Daisy takes in a deep breath and reaches for the sharp knife on the table. As she carefully slices the sausage, she thinks she really could do with a glass of wine, something to take her tension down a notch. The anxiety and all the resulting cortisol pumping into her body are probably far worse for Baby Bean than a teensy bit of wine in the balmy fall sunshine.
Vanessa comes out of the house with a big smile, two wineglasses, and a frosted bottle of French rosé. She pours the wine, and they sip in the soft sunshine as they pick at the meat and cheeses and fruit. The alcohol blossoms like warmth in Daisy’s chest and makes her feel amazing.
“God I miss this,” Daisy says as Vanessa tops their glasses up.
“Me too.” Vanessa sets the bottle down and takes a healthy sip from her own glass. “It’s so unfair. Men get to carry on as normal, going to the pub, drinking, whatever, and we have to be holy saints and abstain.”
“And then we get to give birth and breastfeed and deal with leaking boobs and breast pumps.”
Vanessa laughs. “Never mind ripped vaginas. I was just saying that to Haruto the other day.”
Daisy reaches for some Cambozola cheese that Vanessa has warmed slightly. It’s soft and buttery as she smooths it onto a cracker. The knife blade glints in the sun. “It was good to meet Haruto at the bistro,” she says cautiously.
“Was it?”
Daisy glances up. “Well, yes,” she says, taking a bite of the cracker. “I think it would be great if both of you could meet Jon, too. Maybe we could all have a dinner together.”
Vanessa regards her in steady silence for a moment, then she leans forward. “Look, Daisy, I know what you saw. I know what you must’ve thought. It was written all over your face. But you need to understand—Haruto is a good man. He’s just—a little coercive at times. He also has a quick temper, not much patience. But his temperament is also what makes him good at business. His mind is incredibly sharp. He doesn’t tolerate fools or people who think too slowly. It’s what enables him to bring in the big bucks and afford us places like this.” She gestures to her home. “I’m sure you understand.”
Daisy is fully aware of what Vanessa is doing. She’s holding a mirror up to Daisy’s face and asking her to look at herself, her own life, her own man. Her own sets of compromises and values.
“Take Jon, for example,” Vanessa says. “Your husband is a champion downhill ski racer, a winner of Olympic medals. His sport is extreme. High stakes. Dangerous. All about power. Money, too. Only certain A-type personalities with privilege can consistently excel—thrive—in a milieu like that. But those A-plus alphas come with other issues, too, right? Can’t have it both ways.” A pause. “Not so?”
This woman is inside Daisy’s head. She reaches for her glass and sips quietly because she’s unsure how best to respond.
“How long have you guys been married?” Vanessa asks. “I don’t think you ever mentioned it.”
Daisy gives a little huff of a laugh. “We married pretty much right after Jon came home with the gold in ’02. We were really young. Probably too young. We’d been dating since high school, though. And my parents loved him. Dad felt Jon was a really good fit all round, with our family ski resort business and all.” Another sip of wine—it’s going down so well and so fast it’s making Daisy heady. “Dad thought Jon had such potential.”
“Had?”
Daisy’s cheeks flush. She didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but she supposes it’s true. She clears her throat and deflects. “How about you and Haruto? How’d you guys meet?”
“An airport bar. How cliché is that?” Vanessa reaches for her glass, sips. “We got chatting and learned we were on the same flight back to Vancouver. We hooked up afterward, and it went from there. We married in Singapore, where Haruto was born. His mother is Japanese, and his dad’s family has deep roots in the UK.”
“So that’s where his surname comes from?”
Vanessa nods.
Daisy sips more wine. She’s still insatiably curious about Haruto but doesn’t want to send Vanessa’s defenses back up. When people feel humiliated, shamed, they go into defensive mode. So she aims for another angle.
“I saw the framed photo near the bar when we came through. The one of you and Haruto. It’s a stunning shot. So exotic. That waterfall, those rocks, that jungle and orchids in the backdrop, your bare feet, and that beautiful white bohemian skirt with the colorful trim—it looks Mexican. Is that where the photo was taken?”
“Nicaragua.” Vanessa smiles. “It was some years back. I found the skirt at a local market.”
Silence falls over the pair. The wind picks up a little and the weather turns cooler. Clouds begin to scud across the sky. Vanessa offers nothing more, but now that Daisy has gotten going, she craves additional details, and the wine is making her bold.
“Have you guys been planning a family for long?”
Vanessa laughs, but in a self-deprecating way. “We thought we’d never be able to have kids. And then wham, out of the blue, it happened.”
“Is Haruto happy?”
“Of course—why do you ask?”
“No reason.” Then, as if struck by some need to tell a truth, or perhaps it’s the wine after not having had alcohol for so many months, Daisy says, “Sometimes I wonder if Jon and I—I mean, I know we’re doing the right thing having a baby, but I do wonder if Jon really wants it.”
“Seriously?”
She nods.
“Has he expressed regret?” Vanessa tops up their wine.
Daisy breathes in deeply and exhales. She explains that Jon suddenly has unanticipated competition for the job they thought was guaranteed to him. And it’s rocked their plans.
“Part of me wonders if Jon only said yes to getting pregnant because of the whole job-offer deal,” Daisy says, reaching for her newly full glass.
“You don’t mean that?”
“Well, he knows that I believe a baby would be healthy for our marriage, and that becoming a family unit would make me happy. And he knows that if I am happy, my parents are happy, and my dad is the one who offered Jon the promotion, so . . .” Daisy’s voice fades. She clears her throat. “So maybe he just went along with it.”
Quietly, Vanessa says, “I didn’t know your marriage was in trouble.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“What went wrong?”
Daisy feels a darkness beginning to descend. The wind blows a little harder, and a cloud crosses the sun. “I . . . I think I’ve had a bit too much wine. I feel a bit odd, to be honest. Sort of woozy.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
Vanessa hurries back into her house and returns with a jug of ice water and clean glasses. She pours Daisy a glass.
Daisy swallows half her water, but it doesn’t seem to clear her head. A movement in the upstairs window next door catches her eye. She turns and notices that a woman in a wheelchair is watching them from a corner. Vanessa is sitting with her back to the woman, so she probably can’t see her. Daisy feels strange, like things are closing in even tighter. She glances up into the sky. The clouds are thickening. That ragged murder of crows is still circling like little black buzzards.