour later, back at home, William sinks into his chair with a sigh, remote control in hand, and then leaps to his feet. “Alice!” he shouts, his hand on his ass.

I look at where he’s been sitting. There’s a huge wet stain on the cushion. Oh, Jampo!

“I dropped a glass of water this afternoon,” I say.

William smells his fingers. “It’s piss.”

Jampo comes running into the living room and jumps on my lap. He buries his head in my armpit. “He can’t help it. He’s just a puppy,” I say.

“He’s two years old!” shouts William.

“Twenty-four months. No child is toilet-trained at twenty-four months. He didn’t do it on purpose.”

“He most certainly did,” William says. “First my pillow and now my chair. He knows all my places.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” I say.

Jampo peeks out of my armpit and growls at William.

“Bad boy,” I whisper.

He growls some more. I feel like we’re in a cartoon. I can’t help it. I start to laugh. William looks at me in shock.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” I say, still laughing.