Page 60 of The Unraveling

“Did you?”

“Sometimes, but she was always the one to storm out, so. It’s pretty much been sitting there empty this whole time.”

Somehow, knowing that I am part of his fucked-up priorities makes me surge with intrigue again.

“Would you like to see it?” he asks.

“What—now?”

“I assure you, this is only for your health.” He says it seriously, and if I hadn’t glanced at his face, I wouldn’t have noticed the tiny flash of humor in his lips.

“I’m not sure your wife would be okay with you showing it to me right now, and truthfully, I’m not sure I trust myself around you. I still remember when you were Max,” I say, honestly, for the first time tonight, being a little bit principled.

“She’s the one who told me to prioritize you over everything else. This ballet thing, it’s all her thing, really. But she is always begging me to get involved. She says I need a hobby.”

“So why did you take me for drinks?” I ask.

“To be quite frank, it was a suggestion of Clementine’s. I have a feeling she and Arabella may have arranged our little run-in. She made the dinner reservations with Charlie. I wouldn’t be surprised if she made them for the three of you as well.”

“Wait—this is starting to sound very manipulated. Is Arabella—I mean, how close are they?”

“Clementine looks at Arabella as someone to care for.”

“Like…a daughter?”

“I don’t know, I never know what my wife is up to.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I should probably go,” he says then.

I’m taken aback by the sudden change and say, “Oh—I’m sorry, did—”

“It’s nothing you did,” he says. “It’s just that we need to stay professional. Even though my wife and I are pretty much separated, we’re not on bad terms. I don’t want a punitive divorce. And she can be vicious. I don’t want you to get in trouble for crossing a line with your donor. But trust me, the thoughts have been consuming me.”

“I understand. Of course.”

We’re silent for a long moment, and then he finishes his drink.

“Would you like to see the flat?”

Chapter Eighteen

ELEVEN YEARS AGO

Igot my period at my fourteenth birthday party. No joke, on the day of my fourteenth birthday party.

We were at the aquatic center, which was a complex of indoor pools about half an hour’s drive from my house. I was in a dark red bikini and we’d gotten my nails painted red to match. I felt very grown-up.

Mimi paid for both when she took me shopping the previous day after ballet class. I was at her house most of the day, and we celebrated my birthday early since I wouldn’t see her at my party. She also paid for the Domino’s pizza we ordered and said I could drink Sprite. Nothing tasted better than that meal. My mom was at work until nine, so it was just me and Mimi at her house. I sat there eating pizza and drinking Sprite, watching Singin’ in the Rain and dancing around the living room. Mimi pointed out that I looked like I’d gotten a little taller, and she took me upstairs to mark my height on the doorframe of her closet like we had since I was little.

“You’ve grown an entire inch!” she said with pride.

I smiled, also proud. I wanted nothing more than to grow up and be a glamorous woman. I watched movies where girls in their twenties had their own apartments in New York and L.A. and Paris and London, and just yearned for a space that was really my own. Getting taller felt like growing in the right direction.

“You’re such a big girl,” said Mimi, shaking her head affectionately and leading me back downstairs. “What do you think of making a big batch of chocolate chip cookies and you can take it home with you.”

I was elated. I went downstairs with her and she let me lick the batter off the wand of the KitchenAid, saying not to eat too much raw cookie dough or I’d make myself sick for my party.

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