Page 39 of Seven Summer Weekends

“It’s not him, it’s me.”

Lisa, who had always thought of Pru’s marriage as exemplary, especially compared to the many couples she counseled, couldn’t help herself from butting in.

“Pru, are you having an affair?”

“No! Absolutely not. It’s a little thing—I feel silly even bringing it up.”

“Just tell us,” Kizzy said.

She leaned forward in her chair, and they all followed suit, even though the nearest person to them was a beach block away.

“Tom is a brooder, while, as you all know, I’m more explosive. So, when he’s angry at me for anything from forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning to me saying something mean or insensitive, he gets quiet and doesn’t want to talk about it till he’s ready. I need to talk about things right away or I escalate—quickly. We’ve tried to work on it over the years—you know, meeting in the middle somewhere—but we never really figured it out, and now it’s our pattern when we fight. He broods, I explode.”

“Couples fight,” Lisa said, rubbing Pru’s back as she did so. “To some degree, it’s healthy.”

“Well, I stopped fighting. Just me. He broods, and I don’t give a crap. Three hours later, three hours—and I still don’t care that he is pissed at me about something. Sometimes, I apologize without even arguing my side—me, not arguing my side. Can you imagine? I don’t even care to win. I think it’s the beginning of the end.”

“You can work on that, Pru. Get to the bottom of it,” Lisa counseled. “When couples stay in a rut, it becomes harder to dig out. Keep it light. Ask if he’s noticed that things have been a little wonky between you lately.”

“Yes,” Kizzy preached, “don’t let it get ahead of you. Look at me!”

“You look pretty OK, Kizzy,” Pru commented.

“Don’t let my calm, chill demeanor fool you. I’m in lobotomy mode.”

All three looked intently at Kizzy for further explanation.

“My grandmother taught me how to do it. It’s a temporary vacation from reality, until you get your strength back.”

Addison and Pru turned to Lisa, who just shrugged, while Kizzy continued.

“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever dealt with. Whenever I really think about it, my heart races, my hands tremble, and I feel like vomiting. Get your fire back, Pru, you don’t want this. This is the worst!”

“She’s right, Pru—about how hard it is. The lobotomy method, I’m not so sure about. You know I’m working on my life coach workbook. I am happy to send you the couples worksheets. Everyone I tested them on so far has found them really helpful. And I can always give you the names of some great marriage counselors.”

“I would try those worksheets first. I’m not sure I could get Tom into therapy right now.”

“And I thought our twenties were hard,” Addison moaned.

“You know, marriage is a social construct. If Pru gets divorced too, we can switch things up—all move into Aunt Gicky’s house and grow old together,” Kizzy suggested, only half-joking.

“We can construct our own happily ever after. Sisters are doin’ it for themselves!” Addison declared, internally cueing up the Annie Lennox and Aretha duet of the same name.

“I’m not getting divorced,” Pru responded dryly, before playing along.

“But if I did, could we each get a puppy?” She turned to Addison. “Are you a dog person now?”

“Maybe, and yes, we can each get a puppy.”

“And a fetching dog walker!” Kizzy joked.

“Done!” Addison agreed.

They all laughed, before staring out at the ocean’s waves in silence for a good long while, lost in their own thoughts. Except for Addison, that is, who seemed to be happily bopping to the aforementioned feminine anthem playing in her head.

Chapter Nineteen

That night, after Pru and Lisa had left for the city, Addison and Kizzy walked over to Shep’s for the barbecue, where Addison was greeted with a hero’s welcome. It was the first time since being fired that she had felt part of a community, and she had to admit she was digging it. She thought again about what keeping the house would look like—maybe turning the art studio into another weekend rental to make it more profitable. But that art studio was her favorite part. It was kind of absurd for her, of course, with no job, no partner, few savings, and no primary residence, to own a beach house. But there was no denying that this place was sticking to her soul.

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