The Half of It by Juliette Fay

Author:Juliette Fay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-04-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

2010

“Kesia Neep’s in town,” said Jim. “I thought we might have her over for dinner.”

“Here?” said Helen.

“Yeah, do you mind? I already kind of invited her.”

“Jim.”

“I know.”

“I was just going to do takeout tonight.”

“Sorry. I thought you might want to meet her.”

“One of your clients?” Helen occasionally attended dinners where the spouses were involved, but she didn’t enjoy it. So. Much. Golf. And she’d tried—taken lessons and everything. But she just couldn’t make herself care if the ball went in the hole. Golf courses were overmanicured; she liked the woods. Games were interminable and cost a lot in babysitting. In her mind it was like paying for the privilege of watching towels tumble in an unnecessarily expensive dryer. “You never bring clients home.”

“Kesia’s great, though. You’ll like her.”

Jim talked about Kesia more than any of his other clients. She impressed him, as a Black woman running a course in Georgia mostly patronized by white guys, and the praise sounded well-earned. “Being secretary of state would be a day in a hammock compared to that,” Jim told Helen. He would often recount some sticky situation Kesia had faced and how she’d solved it, or some funny quip she’d made. These generally tended to be golf-related, however, so Helen would smile and nod as if she understood. Which she did not.

She was glad Jim had someone he regularly talked to who was different from him (other than the fact that they were obsessed with the same thing). Helen was friendly with Daphne and Martha Kelley-Cates, who had a daughter Barb’s age, Celia. Daphne had an outlandish sense of humor and Martha was an amazing artist; they certainly were not the standard Pinehurst wives. Helen never quite felt like one herself, so she always gravitated toward the couple at social events. But by middle school, Barb and Celia were in different girl groups, and then Martha got a coveted job as a curator in Raleigh, and they moved. Pinehurst felt a little empty without them.

“You don’t have to cook,” said Jim. “Kesia’s not picky. How about Thai—she’s a big fan of peanut sauce.”

“Sam won’t eat Thai.” The kid did not like flavor. Make the mistake of putting ketchup on his burger, and you’d be eating that burger yourself.

“He can have a grilled cheese. Come on, I’ll help with the house. Looks like Dick’s Sporting Goods picked a fight with Joann’s Fabric in here.”

That’s when she should have known. Jim was a slob. He never cared a whit about the muddy clumps of grass he tracked through the house; never “saw” the quilting squares and wet bathing suits and board game pieces that littered the floor, the tangled yarn and dirty golf tees on the coffee table, or the half-done homework and uncapped pens scattered on the couch. He just blithely dodged it all and kept going.

But Kesia was coming, so for once he picked up.

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