Chapter 20: The Montauk Weekender

• If you’re new here, read: Chapter 1

Friday, October 11

I’m in the bedroom, folding cashmere sweaters into neat rectangles, when my phone rings.

Emily.

“Hey, are you two almost ready?”

“So there’s been a change.” Her voice is tight. “David can’t come.”

My hands stop moving. “What happened?”

“Work thing. Last minute. He feels terrible. Wants us to still go but I don’t know if—”

I can hear Miranda walking up the hallway. Her footsteps on the hardwood.

“Hold on -”

Miranda appears in the doorway. “Who’s that?”

“Emily. David bailed.”

Miranda looks surprised but then her face swallows it. Like a stone making one leap across water before it sinks.

She crosses to me and takes the phone right out of my hand.

“Emily? Hi.” Her voice is cheerful. “I just heard. Listen, we should absolutely still go. Yes, of course we should. We’re packed. We’re halfway out the door. It would be silly to cancel now.”

She’s looking at me while she talks. One hand on my hip.

“No, just us is perfect. Girls’ weekend.” She laughs at something Emily says. “Exactly. See you in a few hours.”

She hangs up. Hands me back the phone.

“There,” she says. Kisses my cheek. “All set.”

The LIE is stop and go for the first hour. Miranda drives with one hand on the wheel, the other drumming on her thigh. She’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s overcast.

As we pass the exit for the outlets, the traffic opens up.

“So,” she says. “I need to tell you something.”

My stomach drops. “Okay.”

She doesn’t say anything for a while. My mind is racing, bracing. Does she know? Should I say something before she does? Then…

“David kissed me.”

I turn in my seat to look at her. “What! When?”

“Last week. After pickleball.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” She adjusts her sunglasses. “We went for drinks after. And he just...did it.”

“What did you do?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightens.

“It happened fast.”

I look out the window. Trees. Strip malls. A gas station.

“Does Emily know?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to tell her.”

Her hands tighten on the wheel. “Why?”

“Because he’s her husband, Miranda.”

“And she hasn’t told him she’s had sex with both of us. Multiple times.” She glances at me. “What happens in their marriage is really not our business.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

I don’t have an answer.

“Look.” Her voice softens. “I don’t want this to become a whole thing. He clearly regrets it. That’s probably why he cancelled.” She reaches for my hand. “Can we just have a nice weekend? I need this, Alex. I need to feel close to you.”

She pauses. Squeezes my hand.

“To Emily too, actually.”

A chill flutters through me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve been thinking about her. About the three of us.” She keeps her eyes on the road. “I want to try again. But the right way this time.”

“Miranda…”

“Don’t I deserve to feel desired? After everything?” She looks at me.

I look at her. I can’t quite articulate that I don’t want to share Emily with my wife. Don’t have the words, couldn’t use them even if I did.

“Let’s just see how the weekend goes,” I say.

“Okay.” She smiles. Brings my hand to her lips. Kisses my knuckles. “Thank you.”

The house sits at the end of a long gravel driveway. It’s a modern farmhouse with cedar shingles. Big deck wrapping around to face the water.

Emily’s car is already there.

We find her on the deck. She’s standing at the railing looking out at the water. Turns when she hears us.

“Hey,” she says. “Welcome.”

She hugs Miranda first. Then me. Holds on just a second longer than necessary, pressing her chest to mine. I can feel the soft warmth of her body through her shirt. She isn’t wearing a bra.

“Come on,” Emily says. “I’ll show you around.”

We follow her inside. White painted wood everywhere. Exposed beams. The kitchen has a green painted floor and light wood cabinets. Marble counters. Brass fixtures. She points to the fridge.

“It was stocked yesterday,” she says. “There should be wine in there but there’s a wine fridge next to the outdoor dining. Most of it is good but not so good you have to ask, there’s a vineyard David took a stake in an hour east and we’re swimming in the bottles.”

She points out where the wine glasses are, the coffee maker, the good knives in the drawer by the stove.

“Make yourselves at home,” she says.

Miranda’s already opening cabinets. Pulling out a wine glass.

“This kitchen is gorgeous,” she says.

“Thanks.” Emily watches her. “Do you want to try the wine?”

“Please.”

Emily pulls a bottle from the fridge. Pours three glasses.

“To the weekend,” she says.

We drink. It is good. David and I clearly share the same taste.

Miranda wanders to the windows. Looks out at the deck and the water beyond.

“God, this view.”

“Let me show you where you’re sleeping,” Emily says. “Upstairs.”

We follow her up. She opens the door to a room with windows on two walls. Big bed. Everything is white and clean.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Emily points. “Fresh towels in the closet. Let me know if you need anything.”

“This is perfect,” Miranda says. Already setting her bag on the bed.

Emily catches my eye.

“I’ll be downstairs,” she says.

We find Emily on the deck twenty minutes later. She’s refilled the wine glasses. Set out cheese and crackers on a wooden board. The afternoon sun is warm. The ocean sounds close.

Miranda takes the chair closest to Emily. I take the other side.

“You have to try this cheese.” Emily insists. “There’s a specialty food store nearby and they sell this. It’s triple cream blue. It’s really difficult to cultivate so they only make small batches. People basically come to blows over it during the holidays.”

We both obediently take a cracker. The cheese is salty, smooth, funky. The flavours flood my mouth. We both immediately reach for another.

“Right?” Emily laughs.

“Where are your kids this weekend? Did they hang back with David?” Miranda asks.

“Oh, god no. They’re with their cousins. And calling me every two hours.”

Emily’s brow furrows.

“They warn you about mom guilt but it’s different to how I imagined.” She says.

“How so?”

“I don’t feel guilty for wanting time for myself or wanting to still be someone other than ‘mom’. But sometimes when I’m by myself, I forget they exist. And in those moments I feel so much…lighter. That’s the part I feel guilty about, that the crash back to reality feels like a burden.”

I look at my hands, the cheese cracker perched between two fingers. I want to say something but what she’s sharing feels too intimate. Too risky.

“They’re just feelings, Emily.” Miranda says. “You still turn up, you still are ‘mom’ and you don’t literally forget anyone. I don’t think you need to feel guilty about your fantasies. Whatever they might be.”

The waves crash. Emily sort of nods her head. Puts a cream mohair wrap around her shoulders. Looks out at the water, a faraway look in her eye.

“This is nice,” Miranda says. Leans back in her chair.

“Yeah.” Emily tops up our glasses. “I thought it would be weird without David but it’s actually kind of nice.”

“See?” Miranda smiles. “I told you.”

They look at each other with eyes I can’t read.

Around seven, Emily stands.

“I should start dinner,” she says.

“I’ll help,” Miranda offers.

“Don’t be silly. You’re my guest. Just enjoy yourself.”

“I want to help. Honestly, I love to cook. It’s meditative.” Miranda’s already following her inside.

I sit on the deck for another minute. Listening to waves. Trying to still myself. Miranda’s revelation that David kissed her swirls through my mind. I should tell Emily but what if she reacts and blurts out her own infidelity? What if she confronts David and it all comes out? What if -

“Alex?” Miranda calls from the kitchen.

I head in. Emily at the stove. Miranda chopping vegetables at the counter.

“Where do you keep the olive oil?” Miranda asks.

“Cabinet to the left of the stove.”

Miranda opens it. Pulls out the bottle. Her hand brushes Emily’s reaching past her.

“Sorry,” Miranda says. But she lingers.

I lean against the far counter. Watch them work. Miranda keeps finding reasons to be close but Emily shifts away. I wonder if Miranda can also feel the warmth of Emily’s body through her shirt. An itchy feeling rises in my throat.

“Alex, can you open another bottle?” Emily asks.

I do. Pour three glasses. Miranda comes up behind me while I’m pouring. Puts her hands on my hips. Kisses my neck.

“This is nice,” she says. “My two favourite women.”

We eat at the kitchen table, not the large indoor or outdoor dining, but Emily still lights candles.

We eat risotto genovese and drink vermentino from a different wine supply. Miranda’s laugh gets louder with each glass. Emily’s shoulders drop lower. I stop counting refills around our third bottle.

Emily tells a story about her son trying to bribe his way out of bedtime with his college fund.

“Stop,” Miranda says, wiping her eyes. “I can’t breathe.”

Emily grins. “He’s seven. Seven and already running negotiations.”

“I love him,” I say.

“Yes, because you’re not on the other side of the negotiation” Emily tops up our glasses. “He’s already so much like this father. It’s actually a really strange experience sometimes, watching the genetics bubble to the surface.”

We’re all flushed. From the wine. From the easiness of it.

“Kids are terrifying,” Miranda says. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Emily shrugs. “What else would I do?”

“Not have them,” Miranda says. Then catches herself. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

Emily’s smile flickers. “No, you’re probably right. Would’ve been easier.”

“How are things with David?” Says Miranda. My jaw drops gently. I’m shocked she’d ask.

Emily is still for a moment. Miranda’s tone is hushed and tender.

“How are things really?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly emotional.

“Oh, they’re fine. Sometimes it’s just so…” Her voice trails off. There is a big and unclear emotion stuck in her throat like a shadow. I want to rush to her, to wrap her in my arms…I also…don’t like seeing this. Don’t want to talk about David.

“That’s the other thing they don’t tell you about kids.” She says. “He’ll never see you the same way again.”

She stands. Starts clearing plates. Miranda helps without being asked.

I watch them move around Emily’s kitchen. Miranda opening the dishwasher like she lives here. Emily rinsing plates. Miranda’s hand on the small of Emily’s back when she reaches past her for a glass. Jealousy sits low in my throat like an acid wash.

We move to the living room. Emily puts on music. We settle on the couch.

Wine sloshes over the rim of Emily’s glass.

“Oops,” Miranda says. Laughs.

Emily wipes the glass on her jeans. Takes a long drink.

Miranda’s in the middle. One arm along the back of the couch behind me. Her other hand resting on Emily’s knee.

“I’m so glad we’re here,” she says.

Emily shifts. Miranda’s hand stays on her knee.

“Can I tell you guys something?” Miranda’s voice is quieter now.

We both look at her.

“I think you’re both beautiful.” She’s looking at Emily when she says it. “And I’ve been thinking about you. About us. All three of us.”

“Miranda…” I start.

“No, let me finish.” She turns to look at me. “I know St. Barths was messed up. Carmen just made me feel so excluded…so worthless. You know?”

She looks back at Emily who slowly nods.

Her hand moves higher on Emily’s thigh.

“And I think I’m ready to try this again.” She pauses. “Would you want that?”

Emily looks at me.

“I don’t know,” Emily says.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” Miranda’s voice is soft. “I just wanted you to know how I feel. That I’m attracted to you.”

The room is quiet. Just the music and the ocean.

Then Miranda leans in and kisses Emily.

Emily’s glass tips. More wine spills on the couch. Neither of them notice.

Emily kisses back. Her free hand comes up to Miranda’s face.

When they break apart, Miranda’s looking at both of us.

“Upstairs?” she says.

Emily sets down her glass. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”

Emily’s bedroom is down the hall from ours. It’s huge. Windows overlooking the water. Vaulted ceiling with exposed beams. The bed is perfectly made.

Miranda unbuttons her shirt, slowly revealing her lace edged bra. She walks slowly to Emily and brushes her hair off her shoulder. Kisses her shoulder. Emily’s breathing is shallow.

She undresses Emily, piece by piece. And when she is naked, Miranda steps behind her, hand on her hips and looks directly at me over her shoulder.

I cross to them. Emily’s between us now. Her eyes on mine. Miranda behind her.

I reach for her. My hands slide up her stomach. Miranda’s hands come around from behind. Move over Emily’s breasts. Emily’s breath catches.

I lean in. Kiss her while Miranda runs her hands all over her body. Emily kisses me back and I can feel her body responding. Feel her getting warmer.

My hand slides lower. Between her legs. She’s wet and I know exactly how to touch her but I have to be careful to not let it show.

Miranda’s mouth is on Emily’s neck. I kiss her mouth and rub her clitoris in soft, steady circles. Her hips moving. Her hand gripping mine, rigid.

When she comes it’s against my hand and into my mouth and her whole body goes taut between us.

We move to Emily’s bed. I lie beside them while Miranda kisses Emily gently along her bikini line. She is sensitive. Reactive. I kiss Emily while Miranda’s mouth is on her. Emily’s hand finds my hair. Pulls me closer. When she comes again she pulls me even closer like she’s trying to grab on to something she can’t reach.

Then Miranda’s hands guide me onto my back. Emily’s mouth on me. Miranda’s hands. The two of them and I close my eyes and try not to reach for Emily the way I want to. Try not to show too much.

Later we’re all lying in Emily’s bed. Miranda in the middle. One arm over Emily. One hand reaching for mine.

“That was great,” she says.

Emily stares at her ceiling.

I close my eyes.

Miranda’s breathing slows. Evens out. She falls asleep with one leg over Emily’s, one hand still in mine.

Emily’s awake. I can tell by how carefully still she is.

Her hand moves across Miranda’s body. Finds mine.

Squeezes once.

Then lets go.

Saturday, October 12

I wake up to voices.

“Come on. It’ll be good for us.”

“Emily. It’s not even eight.”

“The beach. Fresh air. Please?”

I open my eyes. Emily’s in running clothes. Miranda’s still in bed with the pillow over her face.

“I’m not running,” Miranda says. Muffled. “I’m on vacation.”

“Alex will come. Right?”

They both look at me.

“Ok” I say. “Give me five minutes.”

Miranda groans into the pillow. “You’re both insane. I’ll make coffee.”

In my own room I change quickly. When I come back out, Emily’s waiting in the hall.

“Ready?” she asks.

The beach is empty. Grey sky. Wind coming off the water.

At first, we run without talking. Just feet on sand and breathing and waves.

Then Emily slows. Stops. Bends over with her hands on her knees.

“God,” she says.

The water comes in and out. Leaving dark lines in the sand.

“So,” Emily says. “Last night.”

I don’t say anything.

“You were different. With me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” She looks at me.

I watch the water. “Of course I was. This is meant to feel foreign to me. Miranda will be watching me, even when she’s been drinking,” I say.

A bolt runs through me.

“There’s something you should know.” I say.

She looks at me. Waiting.

“About David and Miranda.”

Emily looks perplexed. I push on.

“He kissed her. Last week.”

Emily stops walking. “What?”

“After pickleball. She told me in the car yesterday.”

“She…” Emily’s hands curl into fists. “Did she kiss him back?”

“She didn’t say. Just that it happened fast.”

“What the…isn’t she a lesbian?” She starts laughing but it’s not good laughter. It’s high pitched, forced. Laughter you have to be careful around.

I pause. “...It’s rarely that clear cut.”

“This is so typical. Another great story for David, the conqueror.”

Emily turns away. Stares at the water. Her jaw is locked tight.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you deserve to know.”

“Do I?” She laughs. Sharp. “We’re all lying to everyone, Alex. What’s one more thing?”

“You can’t tell her I told you,” I say. She looks at me. “Or David. Nobody can know you know.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

She turns back to the water. Doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then she turns to me. Steps closer.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry it happened. I’m sorry he didn’t tell you himself.”

She looks at me. At my face. My mouth.

Then she kisses me.

It’s soft. Sweet. Her hand comes up to my face. I kiss her back and for a second it’s just us.

When she pulls away, she rests her forehead against mine.

“We’re so fucked,” she says.

“I know.”

“Like spectacularly fucked.”

“I know.”

She laughs. Looks at me.

“Come on,” she says. “We should get back before she sends a search party.”

The afternoon is warm enough for the deck. We spread out on the loungers with books and wine. Miranda positions herself between us. Her hand trails over my shoulder when she reaches for her glass. Her foot hooks around Emily’s ankle. Around three, Miranda’s phone is in her hand. She shifts closer on the lounger. Leans in.

“Come here,” she says.

We lean in. She holds the phone out. Arm around both of us.

“Smile,” she says.

The phone clicks.

She looks at the photo. Smiles. Types.

Her phone buzzes almost immediately.

Giselle: Looks amazing! So jealous!

Jess: MONTAUK?! I want to come next time!

Miranda smiles. Sets her phone down.

It buzzes again. She picks it up. Her smile flickers.

She puts it down without commenting.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. Carmen just..” She stops. “Never mind.”

She picks up her wine instead.

Her phone stays face down on the table.

Around five, Miranda stands.

“I’m taking a bath,” she announces, looking down the barrel at Emily. “Want to join?”

Emily glances at me. I give her nothing.

“Sure,” she says.

They go inside. I hear their feet on the stairs. Water running. Miranda’s laugh. Emily’s voice. A splash, a squeal. Anxiety beats in my chest - what if she?

No, she won’t say anything. She promised.

I stay on the deck. Pull out my phone. A direct message.

Carmen: Cute pic. Call me when you’re back.

Upstairs the water stops and all I can hear are their voices through the open windows.

They come down an hour later. Hair damp. Skin flushed.

“You should have joined us,” Miranda says. Comes over and kisses me.

‘Alex…” Emily calls from the kitchen. “Come help cook. You’re not off the hook this time.”

Miranda and I are chopping salad ingredients while Emily grills chicken when her phone rings.

David. Pops up, emblazoned across the screen. No emojis. No pet name. Just ‘David’.

‘I should take this,’ she says swiftly, disconnecting her phone from the speaker. “Miranda, can you?” She motions to the chicken and Miranda steps in smoothly, brushing past her shoulder.

Emily takes her phone and moves upstairs. I hear the bedroom door click.

“Do you think…” I trail off.

I limply slice tomatoes and raise my eyebrows at Miranda.

“What?” She says.

“Do you think he’s going to say something?”

“No, Alex, I don’t think he’s suddenly calling her after ditching the weekend away to fess up to being a cheater. He’s probably about to go out and checking in with her first before he goes off the radar.”

“Is he?” I ask, trying to sound cool, detached. “A cheater?”

Miranda looks at me with disbelief, almost contempt.

“He kissed me?”

I drop the topic.

Emily returns and we eat our salad on the couch. The evidence of yesterday’s Bachallian revelry traced across its cushions. Emily had waved it away earlier that morning with insistences of there being an excellent dry cleaner nearby. We click on a movie none of us pay any attention to. Miranda sits between us. Her hand on my leg.

Emily’s quieter than yesterday but not withdrawn. Just different. Carrying something. When Miranda gets up to open wine, Emily catches my eye. Raises her eyebrows. I bite back a smile.

The danger of it. The absurdity. All three of us here.

Miranda comes back. Settles between us again. Her hand finds Emily’s thigh.

“What did David want?” Miranda says.

“Oh, nothing, just checking in. Said he misses us all.”

Miranda looks at me with eyes that say ‘see?’

“Tell him we’re having such a great time without the deserter.” Miranda laughs.

“Yeah,” Emily says. She looks at me over Miranda’s shoulder. Heat. Amusement. Challenge in her eyes.

“I did.”

Around nine Miranda yawns. Sets down her glass.

“I’m exhausted,” she says. Stands. Stretches. “I think I’m going to head up.”

She kisses me. Then leans down and kisses Emily.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she says.

We watch her go. Hear her footsteps on the stairs. A door closing.

The house goes quiet.

Emily and I sit there. Not looking at each other. The movie is still playing. Neither of us is watching it.

“I should probably…” Emily starts.

“Stay,” I say. “Finish the movie.”

She looks at me. “Okay.”

The space between us on the couch suddenly feels very loud.

Five minutes pass. Ten.

Then Emily shifts. Just slightly. Her leg touches mine.

I don’t move away.

Her hand moves to my thigh. Rests there.

I turn to look at her. She’s already looking at me.

“We shouldn’t,” she says.

“I know.”

“She’s right upstairs.”

“I know.”

Emily’s hand moves higher. “Alex.”

I kiss her. She kisses me back and it’s nothing like earlier. Nothing careful or measured about it.

Her hand slides into my jeans. I gasp against her mouth.

“Shh,” she whispers.

“I know.”

My hand moves to her jeans. Unbuttons them. Slides inside. She’s so wet.

She makes a sound and I kiss her harder to swallow it.

We’re both still fully dressed. Ready to spring apart if we hear footsteps. But our hands are working and we can’t stop. I don’t have to be careful anymore. Don’t have to hide how I touch her. Her hand moves on me and she knows exactly what she’s doing. Exactly what I need.

“Fuck,” I breathe against her mouth.

“Quiet,” she whispers. But she’s breathing hard too.

She’s getting close. I can feel it.

“Alex,” she breathes. Barely audible.

“I’ve got you.”

She comes against my hand. Her whole body goes taut. She bites down on my shoulder to stay quiet. I’m close too. Her hand still moving. Her mouth on my neck.

“Come for me,” she whispers.

And I do. Bury my face in her hair to keep quiet.

We stay like that. Hands still in each other’s jeans. Both of us breathing hard.

Then a sound upstairs. Footsteps maybe.

We spring apart. Fix our jeans. Put distance between us on the couch.

The footsteps stop. Bathroom maybe. Water running.

We don’t look at each other. Don’t move.

The water stops. Footsteps again. A door closing.

We wait.

Nothing.

“We should…”

“I know.”

She stands. “Good night, Alex.” Loud enough to carry.

“Good night.”

She goes upstairs. I hear her door close.

I wait five minutes. Then go up to my room.

Miranda’s asleep. Breathing slow and even. Completely out.

I scrub myself in the shower until I smell like artisanal sea salt soap then slip into bed beside her.

Sunday, October 13

We leave after breakfast.

Miranda talks the whole drive. About how good the weekend was. How close she feels to Emily now. How we should do this again. Maybe with David next time.

“Uhhhh…”

“I think this could be really good for all of us,” she says.

“Sure.”

My phone buzzes. I pull it out.

Group text with Emily, Miranda, and me.

Emily: Never thought I’d have girlfriends at this point in my life lol

I look at it. Then at Miranda.

Her jaw tightens. Just for a second. Then she laughs. Light. Casual.

“Girlfriends,” she says. “That’s cute.”

But her hands grip the wheel tighter.

I don’t respond to the text.

“You’re quiet,” Miranda says after a while.

“I’m tired.”

“Me too.” She reaches over. Takes my hand. “I’m really happy, Alex. I feel like we’re finally in a good place.”

She squeezes my hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And I do.

The apartment is clean but smells stale. Miranda opens windows. Starts unpacking.

I go to the windowsill. The peonies are completely dead. Brown petals everywhere. The water in the vase has that smell and its carrying through the whole house.

I pick up the vase. Carry it to the kitchen. Dump the whole thing in the trash. I’d rather buy a new vase than get the gloopy water on my hands, deal with the cloud of root rot vegetal funk.

“Finally,” Miranda says. “I don’t know how many times I had to ask you to throw those out.” She laughs but it’s only to run a coat of light varnish over the sentiment.

“I know.”

She comes up behind me. Wraps her arms around my waist.

“I love you. You know that?”

“Uh huh.”

“This weekend was perfect.”

She lets go. Goes back to unpacking.

I stand in the kitchen alone.

I can still smell the dead peonies. A trail of liquid is seeping across the floor from the trash can.

The lies stacking up.

And no idea how to stop any of it.

Keep Reading: Chapter 21

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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, events, companies, places, names, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance, whether direct or indirect, to actual persons (living or dead), places, events, or businesses is entirely coincidental and unintended. Where reference is made to real locations or historical events, such references are included solely for the purpose of creating a sense of authenticity. They should not be interpreted as depicting real people, their actions, or their conduct. The author expressly disclaims any and all responsibility for any such interpretations or assumptions.