That Summer by Jennifer Weiner (read more books .txt) 📕

On those walks, they’d talked about everything from Diana’s boyfriend, to Daisy’s father, to how Daisy felt about being a mother and why Diana had chosen not to become one. The fourth Friday was a gorgeous afternoon, the spring air mild and fresh, the sun shining and the trees dressed in fresh, pale green, but Daisy was struggling to appreciate it. She was still bewildered by what had happened at the cocktail party the weekend before, the way Hal had threatened Mireille, and how he’d been drinking. Her husband’s mood had not been improved by the latest #MeToo casualty of another, this one a prominent local politician who’d gotten in trouble for salacious emails sent to his subordinates. All through dinner the night before, Hal had muttered that the women were only trying to leverage notoriety into money, or better jobs, which segued into a complaint about the mandatory sexual harassment training his firm had recently held.

“Half the people in the firm have dated each other,” he’d said. “I can name three different guys, and one woman, who’ve married summer associates. And now you can get in trouble for—wait, let me get this right.” He’d rummaged through his briefcase, pulling out a sheaf of papers and flipped through them until he’d landed, triumphantly, on the phrase “Unwelcome sexual advances to colleagues or subordinates.” “Do you know what that means? Flirting.”

“Well,” Daisy had ventured, “maybe not everyone wants to be flirted with at the office.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Hal had told her. When Daisy related the story to Diana, the other woman had shaken her head, a thin smile on her face. “I’ve met a lot of men who feel that way.”

A trio of runners blew past them, young men in skimpy shorts, their pale legs flashing. They watched them go, and Diana said, “I bet a lot of guys feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” said Diana, whose sleek, high-tech exercise gear made Daisy, in sweatpants and an ancient T-shirt, feel especially frumpy, “just that the world was one way, and now, all the stuff they could get away with, all the stuff nobody even noticed, now it’s all, as they say, problematic.” Diana looked sideways at Daisy. “Do you ever worry about Beatrice?”

“Only all the time.” Daisy sighed. “Sometimes I think that all these rules are going to take all the romance and the mystery out of sex. Like, if she’s with a guy and he’s asking for permission for every single thing he’s doing, that doesn’t seem very exciting. But then I think about her being with a guy who wouldn’t ask permission, or who wouldn’t take no for an answer…” Her voice trailed off, and Diana didn’t pick up the ball that Daisy had dropped. She just kept walking, quickening her pace as a woman running alongside a gray pit bull made her way past them.

At the top of the trail, at a wide spot in the Wissahickon, there were ducks you could feed, and a restaurant with a snack bar. Daisy had come here with Beatrice, and Hal, when Beatrice was a toddler. Daisy felt disheartened as she counted backward, the months, then years, since she’d been on a walk with her husband.

She could hear the river’s burble, and could see sunshine glinting off its surface, dappling the ground as it filtered through the trees. Diana stretched her arms over her head, then grasped one elbow and pulled her arm behind her neck.

“You know,” she finally said, “I told you about meeting Michael at a kind of low point in my life.” Daisy nodded. She hadn’t wanted to push Diana for details about the boyfriend she hardly ever mentioned, but, at their last lesson, Diana had talked about feeling adrift when she was younger, not sure about where she wanted to live or what she wanted to do.

With her back toward Daisy, her feet planted on the grassy ground, Diana said, in a low, dull voice, “It was a little more than just being confused about my choices, actually. I’d been raped.”

“Oh my God!” Daisy said. “Oh, that’s awful.” She reached out, almost blindly, wanting to touch the other woman’s shoulder or her arm. Somehow, she wound up grabbing Diana’s hand. For an instant, there was nothing. She felt a flare of panic, wondering if she’d gone too far, and then Diana squeezed back. “I’m so sorry.”

Diana nodded, releasing Daisy’s hand, turning away as she shook her hair loose and tied it back again. “It was a long time ago.”

“But still…” Daisy felt a clenching around her heart; a tightening in her throat. She hated the thought of her friend being hurt even as it thrilled her that Diana trusted her enough to tell her. “I don’t think that’s the kind of thing you ever get over.”

“It changes you,” Diana said. “Here, let’s sit.” She led Daisy over to a bench, with a view of the ducks dipping their heads into the water as toddlers tossed handfuls of bread at them. “It took me a long time to trust anyone. A long time,” she repeated. “There were years when I couldn’t. I didn’t let anyone get close. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. Not even my mom and dad.”

“That must have been hard.”

Nodding, Diana said, “I was very lonely.”

Daisy could barely breathe. I’ve been lonely, too, she thought. But Diana had survived a sexual assault. What was Daisy’s excuse? Getting married too soon? Missing Hannah?

With her gaze on the water, Diana said, “I tried not to think about it for a long time, after it happened. Michael figured it out, and eventually I told him the whole story. He was the first one I’d ever said it out loud to, and I thought he’d run screaming, but he didn’t.”

“I’m glad you’ve got someone,” Daisy said. She had a million questions—when had this happened to Diana? At work? In college?