22
OLYMPIA WAS SERVING Lola her usual dinner of pasta, turkey, and apple slices—despite her affection for Disney’s only African American princess, Lola would only eat white food—when the buzzer rang. Which it almost never did. “Who is it?” she said.
“Pia?” came the response.
“Gus?” said Olympia, baffled. It was the third time in seven years that Gus had been over to Olympia’s apartment. The previous time had been just last week, following a mysterious offer on Gus’s part to babysit Lola. Her younger sister was so strange, Olympia thought. Maybe she was gearing up to have a kid herself and looking for practice?
“Can I come up?” Gus asked.
Then again, maybe someone had died, Olympia thought suddenly, her chest tightening as she buzzed her sister upstairs. “What’s going on?” were the first words out of her mouth.
“It’s nothing bad!” said Gus.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“You’re my sister. I’m not allowed to visit?”
“Of course you’re allowed. Though most people call first.”
“Can I come in?”
“Fine, come in,” said Olympia. “I’m just giving Lola dinner.”
“Did you bring your doctor’s set?” Lola asked Gus.
“What doctor’s set?” Olympia squinted quizzically at her sister.
“Hi, sweetie!” said Gus, ignoring both questions as she leaned over to kiss Lola. Then she turned back to her sister. “I was sort of hoping to talk to you about a grown-up matter.”
Olympia rolled her eyes. Couldn’t Gus wait until later? Then again, Olympia was perpetually curious, always had been. Maybe that was her dirtiest secret of all—that it took all her willpower not to be a gossip, like Gus. At that moment, she had none left. “Lola, go watch TV in the bedroom,” she said, suddenly beset with name regret. She should have called her daughter something primmer and more dignified, Olympia thought—like “Alice” or “Molly.” There was no way around the fact that “Lola” sounded a tiny bit slutty.
“But I’m eating dinner!” Lola moaned.
“You can finish later. Take the apple slices with you.” Olympia ushered her into the bedroom and flicked on the TV. “Look, it’s Yo Gabba Gabba! You love that show.”
“No, I don’t,” said Lola. “It’s for babies.”
“Well, pretend you’re a baby. I’ll be back in five minutes.” Feeling guilty but not that guilty, she shut the door and returned to her sister. “So, what’s going on?” she asked.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh, no,” said Olympia, laughing. “I don’t know if I can handle another family revelation. We have a brother too?”
“Not quite,” said Gus, rocking from one foot to the other.
“Are you going to sit down? You’re making me nervous.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“Fine,” said Olympia, sighing and about to reach the outer limits of her patience. Was her sister going to drag this out any longer? “Just tell me what this is about.”
“It’s sort of about you,” said Gus, biting her lip.
“What about me?”
“Well, it’s about Lola, really.”
Olympia could feel her chest contract. Lola was the most precious thing in her life—maybe the only precious thing in her life—even if she sometimes had trouble showing that to Lola.
“So I was on my way out to our first Sisters’ Summit, the weekend before last,” Gus began, “when I thought I’d stop at Fairway for some groceries. I was in the fruit aisle, feeling up peaches—”
“What is this?” Olympia interrupted her. “Some kind of erotic story about fruit?”
“Let me finish!” said Gus. Olympia stifled another eye roll. It was her younger sister’s favorite line—also the one that drove Olympia the most batty. It sounded so desperate and, at the same time, so aggressive.
“I ran into Patrick,” Gus blurted out.
“You what?” Olympia felt her heart diving into a void.
“I recognized him.”
“How is that possible?”
“You introduced me to him once at a party. Also he looked like—well—”
“Looked like—who?”
Gus took an audible breath. “He looked like Lola.”
“What are you talking about?” Olympia shot back at her.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“If it’s what I think you’re talking about, I used a sperm bank, Gus.”
“But Patrick is Lola’s father. He agreed to take a DNA test. And it was a match with Lola.” Gus pulled an envelope out of her back pocket and held it aloft. “I had them both tested.”
Olympia felt as if she’d been shot out of the room in a rocket ship and was looking back at it from a good distance away—possibly from Mars. “You organized this by yourself?” was all she could think to say.
“Yes,” said Gus.
Her hands trembling, Olympia took the letter out of her sister’s hand and scanned it. But how was it possible? True, there had been that one night when the two of them had had “breakup sex.” But Patrick had told Olympia that, at Camille’s behest, he’d gotten a vasectomy, since it would have been dangerous for Camille to carry a baby to term. Had Olympia gotten the story wrong? Had the vasectomy not worked? Was the letter authentic, the lab reliable? Reality appeared as unstable as an old black-and-white TV set channeling static.
“The other thing,” said Gus, interrupting the maelstrom in Olympia’s head, “is that since a certain other person learned this news, there’s someone he’s anxious to meet.” She smiled giddily, unable to control her excitement. “And—”
“Why don’t you let me handle that,” Olympia cut her off, suddenly aghast at the thought of her younger sister having contacted her ex-boyfriend behind her back. As if Olympia couldn’t take care of her personal life by herself! (As if Gus were the older of the two.) “I appreciate all your help,” she went on, as calmly as she could, even as her teeth began to chatter. “But I really need you to take a step back now.”
“Okay,” said Gus, sounding disappointed, “but he’s actually on his way to the coffee shop on your corner. I promised I’d call to let him know if he could come up, or you could go over there and meet him.”
“JESUS CHRIST!” cried Olympia, suddenly livid. “Are you done meddling in my life?! What does it help me to know that the father of my daughter is a married man?” Tears filled Olympia’s eyes. Gus never stopped to think how her actions affected others, she thought. All she did was meddle and manipulate.
“I’m sorry,” said Gus, seemingly on the verge of tears now herself.
But Olympia wasn’t done with her. “Why don’t you spend a little more time worrying about your own life and a little less time worrying about mine. For one thing, you might want to figure out if you’re gay or straight.” Olympia was aware that she was being cruel. But didn’t Gus deserve the abuse?
The charge clearly wounded Gus. “I was just… trying to make you happy,” she stammered, then bit her lower lip, her own eyes shimmering with tears now, as well. “And make up for what I did. And he’s not married anymore—I don’t think.”
“You don’t think?” Olympia shot back.
“He doesn’t wear a wedding ring.”
“Lots of men don’t wear wedding rings.” Olympia tsked and shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with you. Please leave me be. I need time to think.”
“If that’s what you want,” muttered Gus, clearly dejected.
Lola wandered back into the living room. Embarrassed as ever by her own display of emotionality—and worried that she’d worry Lola—Olympia turned away. But Lola had already seen. “Why is Mommy crying?” she asked, as she always did.
“Because Aunt Gus was trying to make her happy but actually upset her,” Gus said solemnly as she collected her belongings.
“I love you, Mommy,” said Lola.
At those words, Olympia turned back around. “Come here, sweetie,” she said, opening her arms. Lola rushed between them, and Olympia buried her nose in her daughter’s warm scalp. “I love you, too,” she said. Never before had she felt so thankful for the physical fact of Lola.
“You’re the best mommy in the world,” said Lola, clearly enjoying the attention.
“I should go,” Gus mumbled on her way out, her head hanging. “I’m sorry again—for everything.”
Olympia didn’t answer. But at the sound of the door shutting behind her, she experienced a sharp pang of regret. Maybe she did want to see Patrick right now. And maybe she wanted Gus to summon him from the coffee shop, after all. Maybe it was the thing she wanted more than anything in the world. And if he really was Lola’s father, they needed to talk about the future—a future she’d never allowed herself to imagine, except back in the early days of their affair when passion had momentarily blinded her to the reality of the situation.
Only, if Gus was to be believed, the situation was not what it had once seemed. Moreover, maybe Olympia was being too hard on her sister, who, for once, was only trying to do some good in the world. Dislodging Lola from her lap, Olympia ran to the door and poked her head out it. Gus was already halfway down the stairs. “You can tell him he can come up,” she called to her.
Gus paused on the landing and looked up, her eyes searching Olympia’s face. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and would you mind taking Lola somewhere for a half hour?” asked Olympia. “I’d really appreciate that.”
“No problem,” said Gus, turning to climb back up the stairs.
“There’s one last thing.”
“What?”
“Thanks—for everything.” For the first time in months, Olympia offered her sister a genuine smile.
“Any time.” Gus smiled back…
“I thought you went home!” Lola declared at the sight of her aunt.
“I came back,” said Gus. “Get your shoes on. We’re going out for a candy bar.”
“Yay!” said Lola, jumping up. “How come you always let me have candy and Mommy doesn’t?”
“Because crazy lesbian aunts are more fun than boring old hetero mommies,” said Gus.
“Gus—she’s only three,” said Olympia. (She was still her older sister.) “Does she really need to know about this stuff now?”
“Know about what?” said Lola.
“Never mind. Shoes—now!”
Three minutes after leaving with Lola, Gus texted Olympia to say that Patrick would be over in ten. Olympia frantically applied makeup and tidied the apartment. If she still cared too much about appearances, so what? She couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen next; couldn’t even say for sure what she wished would happen. All she knew was that she wanted Patrick to know what he’d been missing.
When the buzzer rang again, her stomach fell out of her body and rolled onto the floor. At least, that was how it felt. She’d seen Patrick’s face in her head so many hundreds of times over the past four-plus years—which was the length of time since they’d last seen each other—that the actual sight of him standing there was both completely familiar and utterly shocking. “Patrick,” she said, gulping.
“Pia,” he said. He kissed her hello on both cheeks. He smelled faintly of strawberry jam. He was wearing cargo pants and a blue T-shirt. On second glance, his face seemed more angular and drawn than Olympia remembered and, at the same time, exactly the same. And how had she never connected Lola’s freckles to his? Never mind his reddish brown hair. Had that ninth-grade unit on Gregor Mendel been all for naught? “Do you want to come in?” she said.
“Thanks,” he said, stepping past her and into her apartment. He looked from one end of the living room to the other. “It looks exactly like I remember it—except for the plastic toys.” He laughed cautiously.
“No getting around them, I’m afraid,” said Olympia with a quick smile. She took a seat on the sofa. And then, so did he. There was silence. “So!” said Olympia, trying to upend the awkwardness.
“So,” Patrick repeated. “I can’t believe—”
“I had no idea myself,” said Olympia, lest he think this was some elaborate ploy.
“You didn’t?”
“No, not until five minutes ago, when Gus told me. You told me you’d gotten a—vasectomy!”
Looking uncomfortable, Patrick stared into his lap. “I had it reversed.”
“Reversed?! When? Why?”
“Around the time we broke things off. I guess I just didn’t like the idea of having others determine my future. Honestly, it wasn’t that thought-through. I mean, I’m not even entirely sure myself why I did it. Obviously, my marriage wasn’t in very good shape at that point.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
“We weren’t really in regular touch anymore.”
Olympia took a deep breath, feeling a sudden need to confess herself. “After we broke up, I felt so upset and alone—”
“I know, I’m sorry,” said Patrick, closing his eyes and sighing. “I’m sorry for that whole period.”
“It’s okay, it’s a long time ago now. I just want you to understand that when I got pregnant, the idea was to do it on my own. At least, that was the plan. To be honest, at that point, I’d had enough of men!” She laughed nervously, worried he’d judge her for what she was about to say. “Which is why I went to a—sperm bank. Maybe that sounds crazy.”
“A little crazy but maybe not that crazy.” Patrick smiled sheepishly back.
“So, until just now, I’d assumed that Lola’s father was the donor I used. Now I want my money back!” Olympia laughed again.
“So, it must have happened that one time after we broke up—”
“I guess.”
Patrick shook his head as if in disbelief. Then he moved closer, took Olympia’s hand and laced his fingers through it. “Pia,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I’ve thought about you so many times.”
“I think about you every day,” said Olympia, feeling herself melting in his gaze. But another impulse pulled her away. Until just then, she hadn’t realized how angry she still was. “I also think about the incredible pain our relationship caused me,” she told him. “You shouldn’t have let me fall in love with you. It wasn’t fair.” Suddenly enraged—even if the whole thing had been fifty percent her fault—she yanked her hand out of his grip.
“You’re right,” he said. “It wasn’t fair to anyone. I led myself on too.”
“But I was the one who ended up alone.”
“Not quite.”
“What do you mean?”
Patrick let the silence gather between them before he spoke again: “I sent you an email this past winter. You never answered.”
“I didn’t answer because I was scared of getting sucked back in.”
“Well, I wanted to tell you that Camille left me.”
At this latest piece of shocking news, Olympia felt her heart quiver with guilt and glee entwined. “And why did she leave you?” she dared to ask.
“She told me she didn’t love me anymore. Also, I wasn’t exactly a model husband.” Again, Patrick hung his head.
“Neither of us were model anything. To be honest, I hate myself for what I did,” Olympia said forcefully.
“Well, you don’t need to anymore,” said Patrick. “She met a new guy—in physical therapy. Another paraplegic. His accident happened cliff diving in Hawaii. She said I didn’t understand her anymore. But apparently this guy does.”
“Did you tell her about”—Olympia could hardly get the word out—“us?”
“Not directly, but I think she knew.”
“So the demise of your marriage is my—our—fault?” Her lower lip quivering, Olympia probed Patrick’s face. It was her worst fear realized—that she’d ruined someone else’s life.
“It was my fault, not yours,” he said. “I tried to do the right thing. And I failed.” Choking up, Patrick looked away.
“But you did try,” said Olympia, taking momentary pity.
“Not as hard as I should have.”
In that moment, it also seemed clear to Olympia that they’d all suffered enough. “Well, you can be good to us instead,” she said, her voice splintering. “We need you, too. How’s that?”
“That’s fine,” he said, turning back to her and nodding up and down. “In fact, that’s great.”
“So, you want to be my daughter’s father?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to introduce you as her father?”
“Yes.”
“I have to think about it,” she told him, feeling suddenly proprietary of Lola.
“Why?” he said. “Did you already tell her that her father was someone else?”
“I told her she had no father. And to be honest, she was fine with that answer. She’s a really happy kid—”
Just then Olympia heard the key turning in the lock, and Gus and Lola reappeared. By Olympia’s calculations, it had not been twenty minutes. But whatever. Lola’s face was smeared with chocolate. “I guess I’ll be going now,” said Gus, ducking out again.
“Thanks—bye,” Olympia said distractedly. Then she turned to her daughter. “Lola, come meet Mommy’s friend.”
Lola approached the sofa, where she curled up next to Olympia, her thumb in her mouth, and stared at Patrick in the open-ended way that adults are permitted only in theaters.
Patrick took a deep breath. Then he said, “Hi, Lola.”
“Who are you?” she asked, her thumb still in her mouth.
“I’m—Patrick,” he answered. “Does that thumb taste good?”
Lola didn’t answer, kept staring.
Figuring she’d find out eventually—so why not now?—Olympia announced, “This is your daddy, Lola.”
“I thought I don’t have a daddy,” she said, scowling.
“Yes, you do,” said Patrick. “I’m him.”
Lola squinted at him. “Where do you live?” she asked.
“In Manhattan, in the city,” he said. “But hopefully one day I’ll get to live even closer to you.”
Olympia’s stomach convulsed. She still loved Patrick, she realized—always would. But even with this shocking development, they’d never be a normal family. Too much poison had already been released into the ecosystem. “Not all kids live with their daddies,” Olympia told Lola gently.
“I was actually thinking of moving to Brooklyn,” offered Patrick.
“And why is that?” asked Olympia.
“I might be leaving my job,” he went on. “Or, rather, my job might be leaving me. Budget cuts. Unfortunately, in the new economy, youth centers are considered dispensable.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “So, what neighborhood were you thinking of?” As if she were just asking, just curious.
Patrick paused, shrugged. “Well, I guess I was thinking of somewhere around here.”
“Here?!” cried Olympia.
“Well, not right here—I mean, not to this actual apartment”—Patrick laughed quickly—“unless of course you wanted me here.” He looked into her eyes, then straight through her, it seemed to Olympia. (She thought she’d pass out.)
“Where will he sleep?” said Lola, turning to Olympia.
“I’m not sure yet,” said Olympia, wondering if, after all the terrible things she’d done, she even deserved this outcome.
“I don’t mind crashing on the sofa for a night or two,” offered Patrick. “That is, if I’m invited.”
“I guess he could sleep on our sofa this weekend and see how it goes,” said Olympia.
“That sounds like a great plan,” said Patrick. “And maybe Lola”—he gave a quick stroke to her blankie, Dinky-Do—“would let me take her out for an ice cream or to the playground or something.”
“Mommy, can I get an ice cream?” asked Lola.
“Of course,” said Olympia.
“Let me get my coat again,” said Lola, standing up.
“Sweetie! Wait!” Olympia laughed as she lightly pushed her daughter back down. “He means this coming weekend. It’s bedtime now.”
“I hate sleeping! It’s boring.”
“I know what you mean,” said Patrick. “I hate sleeping, too. But the fun part about going to bed is that you get to dream about anything you want to dream about. Let’s say you always wanted to be a lion tamer. Well, in your dream, you can be one.”
“I want to be the tooth fairy.”
“Well, you can be,” said Patrick. “Do you want me to show you how?”
“Okay.”
“You have to get in bed first.”
How Patrick managed to coax her daughter to sleep at eight fifteen that night, Olympia never found out. But twenty minutes later, she and he were back on the sofa, talking about the past and the future—and Lola.
“I can’t believe she’s my daughter,” said Patrick, beaming. “I only wish I’d known sooner. I feel like I’ve missed so much already.”
“Well, you would have missed even more if it hadn’t been for my sister Gus,” said Olympia, beaming back.
“I’ll say this—you have one scary lawyer sister.” Patrick laughed. “And I guess I owe my refrigerator, as well, for breaking down. I might not have gone to the supermarket that afternoon.” He paused, pressed his lips together, looked deep into Olympia’s eyes. “I owe you, as well.”
“You don’t have to say that,” said Olympia.
“She’s so beautiful,” he said. “Just like her mother.”
“Well, she looks just like you!—not me,” said Olympia, pretending she didn’t still love the occasional compliment with regard to her looks. “I don’t know how I never saw that until now.”
“You really never considered the possibility that she was mine? Not even for a second?” Patrick asked, squinting.
“No,” said Olympia. And she thought she was telling the truth. Though it was hard now to say for sure. Maybe there had been moments when she’d allowed herself to imagine that Lola was the product of passion, not science. But if and when those thoughts had popped into her head, she’d quickly banished them. Apparently, that action was no longer necessary.
It was only a few moments later that Olympia’s and Patrick’s lips found each other. Lips, of course, led elsewhere. Soon they were pulling each other’s clothes off and pressing their bodies together. Nearly five years of frustration lifted in fifteen minutes. At least, that was how it felt to Olympia—like elation and exhaustion all rolled into one.
Olympia woke the next morning to find Patrick in the kitchen making pancakes and eggs. Lola was already at the table, making primitive conversation with this stranger who claimed to be her father. Except, to an about-to-be four-year-old, maybe that was no odder than the appearance of a full moon. Lola was still in her elephant pajamas, Patrick in his cargo pants with bare feet. It was the most beautiful picture that Olympia had ever seen—more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen at the Met, the Prado, or the Hermitage. Not to mention Kunsthaus New York. “Good morning, Daddy-o,” she murmured to herself.
“What was that, Mommy?” he asked.
Olympia’s heart jumped. “Oh, nothing… Hello, precious.” She leaned over and kissed Lola on the cheek. (It was warm and rosy.) “How did you sleep?”
“I dreamed about being a lion tamer!” she exclaimed.
“Wow, really?!” she said.
“Would you like some pancakes?” asked Patrick.
“Thank you. I’d love some.”
“Daddy Patrick is taking me to the playground.”
“How nice. And will Daddy Patrick be spending the whole day in Brooklyn?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
There were no happy endings in life, Olympia thought. But even if everything went to hell from here, she’d remember that morning with the buttery smells and a hazy sun peeking through the old wooden windows of her Brooklyn floor-through as the happiest in her entire life.
postscript
CAN WE EVER truly forgive? Maybe not, but we can try—and keep trying until, over time, things get blurry enough that we’re no longer even sure what it was that we were so worked up about.
After ten weeks of counseling, and countless hashing-outs that never seemed to lead anywhere, Perri had grown, if not bored, then at least weary of trying to figure out what exactly had happened in the kids’ bathroom between her husband and her middle sister after she fled to Florida. Besides, her middle sister and her “baby daddy” were suddenly in love and engaged.
Perri suspected that Olympia had known all along that Patrick was Lola’s father and had simply been trying to create additional drama. Apparently, he was no longer married to the paraplegic? In classic Olympia fashion, she was incredibly secretive about how their reunion had even come about. And if Gus knew anything, she was keeping quiet, determined as she now was to dispel her reputation as the family gossip. In any case, it began to seem petty to be dwelling on what, in the bigger picture, turned out to be a nonevent.
As for Mike, from what Perri could tell, he too had grown weary of trying to figure out what exactly had happened—in her South Beach hotel room with Rasta Roy. Also, the new job kept him crazy-busy—so busy that, just as Perri had foreseen, she actually began to miss the months during which he’d been lying around, failing to buy milk, and turning his kids into screen-time zombies.
Bob and Carol were a different story. Carol vowed never to forgive her husband for his postengagement (if premarital) sin of fathering a child with Shirley Yu. But she also had a singular talent for blocking out any kind of negative news. After her cast came off, she never mentioned the streetlamp accident again. As for the matter of her newly discovered stepdaughter, the tacit agreement was as follows: Bob wasn’t allowed to publicly acknowledge that Jennifer Yu was his daughter. In return, Carol was happy to host Jennifer and her daughter at all family functions—so long as she could pretend the woman was an old family friend. It was ridiculous, of course. But somehow, it worked.
Debbie, on the other hand, had proven far less willing to absolve. After learning that Gus had had an affair with Mike’s brother, she’d gone ballistic. Never mind that it had been Debbie who had left Gus for Maggie. Somehow, she didn’t see the crimes as equivalent. To Debbie, sleeping with a man was a special kind of betrayal. From what Perri could tell, Debbie and Gus were arguing all the time now, just like they had been the previous year. Another breakup seemed imminent. However, Perri was working behind the scenes to try to prevent that outcome. It wasn’t just the thought of Gus seeking Jeff out again that gave Perri conniptions. Over the past few months, Perri had grown strangely fond of Debbie, who she’d gotten to know over dinners at the apartment in Washington Heights. (As part of her campaign to win back the love and trust of her sisters, Gus had been taking cooking classes and hosting family dinner parties.) What’s more, Debbie, despite being the far superior player, had agreed to become Perri’s regular hitting partner. Twice a week now, Debbie trekked out to Larchmont to play tennis at Perri’s country club.
In other news, much to Perri’s horror, Olympia and Patrick were thinking of moving to Westchester. Somebody had given Patrick seed money to open a new center for at-risk youth in Mount Vernon, while Olympia had gotten a job in the education department of a small museum up the Hudson. (Viveka had apparently written her a glowing recommendation.) Moreover, to Perri’s amazement (and Olympia’s delight), one of her middle sister’s bunny paintings had been included in a group show at a highly respectable nonprofit space in Chelsea. And since then, several private dealers had approached her about representation.
Even more amazingly, Olympia claimed to be trying to get pregnant again. Although she was coming up on forty herself, she was hoping her eggs were still viable. She desperately wanted Lola to have a sibling—preferably a sister, she’d said. If worse came to worst, Olympia had told Perri, she’d defrost one of the embryos she’d had frozen years earlier at her sperm bank. But she was really hoping to conceive naturally. Olympia had also told Perri that, in her quest to get pregnant, she and Patrick were having an “unbelievable amount of sex.”
Well, lucky her, Perri thought. In truth, while things were better with Mike, that had been hard for Perri to hear.
acknowledgments
Special thanks to my brilliant readers and editors: Judy Clain, Maria Massie, Cressida Leyshon, and Ginia Bellafante; and also Sally Singer, Ann Shin, Nick Varchaver, Sarah Wadelton, Liberty Aldrich, Rosie Dastgir, Steven Cassidy, and Jan Dekker; and finally, my family—especially John, but also my daughters, Bebe and Tiki, my mother, Lucy, and my sister, Sophie—for their love and support.
about the author
LUCINDA ROSENFELD is the author of four novels, including What She Saw… and I’m So Happy for You. Her writing has appeared in the New York Times, The New Yorker, Slate, and many other publications. She lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband and two daughters—and is the youngest of three sisters.