Elin Hilderbrand - 28 Summers

“Not kidding,” Leland says. “My mother seems to think it’s been on again, off again for a long time. Like maybe even since Fray and I were together.”

“I can’t believe this,” Mallory says. She cannot, in fact, believe this. Steve Gladstone and Sloane Dooley sleeping together? Maybe even way back when Mallory and Fray and Leland and Cooper were all in high school? “When did you find this out?” What Mallory means is why didn’t Leland call her when she found out? And why didn’t Kitty call her? But then Mallory remembers that Kitty has called, three times in the past few weeks, and left messages begging Mallory to call her back, messages that Mallory ignored.

“End of May,” Leland says. “Geri went to the Preakness with the Ladies Auxiliary and she came home to find my dad and Sloane in the hot tub together.”

“Geri is a wreck,” Fifi says. “We almost brought her up here with us.”

“That was Fifi’s idea,” Leland says. “I didn’t entertain it for a second.”

“So you and Geri…” Mallory says. “You’re close?”

“Best friends,” Fifi says. She holds up two crossed fingers. “But then, I love Steve too. I think his involvement with Sloane is such a betrayal.”

Mallory is stopped by that. Fiella Roget considers Steve’s affair with Sloane Dooley a betrayal? This statement sounds grandiose and self-important. Fifi doesn’t even know them! She didn’t grow up on the same street with them!

“Steve is crap,” Leland says morosely. “Sloane is worse crap. They’re moving into a place in Fells Point.”

“Whoa,” Mallory says. She tries to summon the memories she has of Sloane. Their school bus stop was in front of Fray’s grandparents’ house and Mallory vividly recalls that one frigid morning, a taxi pulled up and Sloane emerged, wearing only a purple lace bra and jeans under a loosely belted leather coat. She remembers Sloane going away to St. Michael’s for the weekend with a man who worked for Alex Brown, Senior wondering aloud if she was being paid for her time. Sloane smoked hand-rolled cigarettes and liked KC and the Sunshine Band. That’s the way (uh-huh, uh-huh) I like it! Sloane Dooley hovered around the edges of their lives, acting scandalously, then disappearing.

The Gladstones, meanwhile, had been like second parents to Mallory. She remembers the day Steve came home with the convertible Saab and asked Leland and Mallory if they wanted to go for a ride. He’d bought the car on a whim, without telling either Geri or Leland, and Mallory had been startled by that. (Senior and Kitty didn’t even bring a pizza home on the spur of the moment.) Geri had called it Steve’s midlife crisis, and now Mallory wonders if maybe Steve bought the car to impress Sloane Dooley.

Mallory feels a deep sorrow. She had assumed that the Gladstones would stay together season after season, year after year, in their house on Deepdene Road. The life they’d created seemed normal, happy, and, above all, permanent. Whenever Mallory thought of Leland’s parents, she pictured Steve setting out the recycling bins as Geri climbed into her Honda Odyssey dressed in her tennis whites. The Gladstones hung Christmas lights; they had a house account at Eddie’s. They skied and went on European river cruises. When they went to visit Leland in New York, they took her to a Broadway show and then out to dinner at one of Larry Forgione’s restaurants. Apparently, news of Leland’s relationship with Fiella Roget hadn’t bothered them in the slightest. They both embraced Fiella—and how wonderful is that? Mallory is horrified that slatternly, slothful Sloane Dooley has managed to pry the Gladstones apart. Maybe there was a loose seam or a fault line—or maybe the problem is marriage itself. Marriage is a gamble with even odds; half the time it works, half the time it doesn’t.

Mallory throws back what’s left of her wine and goes to the fridge for another bottle. She’s glad she’s not the one who’s getting married this weekend.

The talk turns to Fiella, which feels inevitable. Fiella Roget learned the “art of storytelling,” as she puts it, at her grandmother’s feet. Fiella grew up in Petit-Goâve, Haiti, with one new cotton dress and one new pair of sandals per year. She had a rag doll named Camille that she dragged everywhere and a picture Bible. Her favorite story was Daniel in the lions’ den.

“If you think about it,” she says, “ Shimmy Shimmy is just a postmodern retelling of that story from the perspective of a young woman of color.”

Leland’s eyelids flutter closed—clearly she has heard this a few thousand times—and although Mallory could listen to Fifi all night, she knows she should gracefully end the evening.

“I’ll clear the dishes,” she says. “You’ve had a long day. Sleep as late as you want tomorrow. I go running early, but I’ll set out things for breakfast.”

“Leland will go to bed,” Fifi says. “But I’m a natural night owl. I’ll help you clean up. One more glass of wine and I’ll spill the salty stories—losing my virginity to Mr. Bobo the loan shark, then stealing money from his wallet in the night. He was a heavy sleeper and I never got caught, though I shudder to think what would have happened if—”

Leland clears her throat. “Fifi, stop.”

“I can handle the dishes,” Mallory says. “But thank you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mallorita,” Fifi says, picking up the breadbasket. “Let me help you.”

“Mallorita” seems to be her new nickname, which is fine, though Mallory is sensing some pretty heavy static coming from Leland. Mallory and Fifi start washing the dishes and wrapping up the leftovers. It’s nearly eleven, and Mallory wonders if the rehearsal dinner in South Bend is over. Are Jake and Ursula spending the night separately? Do people who have been together for so long follow the usual traditions? Mallory guesses yes. Ursula will stay at her mother’s house and Jake and Cooper will stay with Jake’s parents. The wedding is at five o’clock the next evening. Mallory isn’t sure how she’s going to feel tomorrow at six o’clock, when Jake is officially married. Will all of her love, longing, guilt, joy, misery, and confusion condense inside her? Will her heart become a black hole? Or maybe she’ll feel exactly the way she does now—numb. Jake isn’t hers; he has never been hers. Their time together is something she borrows. Or, okay, steals.

The bedroom door slams, startling Mallory so badly that she cuts her finger on the serrated bread knife. A line of blood rises. It’s not bad, but still—what the hell? Mallory spins around, sucking her finger. Fifi is standing at the head of the harvest table, the last of the dirty silverware clutched in her hand like a postmodern bouquet of flowers.

“Please excuse her,” Fifi says. “She’s throwing a tantrum.”

Mallory doesn’t need to ask why; she knows why: Leland is jealous. Fifi paid too much attention to Mallory, and Mallory was unsuccessful in reflecting that light back onto Leland. Mallory wonders if this happens often, maybe even every time they’re out with someone else.

“I cut myself,” Mallory says.

“Let me see.”

“No, it’s fine. I just need a Band-Aid.”

“She’s insecure,” Fifi says. “I have to admit, I’m starting to find it tiresome.” The statement is an invitation for Mallory to join Fifi in some Leland-bashing. There’s no denying it’s tempting. Leland has real flaws—but then, so does everyone. And Leland must be traumatized about her parents’ split and her father’s relationship with Sloane Dooley, of all people. Can anyone blame Leland if she feels sensitive, even suspicious?

“I’m going to bed,” Mallory says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”