“Do you want me to tell her?” Wim offered generously, and was silently angry at his father that he hadn't come home to break the news to him in person. He thought that was lousy of him, but didn't say it to his mother. The truth was, Peter couldn't face it and was relieved to leave that grim duty to Paris. Telling her had been more than enough drama for him for one weekend. And he knew she'd do a good job of it with the kids. And whatever she said that he didn't like, he could always clean up later. He was used to having her take full responsibility for their children, no matter how heavy a burden it was for her this time.
“You don't have to do that,” Paris said, looking at him gratefully, just for the offer to call his sister, “that's my job.” She wanted to be the one to tell her daughter.
“Okay, then I'll cook dinner.” It suddenly occurred to Wim that there was no one to take care of his mother now, and when he left for college, she would be alone in Greenwich. He couldn't believe his father had done that to her, it seemed so unlike him, and tarnished him as Wim's hero. He had another thought then as he took out lettuce and tomatoes and some cold chicken. “Do you want me not to go to Berkeley, Mom?” He had been accepted at a number of eastern schools, who would probably still be happy to have him. He had only just accepted Berkeley and hadn't even responded yet to some of the others. He had been planning to do it that weekend, and hadn't.
“I want you to do exactly what you wanted to do, before all this happened. If your father really goes through with the divorce, then I just have to get used to it. You can't sit here and take care of me forever.” That was the frightening part. She had been lying in bed, thinking about it all weekend. She was on her own now. Forever. And even more so, once Wim left for college. It had been comforting having him stick his head in her doorway all weekend. At least it was another human being in the house, and he loved her. That was the most terrifying thought of all now. Wondering who would be there for her if she got sick, or something happened to her. Who was going to care about her? Who would even know if she was sick? Who would she go to movies with, or laugh with? What if no one ever kissed her again, or made love to her? What if she was truly alone forever? The prospect of all of it was so huge as to be beyond understanding. The reality of it was devastating. Even Wim seemed to understand that. Why didn't Peter?
She sat in the kitchen, trying to make small talk with Wim while he made their dinner, and when he put the chicken and salad on their plates, they both pushed it around without eating. “I'm sorry, sweetheart,” she said apologetically. “I'm not very hungry.”
“That's okay, Mom. Are you going to call Meg now?” He wanted her to, so he could talk to his older sister about it. They had always been close, and he wanted to know what she thought, and if she thought there was a chance their father might come to his senses. Wim still couldn't understand it. Maybe she would have some insights. He hoped so. He had never seen their mother like this, and it scared him. She looked as though she had a terminal illness.
“I guess so,” Paris said sadly, and finally dragged herself upstairs to call her while Wim put the dishes in the dishwasher. She wanted to be alone when she called her daughter. Not that she was going to tell her anything different than she had told Wim, but she didn't want an audience while she did it.
Meg answered on the second ring, and she sounded in good spirits. She had just come home from a weekend in Santa Barbara, and told her mother she had a new boyfriend. She said he was an actor.
“Are you alone, sweetheart, or do you want me to call later?” Paris asked, trying to put some life in her voice, so she didn't sound as dead as she was feeling.
“I'm alone, Mom. Why? Do you have something to tell me?” She sounded as though she thought it was funny, and couldn't imagine what her mother was going to tell her. And a moment later, she could imagine it even less. She was almost shrieking when she responded. She felt as though their entire family had been gunned down in a drive-by shooting. “Are you kidding? Is he crazy? What is he doing, Mom? Do you think he means it?” She was more angry, than sad or frightened. But if she had seen her mother's face, she might have had the same sense of terror Wim had. With her uncombed hair and black circles under her eyes, their mother looked scary.
“Yes, I do think he means it,” Paris said honestly.
“Why?” And then there was a long silence. “Is he seeing another woman?” She was older and more worldly wise than her brother. In her months in Hollywood, she had been approached by several married men, and the same thing had happened to her before that. Although she couldn't imagine her father cheating on her mother. But she couldn't imagine him divorcing her either. This was crazy.
