"Or maybe Liz just blew your socks off."
"She's interesting," Marge admitted. "Very smart, too."
"Is she pretty?"
"What does that matter?"
"I'm just curious."
"Yes. She's very pretty."
"Let me guess. The art opening was her idea?"
"As a matter of fact, it was."
"Does she drive a motorcycle? And favor leather jackets?"
"How would I know?"
"What does she do?"
"She's a marriage and family therapist."
"You don't like therapists either."
"I didn't like my therapists. Well, the last one was okay, but I didn't much like the others. Of course, there were a few years there where I was pretty angry, and I'm not sure I would have liked any therapist."
"Have you told Liz about your anger issues?"
"That's all in my past. I'm not like that anymore."
"Good to know. When can I meet her?"
"It's a little early, don't you think? We haven't even gone out yet."
"All right. So after you do go out, when can I meet her?"
It ended up being a little less than two weeks. I invited the two of them over to my apartment, and grilled a few steaks on my pint-sized patio. Liz brought dessert, and the three of us split a bottle of wine. It took me all of thirty seconds to feel at ease with Liz, and it was clear that she already cared deeply for my sister. I could see it in the attentive way she listened whenever Marge spoke, her easy laughter, and how attuned she seemed to Marge's hidden, emotional side. When it finally came time for them to leave, Marge pulled me aside.
"What do you think of her?"
"I think she's fantastic."
"Too fantastic for me?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't totally get what she sees in me."
"Are you kidding? You're awesome. You had her laughing all night long."
Marge didn't seem convinced but she nodded anyway. "Thanks for having us over. Even if you did burn the steaks."
"They were purposely charred," I explained. "It's supposed to add flavor."
"Oh, it did. Burned is often the goal of world-class chefs."
"Goodbye, Marge," I said. "And you're welcome."
"Love you."
"That's only because I put up with you."
Marge didn't introduce Liz to my parents until another month had passed. It was a Saturday afternoon, and within minutes of her arrival, Liz disappeared into the kitchen to help my mom, the two of them chatting as if they were old friends. My dad sat with Marge, watching a ball game. I was sitting with them too, not that either of them seemed to notice.
"What do you think, Dad?" Marge asked during one of the commercials.
"About what?"
"Liz," Marge said.
"She seems to be getting along with your mom pretty well."
"Do you like her?"
My dad took a sip of his beer. "It doesn't matter what I think."
"You don't like her?"
"I didn't say that. What I said was that it doesn't matter how I feel about her. The only thing that really matters is how you feel about her. If you know why you like her and she's good enough for you, then she'll be good enough for your mom and me."
Then the game came back on, and my dad descended into silence. All I could think was that my dad was, and always will be, one of the smartest men I've ever known.
After my lunch with Vivian, I went back to work, but my thoughts were jumbled and I felt out of sorts. The feeling intensified as three o'clock came and went, and I began to feel the loss of London's company. As important as it was for London to spend time with Vivian, I wasn't convinced that I had to be invisible the entire weekend for their time together to be meaningful. I wondered why I hadn't protested more strongly when Vivian had suggested it, but deep down, my problem was me. I knew I still wanted to please her and as much as that suggested a flaw in my character, that flaw was exacerbated by the obvious: If I hadn't been able to please her before, why on earth would I think I was able to please her now?
It was, I think, the first time I realized the depth of that particular problem. Even I had trouble making sense of it. Logically, I knew it was both ridiculous and unlikely--why, time after time, did I continue to try?
I wished I could be another person. Or, better yet, I wished I could be a stronger version of me and I wondered whether I needed professional help. I wondered if professional help would change anything. Knowing me, I'd end up trying to please my therapist.
It's been said that parents always screw up their kids and since I'd been a people pleaser for as long as I can remember, it logically flowed that it was all my parents' fault. Why then, I wondered, did I feel the need to visit them so regularly? Why did I try to visit with my dad during ball games, or tell my mom that her meals were delicious?
Because, I thought to myself, I wanted to please them, too.
I finally left the office a little after five and drove to Marge's. I told myself that I would keep talk about Vivian to an absolute minimum--even I was tired of her--a goal that lasted all of twelve seconds. I whined my way through dinner and Marge and Liz were supportive as always. If I was a broken record, they were too, and while they assured me repeatedly that I would be okay, I still wasn't sure whether to believe them.
They dragged me to a movie and we had our pick of the late-summer blockbusters still lingering in theaters. We chose something fun--one of those stories with flawed heroes battling really evil bad guys intent on destroying the planet, and lots of action--but even so, it was hard for me to relax and enjoy it. I found my thoughts drifting to how Vivian and London had spent the afternoon and what they'd had for dinner; I wondered if my wife was sitting in the family room and flipping through a magazine after London had gone to bed. I wondered whether she'd called Spannerman, and if so, how long they'd talked.
After the movie, I tried to do some reading. My sister had a few books in the spare bedroom, but trying to lose myself in a novel was impossible. I gave up and turned out the light, and spent hours tossing and turning before finally falling asleep.
I woke two hours before dawn.
At a quarter to eleven on Saturday morning, my cell phone rang. I'd already jogged, showered, had coffee with Marge and Liz, and started to put together the questions for the patient testimonials. It is easy to accomplish a lot when one wakes up in what feels like the middle of the night.
When I pulled the phone from my pocket, I saw it was Vivian and I hit the magic button.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Russ. Are you busy?"
"Not really," I said. "I'm at my sister's. What's up? Is London all right?"
"She's fine. But I forgot to bring the vase to art class, and I was wondering if you might swing by the house and bring it here. I'm almost at the studio and if I turn around and go back, she's going to be really late."
"Yeah," I said. "No problem. I'll be there as quick as I can."
I hung up the phone and grabbed my keys. I'd placed them in a basket on the table by the door.
Behind me, I heard Marge call out: "Where are you going?"
"Vivian called. I need to bring London the ceramic vase she made last week."
"Then you better get to it, seal."
"Seal?"
"She commands and you comply. If you're lucky, maybe she'll toss a fish at you."
"It's for London, not Vivian," I snapped.
"Keep telling yourself that."
Though I was annoyed by her comment, it passed in the rush to get to my house, and then to London's class. Marge lived ten minutes away; if I hit more green lights than red, I'd be there shortly after class started.
I wondered, absently, whether London had told Vivian about the yellow flowers and pink mouses. I smiled. Mouses. It had sounded so cute coming from her, I just didn't have the heart to correct her. I wanted to see my daughter, even if only for a few seconds. Though it had only been a day,
I missed her.
I got home, grabbed the vase, and was fortunate to hit one green light after another, the Man Upstairs obviously understanding the urgency of my mission.
I pulled into the lot and spotted Vivian standing outside the studio. When I parked, she was already approaching my car, motioning me to roll down the window.
I did and passed the vase to her.
"Thanks," she said. "Let me get back in there."
I felt myself deflating like an old balloon. "Before you go--did you two have a good time yesterday?"
She was already backing away. "We had a terrific time. I'll call you tomorrow to let you know what time you should come over to the house."
"Can you send London outside so I can say hi?"
"She can't," she said. "They've already started painting," she said. She turned and vanished into the studio without another word and I thought to myself that seals were actually lucky.
At least they got a treat.
I didn't want to return to Marge's right away. Vivian's demeanor put me in a pissy mood, one intensified by the fact that I hadn't slept much. Caffeine, I thought. I needed caffeine, and I pulled in a few doors down from the studio and parked in front of the coffee shop. No doubt Vivian would rather I had gone somewhere else for an iced tea on the off chance that London might see me! But in a rare turn, I told myself that I didn't care whether she might get angry or not. I actually wanted her to be angry with me.
Maybe, I thought, that was the first step in correcting my need for Vivian's approval. After all, Marge had been right about my reasons for racing to the studio earlier; even after yesterday's lunch, I'd still wanted Vivian's approval, not London's. If there was anything positive to come out of it, it was that I realized that Vivian was making it easier for me to not want her approval; why try when it simply wasn't possible? And if she happened to give it, I doubted whether that would change anything.
I pushed through the door, wondering if this was the first step in fixing this particular character flaw of mine when I heard my name being called out.
"Russ?"
I recognized the voice and spotted Emily waving from a table, a newspaper spread before her, a glass of tea on the table. With her luxurious hair curling in the heat and a casual, low-cut T-shirt tucked into faded jeans shorts and sandals, she was beautiful in an earthy, natural way. The sight of her made my irritation melt, and I realized that she was the very person I'd wanted to see, even if I hadn't been consciously aware of it. "Oh, hey Emily," I responded, unable to suppress a smile. Instead of getting in line, I found myself heading toward her table, almost on autopilot. "Long time, no see. How are you?"
"I'm good," she said with a genuine smile. "My schedule's been crazy for the past few weeks."
Mine, too, I thought. "What's been going on?"
"I had to finish some pieces for the gallery, but David's been in town, too. And that meant a whole lot of running around."
"You mentioned that he'd be around. How much longer is he staying?"
"It's his last weekend. He'll be flying back to Sydney on Tuesday."
As she spoke, I caught the glint of reflected light in her hazel eyes, triggering memories that seemed to make the years roll backward. I motioned toward the counter and the words were out before I could stop them. "Will you be here for a few minutes? I was thinking about getting some iced tea."
"I'll be here," she said. "The raspberry tea is fantastic."
I went to the counter and ordered; I took her advice and when it was ready, I brought my glass to the table. She'd just finished folding up the paper, making room, as I took a seat.
"Anything interesting in the paper?"
"A lot of bad stuff. It gets old. I wish there were more stories about good things."
"That's why they have the sports section."
"I suppose. But only if your team wins, right?"
"If they lose, I skip the sports section."
It wasn't particularly funny, but she laughed anyway. I liked that. "What's been going on with you?" she asked. "I haven't seen you in forever."
"I wouldn't even know where to start."
"Did you film those commercials like you wanted? For the lawyer?"
"I did. They're being finalized in the editing room now, and the first one will hopefully air in about two weeks. I'm filming another one for him next week. And I also signed a plastic surgeon as a client."
"Is he any good? In case I need his services?"
"I hope so," I said. "But you don't need any work done."
"Good answer," she said, "even if it's not true. And congratulations on the new account. I know you were worried and I'm glad it's working out for you."
"I'll need another few clients before I breathe a sigh of relief, but I do feel like I'm finally on the right track."
"And you've lost some weight, I notice."
"Fifteen pounds."
"Did you want to lose weight? Because I didn't think you needed to lose any in the first place."
I couldn't help comparing her response to Vivian's, when she'd mentioned my jowls.
"I'm still a few pounds from where I want to be. I've started running again, doing push-ups, all that good stuff."
"Good for you. I can tell it's working. You look great."
"You, too," I said. "So... what have you been up to? You said you had to finish some gallery pieces?"
"I've been working nonstop. For some reason, virtually all of my pieces at the gallery sold in just a few days last month. Different buyers, different states. I don't know why. Maybe it has something to do with the cycle of the moon or whatever, but the gallery owner called me and asked if I had more work to display. Long story short, I had a bunch of partially completed paintings, and I decided to try to finish them. I completed eight, but the others... they are going to take more time. I've spent a lot of time staring or repainting or adding different media... it's like they're trying to tell me what they should end, but for some reason, I'm just not able to hear all of them."
"They do wonderful things with hearing aids these days."
"Really," she said, feigning wonder. "I didn't know that. Maybe that's the answer."
"It's about as much help as I can offer. I'm not an artist."
She laughed. "How was London this morning? Bodhi couldn't wait to see her. I'd say he has a crush on her, but he's too young for something like that."
It would have been easy to lie and say something innocuous, but sitting across from Emily, I didn't want to.
"I don't actually know how she was. She was with Vivian this morning."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Vivian forgot to bring the vase she was supposed to paint. I had to bring it to her."
"Yeah," Emily nodded, "I heard about that project as soon as I got there. We weren't here last week, so I guess Bodhi will be making his vase today. He's in there with David right now and I guess they're kind of on their own."
"I suppose I should ask why you're here, then."
"I brought Bodhi. David met us here. He's been staying at one of those extended-stay hotels since he's been in town. Which is fine for him, but Bodhi doesn't sleep well at that place, so Bodhi's at my house every night. Which has meant a lot of back and forth since David's been in town. On the plus side, I've had plenty of time to work, since David's spending a lot of time with him. Trying to make as many memories as possible, I guess. Like today, they're going go-karting after they finish up here."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"Of course," she said, with less enthusiasm than I'd expected. "What David doesn't understand is that it's going to make it that much harder for Bodhi when he leaves again. Bodhi was finally getting used to him not being around and I'm going to have to help pick up the pieces."
"Did you tell him that?"
"How can I? Even though he wasn't a good match for me, he's actually a pretty loving dad. And he's also not a bad person. He made it possible for us to stay in the house and for Bodhi t
o be able to go to the right school. He was more than generous in our divorce settlement."
As she said the word divorce, I thought about the conversation Vivian and I had at lunch and I must have flinched.
"I'm sorry," Emily said quickly. "I really am doing my best not to talk about David. I don't know why his name seems to enter every conversation."
"It's not that," I said. I clutched my glass of iced tea with both hands. "Vivian left me."
Emily mouth widened into an O. "Oh my God," she finally breathed. "That's awful. I'm not sure what else to say."
"There's not much you can say."
"Are you sure you're not just taking some time apart? Like separation?"
"I don't think so. At lunch yesterday, she said we were getting divorced. And she wants us to sit down and talk to London tomorrow night."
"What happened? I mean, does it bother you if I ask? You don't have to answer, obviously."
"She's in love with her boss, Walter Spannerman. And she's now living in Atlanta."
"Oh, boy."
Now, there was an understatement. "Yeah."
"How are you doing?"
"Okay sometimes, not so well at other times."
She nodded, her expression soft. "I understand exactly what you mean. When did all this happen? And again, you don't have to tell me if you'd rather not."
I thought about it before taking a sip of my tea. Though I'd talked endlessly with Marge and Liz, I still felt the need to process it verbally. I'm not sure why, other than that people cope in different ways, and for me, I had to talk. Reprise. Question. Wonder. Whine. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. My sister had been more than patient with me since Vivian had left, but I felt bad that I'd needed her ear to the extent I had. Same with Liz. And yet, I still felt compelled to process; I felt an overwhelming desire to go through all of it once more.
"I'd like to tell you about it, but I'm not sure even where to start," I said. I stared out the window. Emily leaned across the table.
"What are you doing this afternoon?" she asked.
"No plans," I said.
"Do you want to go for a walk? Or at least get out of here?"
"A walk sounds great."
I followed Emily, even though I wasn't sure where she was going, other than it was in the general direction of her place. In time, she turned onto a private drive that led to a private country club, with a membership fee that was a bit out of my league. She pulled into a shady spot not far from the practice putting green, and I parked beside her.