The Muse's Undoing

“My lips are sealed.” Because she’s right. I do. I’ve even taken part in some salacious shit over there.

But our family isn’t like Stuart’s. We’re well-connected with a different sort of influential people in Manhattan, but we’re in no way considered “society.”

Dad’s been an Art History professor at NYU since before Maggie and I were born, and Mom is retired from her corporate job in Manhattan fashion.These days, her primary hobby is doting on her lone grandson and begging for more. Her grandkid clock is ticking loudly now that she’s over seventy. Fischer’s kid Vaughn was a gateway drug. She wants more. She never says as much, but it’s heavily implied. The stack of pink baby blankets screams for itself.

Luckily, Mom’s backed off me. Once she was forced to wrap her mind around my unconventional sexuality, she stopped asking questions. For now.

“Fischer’s back right?” Maggie asks.

“As far as I know, he moved back in today.”

“You haven’t talked to him?”

“Not yet,” I say, an anxious twist destabilizing my core. It makes me want to check my phone. I am expecting to hear from him. I feel like I should be high up on his list, but who knows? If there’s one thing our older brother is not it’s predictable. No one knows that better than I do.

“Well, tell him to let us know some dates so we can plan around you guys’ schedules.”

“Seriously—don’t worry about it.” I’d rather be locked in a closet for three days without food than attend Stuart’s bachelor party with all his rich finance friends, whether Fischer’s with me or not. I check my watch. “I should get going.”

“Ugh. Fine. Dinner this weekend?”

“I’ll text you. Gotta check my schedule.” I’m not the best at planning in advance. I know whether I’m working, but that’s about it.

We hug outside the coffee shop and say our goodbyes for now. She heads in the direction of the subway station, and I cross Columbus Circle to the park, on my way to the Upper East Side.

7

FISCHER

Divorce is one of those things you never stop paying for. Especially when you let your ex keep a key to the apartment after she moves out. I stare at the fresh, jagged hole in my living room wall and shake my head. Item number twenty-three to do tomorrow—call a locksmith.

In Nicole’s defense, she left a note.

Sorry about the wall. Send me the bill!

Needing an ally in my misery, I text Matthew. There’s no better way to say I’m home than by acting like we’ve been seeing each other every day for the last year—even though we’ve only kept in touch through emails.

She ripped the flat screen out of the stud.

I pocket my phone and take a look around the rest of the apartment to see if there’s any other damage that needs repairing.

But it looks like she just wanted the TV. I have a feeling this is the clumsy work of Hunter, the young cameraman she’s currently seeing. Matthew pings me back with a text.

Matty

In this economy? I’m not surprised.

I laugh. I should go downstairs and see him. I’m eager to lay eyes on him and make sure he’s doing as well as his emails make it sound, but I don’t want to disturb him while he’s working.

Meanwhile, I reacquaint myself with the classic six Nicole and I bought shortly after we got married—our effort at creating a perfect home for our unplanned family of three. It’s awfully quiet these days.

We officially separated two years ago when our son was four. She’d wanted to see other people, and I was off in a war zone for another four-month assignment.

When the divorce was finalized this past November, it was a wake-up call. Divorce, like war, puts a lot of things in perspective. Seeing families torn apart by death, famine, inequality and worse had me rearranging my value system. There I was—forty-one years old, alone, an absentee dad whose work had taken over my life. It was past time to come home and find a healthier balance.

Now that I’m finally here, my brain, as usual, is a junkyard of unexamined emotions, some with sharper edges than others.

I run a hand through my hair and open my phone to a grocery delivery app. The phone rings shortly after I place my order, and I stare at the incoming caller.