The Perfect Marriage(6)

The decor didn’t seem the least bit monochromatic, however. That was because the perimeter of the space was adorned with more than thirty pieces of art, each bursting with color. The largest was roughly the size of a queen bed, the smallest hardly bigger than a postage stamp. James rotated the pieces from time to time, as one would in an art gallery. Regardless of which pieces were on display, the room provided something of a kaleidoscopic experience. At times, Jessica felt as if the art were actually swirling around her.

She found Katerina, the caterer recommended by one of James’s clients, in the kitchen. Katerina was a sculptor when she wasn’t creating menus for parties, and she was beautiful—a common denominator of most, if not all, of the women in James’s orbit.

“You’re an absolute vision, Jessica,” she said.

“Thank you. How’s everything going?”

“Like a well-oiled machine,” Katerina said. “No . . . no,” she told a woman placing unfilled champagne flutes on a tray. “The champagne’s always poured here.”

“Anything I can do?” Jessica asked.

“Just have the time of your life, my dear.”



Not five minutes after Owen’s mother’s visit, James knocked on his door.

His stepfather looked as if he’d been born in a suit and tie, wearing it with an ease that Owen was near certain he’d never achieve at any age. He took after his father, Wayne, in that regard, possessing a healthy bit of skepticism about the 1 percent.

“Just checking on you, Owen,” James said.

“I haven’t run away yet.”

James smiled. “Yeah, I hear you. But tonight’s party is going to make your mother happy. That’s why we’re doing it.”

This was a common refrain from James: “It’ll make your mother happy.” Owen tried to think of instances in which his father had uttered the same sentiment, but his mind always came up blank. He knew that wasn’t the reason his parents had split, or why his mother was now with James, but he didn’t think it was necessarily not the reason either.

“The jacket looks good on you,” James continued. “And I like pairing it with the Nikes. Very GQ of you.”

“Thanks. I do it all for you, James.”

This made his stepfather laugh. “I’m lucky to have you, Owen.”

“Right back at you, James,” Owen said with a laugh of his own.



Wayne’s plus-one for the evening was Stephanie Cunningham, a thirty-nine-year-old physician’s assistant he’d met online. She had never been married but was quick to point out that she was not a commitment-phobe, having lived with a man for much of her thirties.

She and Wayne had been seeing each other for about four months—that in-between period of a relationship among people their age in which overnight stays were a given on those alternating weekends when Owen stayed with his mother, but it was still too soon to talk about the future.

For the subway ride from Queens to Manhattan, Stephanie had her overcoat buttoned to the top. Beneath it was a dress she’d gotten from Rent the Runway, a burgundy velvet number held up by spaghetti straps with a nearly nonexistent back. It was sexier than anything Wayne had seen Stephanie wear before. He was smart enough not to make that observation audibly, of course. He knew why his plus-one was dressing as if this were some type of competition: because for Stephanie, it was.

It was also a contest Stephanie could never win, no matter what she wore. Jessica would always look better because his ex-wife was movie-star beautiful, while, on her best day, Stephanie was merely pretty in a supporting-role way.

Wayne felt justified in making that assertion because he knew full well that the same analysis applied to the comparison between James and him. All of which meant that, on first sight, Wayne’s ex-wife and her current husband made a much more obvious pair than Wayne and Jessica ever had.

“Are you okay?” Stephanie asked.

His expression must have betrayed that he was not okay. Wayne had told Stephanie all about his breakup with Jessica, how it hurt at first but that he was over it now. It was the kind of thing he was expected to say, whether it was true or not. The reality was that it hurt every day, almost as acutely as it had when Jessica had told him that their marriage was over. Worse, even now he wished for nothing more than a chance to be with Jessica again. He still loved Jessica the way you only get to love once, and it absolutely shattered him that she now loved James in that way.

“I’m fine,” he said.





3

Jessica greeted the first few guests at the door. Soon enough they were coming in too quickly for her to provide such personal attention. As the room began to fill, it no longer looked as empty as she had feared, and the champagne trays were circulating without a hitch.

“Everything looks magical,” James said to her as he surveyed their home.

“It did all come together rather nicely,” Jessica replied.

“Thank you.”

She laughed. “You didn’t even want this party. I should be thanking you.”

“Not for the party,” he said. “For my life.”

“I should be thanking you for that too,” she said.

She had declined James’s original overture, two days after their Starbucks “date.”

“I’m married,” she had said. “And so are you.”