Brava, Valentine

Her dismissive attitude a

“Impossible?”

“I’m in love with someone else,” I blurt. I have no idea where that came from. I’ve come to a place of acceptance about blowing my relationship with Gianluca. It’s almost as if the sadness of losing Gianluca for good walks with me through the ordinary business of my life, like an old faithful dog. I won’t tell Mackenzie that the love I profess is unrequited, and that I wait by the mailbox hoping Gianluca will write to me, or that I reread his old letters as though they’re still true.

“Oh.” She looks down at her bracelet, and spins it around her wrist by flicking the diamonds one by one.

Her nonchalance is a strange reaction, given the fact that she hiked all the way up to the roof to confront me about my internet x’s and o’s. “Mackenzie, you know good and well that I’m not involved with your husband. You know that he loves you and your daughters. What’s really going on here?”

“What do you mean?” she says.

“This phony thing you’re doing.”

The word phony catches her off guard. “Phony?”

“Trumped up. You know Bret is not interested in me. Besides, you don’t have the indignation of a woman scorned.”

“Look, I read the e-mails, and I’ve had my suspicions all along,” she argues.

“If there is a man to be trusted on the planet, it’s your husband. But you know that, because you’ve actually read the e-mails. Deep down, you know the truth. You know that they are entirely i

“I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“You’re looking for evidence against your husband. Why?”

Mackenzie does not answer me.

“If my e-mails are the most suspicious communication you’ve found, you got nothing,” I tell her.

I’m tempted to tell her how many women throw themselves at Bret, but I’m not going to engage this nonsense.

I continue, “You are very lucky to have married a good man who loves you.”

“I’m sick of hearing about how great he is. He’s not perfect. Nowhere close.”

“I didn’t say he was perfect.”

“We’re having problems, okay? But I’m sure you knew all about that, given how much time he spends here.”

“I don’t know anything,” I lie. “He only tells me how much he loves you and how proud he is of you and the girls.”

“Okay. Well, look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I accused you of something that you aren’t guilty of. It’s just that you two have a history, and I guess I just assumed that it was more.”

I can’t believe her tone of voice. She is actually disappointed that I’m not having an affair with her husband. She came up here looking for weapons of mass destruction, and all she found were tomatoes. Mackenzie turns to go. I stop her.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, and it’s really none of my business. But what you have-you know, a good man and two beautiful, healthy girls-it’s not just a given in life, it’s an actual gift. And sometimes we mistake a malaise for something worse. You shouldn’t do that. You earn your future happiness when you fight for it. He’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

“You’re not married. I don’t think you understand.”

I hold up my trowel. “Fair enough. I’m not a marriage expert. But I have been friends with your husband since we were kids. And out of all the women in the world, he chose you.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I chose him. I was twenty-eight. I wanted to be married by thirty. And I wanted a baby right away, so we had the baby. And then Bret really pushed for the second baby, and I went along with it. And now I’m a full-time mom.”

“But isn’t that what you want?”

“I miss the city.” Mackenzie goes to the edge of the roof and looks out over the Hudson River with the same sense of complete awe and peace that I do. If she could drink the river in, she would. She turns to me. “I miss conversations with grown-ups. I have them, but you know, I always feel like I’m cheating on my life. I’m torn every single day.”

“You’re tired. Chasing kids is the hardest work in the world.”

“I mean, I’m grateful for all I have. I am,” she says. “But the life I have…is not enough.”

“Does Bret expect you to stay home?”

“I don’t know. It’s how it’s worked out. We didn’t really talk about it.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I need a purpose. You know, something that I create. That’s all mine. Bret has a life. He goes off every morning to work, full of ideas. I remember having an idea! He’s challenged. I love a challenge. My husband goes to work, and he uses his mind. Since I quit working, I don’t use my mind. Where is my creativity?”

“You make things by hand, like those beautiful birthday party invitations. You’re a wonderful hostess. Your home is a showplace.”

“That’s the trick of it. I thought it mattered that I made the best cupcakes and knew the difference between Berber and sisal carpet. I thought it mattered that I run every morning and stay in shape-you know, to keep my energy up for this big life I’m leading.”

“But you are leading a big life.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. My life gets smaller every single day. I worked until a month before I had Maeve. I was supposed to go back to work after six months, and I just never did.”

“But you were taking care of a baby.”

“I’m not saying one is more important than the other. Of course the needs of a child are more important than any career. But just try and live it day after day. And see how you feel.”

“The definition of happiness is very personal. What might make me happy-”

“I’m not happy,” she cuts me off. “And maybe there are a million reasons why, but the truth is, I only need one to justify changing my life.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Mackenzie looks at me. “Besides, it’s too late. It’s just too late.”

“Why do you say that?”

She holds the screen door open. She shifts from one foot to the other, looking to escape. This conversation has gone too far, and she knows it. She did not plan to go down this road. “I’ve already seen a lawyer.”

“Does Bret know?”

She shakes her head.

“He’ll be devastated,” I promise her.

“These things happen.”

“They happen because you let them happen,” I tell her.

She looks at me. “I need to go.” The screen door snaps shut.

I go to the edge of the roof to catch my breath.

“What the hell was that?” Gabriel says. “She clomped down those steps like a show pony.”

“She’s dissatisfied with her marriage. With Bret.”

“Oh, please. We hardly know the woman. You recall we were shu

“She accused me of having an affair with Bret.”

“I’ve always said you and Bret aren’t over.”

“Gabriel.”

“Sorry. I know nothing is going on between you two…is it?”

“No.”

“Just checking. After all, Bret is here, and it’s over with Gianluca. I don’t know what you do when I go off to work at the Carlyle at night. This place could be a love den, for all I know.”

“I get up early, work all day, go to bed early, and start over again.”

“No secret life?”

“There is one thing.”

“I knew it!”

“I wait for the mailman every day.”

“You love Mr. Vi

“No, I’m just hoping that one of these days, he’ll have something in his sack for me marked Italia.”

Gabriel thinks about this for a moment. “You know what it’s like living with you? It’s like watching a Bette Davis weepie.”

“Better than being in it, my friend,” I tell him.

Gabriel goes back inside. I till the earth around the tomato plants with the trowel. I pour some water from the can into the planter.

Marriages break up, and the excuse, at the heart of it, is “growing apart.” I pull back the leaves on the tomato plants, pulling off dead ones and making room for new foliage.