Convince Me

by Nina Sadowsky

  We stayed there in the car in silence for a few moments longer. I felt deflated. Upset with myself for losing my temper. Uncertain about how to make it better. Afraid that one false move could send our fragile existence toppling.

  We went out for pizza, got through homework and the rest of the nightly routine.

  Later that night, I stood in the shadowy doorway of his room and stared at Justin as he slept, my darling boy, his face damaged by fists he’d sought. I cried.

  As the days and weeks went on, I worried, of course, but Justin never got in another fight. It became a joke between us, “Just say yes!” when either of us wanted the other to do something.

  It strikes me suddenly that I’m no longer tied to California. I moved out here to be close to Justin and Annie, with the hope of grandchildren down the line. This realization is freeing, and at the same time, frightening. Nothing and no one links me anywhere anymore.

  I scan the room for Annie. Will is whispering something in her ear. I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them got together after an “appropriate” period of time. My eyes narrow as Annie puts a hand on his shoulder. Are they together already?

  My sadness turns to a hard knot of rage. How dare they be alive when Justin is dead? How dare they think of a future beyond him? I realize my fists are clenched; my shoulders hunched almost to my ears.

  I roll my shoulders to release some of the tension. I know I’m being unkind. It’s just that I so desperately need to find some reason for my staggering loss that their very existence feels like an affront.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ANNIE

  I step away from Will and feel my legs wobble. I must have had at least three whiskeys. My cousin Lizzie, inky black hair pulled in a bun so high and tight it gives me a headache just looking at it, comes over and grips my forearms.

  “Anything you need!” she slurs at me. (I’m not the only one who’s been drinking.) “I mean it, Annie, you need anything at all, you just call me! Aunt Laura and Uncle Santiago are still delayed? Terrible!”

  Lizzie always makes me feel a little less than; not entirely her fault really, she’s just always so polished and perfect. She’s a high-level Hollywood publicist who frequently boasts she can get to anyone in the world in three phone calls. I don’t think she means to be smug, necessarily, but who feels the need to assert that claim repeatedly?

  Lizzie sways into me. Her breath is hot, both sweet and sour. “I will do anything you need, Annie,” Lizzie reassures earnestly. “I can reach anyone in the world in three phone calls you know, so just speak up!”

  Predictable.

  I turn my head away and see Carol staring from across the bar. She looks small and forlorn, a bit at sea among the crowd of mourners.

  When Justin told me he wanted me to meet his mother, my heart skipped a beat. I knew how close they were and how much her approval would matter if Justin and I were to progress to the next step.

  Justin suggested we take advantage of the upcoming Memorial Day weekend and extend for a few days beyond. He and Will were riding high with the company and Justin was confident leaving the helm for a little while. He planned a packed itinerary of dinners, theater outings, and sightseeing for the three of us.

  Once we were settled in for the flight from L.A. to New York, Justin took my hand and graced me with one of his magnificent smiles. “Excited?”

  “More like nervous,” I replied.

  “No need to be. She’s going to love you.” He gave my hand a squeeze.

  Once we’d taken off, Justin promptly went to sleep. I tried to nap as well, but I was buzzing with excitement and nerves. This was my first visit to New York City. I was in love. I was meeting the mother of the man I hoped to marry.

  I felt like I was on the precipice of my life. It was a little crazy; clearly I had a life before I met Justin. But with him as my partner I felt bold and brave and special. I truly believed that the two of us together could do anything. This visit had to be perfect.

  Talk about pressure.

  She was waiting for us as soon as we entered baggage claim at JFK. Small in stature, gigantic in energy, Carol hurled herself at Justin and wrapped her arms around his neck. He bent forward to embrace her in return, shooting a sweet, shy smile at me over her head. I fell in love just a little bit deeper then. That glance told me he wasn’t afraid to let me see his vulnerabilities and that his deep connection with his mother was one of them.

  After they unhinged, Carol pivoted toward me with arms outstretched. “Annie!” she exclaimed. “I feel like I know you already!” She enfolded me in a hug that was too long and too tight. My neck craned uncomfortably. When I tried to pull away, she only drew me closer.

  “Come on, Mom, let the woman breathe.” Justin laughed.

  Despite her warm welcome, and how delighted Carol appeared to be with every extravagant plan Justin triumphantly presented, I never quite found a rhythm with her that trip. There was nothing overt, she wasn’t ever rude or even cool to me, but rather unfailingly kind, inclusive, and perpetually chatty. I put it down to the normal protectiveness any mother would have about a son’s new girlfriend, magnified by the especially close bond these two shared.

  And anyway, Justin seemed oblivious to any tension, real or imagined. He kept telling us both how wonderful it was to have his “two best girls together at last.” He shared his attention between us in such a way that I always felt he was taking care of me, even when he was tending to Carol. On our last night, in a taxi on the way to meet his mother for dinner, Justin pronounced the trip a huge success.

  “She loves you as much as I do,” he asserted.

  That night we dined at one of New York’s iconic restaurants, the old-fashioned Gramercy Tavern. Justin ordered champagne. We all got a little giddy. I finally felt a bit looser around Carol. I saw the way she looked at Justin and I was certain my gaze when contemplating him must be much the same. We both loved him, that should be enough to connect us, right?

  I tottered off to the restroom between our salads and our entrées. The fizz of the champagne stoked my anticipation; I began to suspect that tonight was the night. I patted some cold water on my face and squared off against my reflection in the mirror. “Mrs. Justin Childs,” I whispered. “Annie Childs.”

  My lips twisted wryly. I’d never said those words out loud before. “Annie Childs” didn’t have the ring I’d expected. “Annie Elizabeth Childs,” I whispered at my reflection. Better. “Annie Hendrix Childs.” Good too.

  It may sound retro to some, how eager I was to give up my own name or at least add Justin’s to it. I have my father’s last name; how is that any less patriarchal? Besides, I knew I would feel nothing but pride being Justin’s wife; I felt that every day as his girlfriend. Why wouldn’t I want to announce my partnership with him to the world?

  Carol and Justin didn’t see me at first when I returned from the restroom. His head was bowed to hers, her lips moving furiously, her small hand gripped tightly around his wrist. This was a side of her I hadn’t seen during the course of this visit. The intensity, much like Justin’s. The ferociousness, all her own. She looked like she was lecturing him or warning him about something, although I was too far away to hear a word.

  Was she warning him away from me?

  Drawing to the side for a moment, I kept watch as Justin nodded somberly. Then he reached out and stroked his mother’s hair in a comforting gesture. The intimacy of the exchange made me squirm for some reason.

  Don’t be silly, I chastised myself. Too much champagne, too little solid food.

  I hustled back to our table and was seated just in time for our main courses. The arrival of the food, the offers of freshly ground pepper and another bottle of bubbly occupied all of our attention. The food was delicious; we all shared bites. Dessert was out of this world—a tower of chocolate in myriad formats: creams, mousses, bar
s, cakes, crumbles, cookies.

  With a good-natured giggle, Carol complained about how fat she’d gotten during the course of our visit. I was happy to tell her quite sincerely that she was speaking nonsense; she was gorgeous. She reached one hand to me and one to Justin.

  “Thank you for coming, children.”

  “Our pleasure, Mom,” Justin replied, beaming at us both.

  We sat there just a moment longer, Carol in the middle, companionably enveloped by the decadent comfort of an expensive and delicious meal. I decided I had misread the intensity of the moment I’d observed. She’d been nothing but lovely this whole visit.

  * * *

  —

  Excusing myself to Lizzie, I head in Carol’s direction. After all, the two of us are the most broken by Justin’s death; there’s a grotesque comfort in that. She pulls a plastic vial from her handbag and pops a pill, tucking the container back away as I approach.

  “Will did a nice job,” I offer, gesturing to the packed bar. Indeed, a merry group surrounds us, drinking and laughing and talking. A handful of people are gathered around the journal Will provided for reminiscences. There will be an opportunity for short speeches and then a buffet dinner of hamburgers, French fries, grilled cheese, and spaghetti and meatballs: comfort foods. Music and dancing to follow. It’s just what Justin would have wanted.

  “Yes,” Carol says. She grips my hand tightly in hers, so fiercely it hurts. I struggle against my impulse to wrench it away. “You’ll get through this,” she hisses at me, only making me more uncomfortable.

  I tug my hand free and enfold the smaller woman in an embrace as a way of avoiding the intensity of her gaze. She feels brittle, her bones as light as a bird’s. “You will too,” I reassure kindly.

  I feel a poignant sense of wonder about my mother-in-law. Having lost her nuclear family, her husband, and now both of her sons, how is she still even upright?

  For that matter, is she still my mother-in-law? I don’t have a road map for this.

  With a rush of empathy, I blurt out, “I can’t imagine the losses you’ve experienced, Carol. You’re really an inspiration. First your family when you were just a kid, then your husband, then Tommy, now Justin…” A sob catches in my throat and she pulls her body away from my embrace.

  “Tommy?” she asks with an odd glint in her eye.

  “I’m sorry,” I stutter, suddenly remembering that Justin hated talking about his brother who died, and had warned me multiple times his mother could barely stand to hear the sound of his name. Carol never spoke about her younger son. Fuck. “Never mind, I don’t know what I’m saying. Let’s get you a drink, I can’t believe you’re empty-handed.”

  I steer Carol over to the bar and procure a glass of white wine for her. When a friend from work comes to offer condolences, I’m grateful for the opportunity to turn away and then drift deeper into the crowd. As I accept hugs and tears and promises of dinners soon, a chill burrows deep into my heart and soul.

  If Carol could deny the existence of one son, would she deny the existence of the other? Would Justin also become too difficult to talk about and so never mentioned or named? Would that happen to me? Would I start to avoid mentioning Justin until he was erased?

  The whiskey in my stomach sours.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WILL

  When Justin left L.A. and went back to New York just before our finals because of his brother’s death, he assured me he’d be back the next semester. He didn’t show.

  I reached out to him several times, but he didn’t reply. I was sucked into the grind of studying, and the circle of people around me.

  I graduated. Took a job with a company specializing in tech development investments. I was making bank again and enjoying life, but living modestly. I had a plan. I was gathering experience and laying a financial safety net. I knew eventually I wanted to be my own man, have my own company, and my antennae were up for the next opportunity.

  When April Riley, our receptionist, knocked on the glass door of the conference room one sunny afternoon, it was clear she was in the grip of something. A high flush colored her cheeks; a bounce marked her steps. She opened the door and a giggle floated into the space.

  The five of us in the room turned as one and looked at her expectantly. Our office was open plan; if we were sequestered in the one glass booth we had, there was a reason. We all had cellphones. There was a landline on the conference room table. Why was April in here giggling?

  “Will,” she managed. “I was asked to deliver a message in person. ‘Just say yes.’ ” With that, April blushed.

  Justin Childs was waiting in reception, back from the dead.

  “Brother!” he cried upon seeing me. “I owe you a massive apology.”

  Apologize he did. And explain, over a long evening that involved many martinis, blood-red steaks, and after dinner brandies.

  Justin had gone home after his brother’s suicide to discover his mother’s affairs were in worse shape than he had realized. His brother had duped her into signing over power of attorney and had burned through most of her savings before he died. He’d even taken out a second mortgage on her home. There was no way Justin could leave her alone and come back to L.A.

  I understood. I thought it was selfless and brave and I told him so. But I also asked why he had disappeared on me.

  Justin dropped his head into his palm. “Yeah, that’s really on me, man. Truth? After…after I left, I was ashamed, you know, that my brother was so weak. I wondered what you’d think of me.”

  “Hey!” I interjected. “I wouldn’t judge you like that. His actions were his, not yours. And addiction’s an illness we’ve all been touched by.”

  He raised his eyes to meet mine. “I am sorry. I had a lot to learn about addiction and suicide. What I mean is, I had a lot of shame around what happened. It took me a while to figure out it wasn’t my shame to carry.”

  We clinked our brandy glasses together. “To no shame,” I toasted. “Glad to see you, bro.” And I was.

  Within a couple of weeks, it was like he had never left. We hung out together all the time. I discovered Justin was once again enviably in the know, bringing me along to parties populated by models or dinners with titans of industry. He seemed to know everyone and everyone seemed to like him. I genuinely did too, so it wasn’t a surprise. Some people just have that kind of radiance. Justin came back from the dead and infused new life into mine.

  This new life crystalized one magic night. This was back in the days before Justin and I launched Convincer, and after the most unlikely of events: a company outing consisting of paintball warfare designed to build office camaraderie.

  After hours of running around in the heat getting shot at, I was frustrated and irritable. A squib landed squarely in my abdomen and exploded yellow paint. I feigned a dramatic collapse to the ground. “Tell Betty I love her,” I gasped out, playing along but secretly relieved to be “dead.” Enough of this shit.

  Justin dropped to my side. “Noooooo!” he howled. “Not the cap!” He fired off a series of rounds. Rainbows of paint spattered in every direction as boiler-suit-clad players fired back.

  Justin shouldn’t even have been a part of this ridiculous exercise, but for my boss’s spontaneous offer at a bar where we had all found one another earlier that week. I didn’t really think much about it; after all, his ability to solicit this kind of invitation was part of Justin’s magic. Part of the reason I relished being in his orbit.

  I can’t say if shooting paintballs at colleagues resulted in increased trust or morale for others. For me, it brought a shocking number of bruises, as well as the disturbing recognition of a cutthroat competitiveness among my coworkers.

  We were all supposed to meet up for dinner after breaking for showers and a change. I was sore and irritable and wanted to go home, but I knew that wouldn’t be v
iewed well by my boss, an overly enthusiastic type named Len. I thought of some of the assholes I worked with and how they had revealed their natures out on that dusty field earlier in the day. Suddenly, I was sick of the whole thing. The corporate culture, even one with open-plan office, cappuccino bar, and “fun” team-building exercises, felt like a yoke.

  By the time I arrived at the Brazilian steakhouse for dinner, I was in a foul temper. I hovered outside and lit a cigarette, the first I’d had in months. The acrid smoke curled into my palate with a familiar glorious rush of satisfaction tainted by shame.

  “I know you got killed today. But that doesn’t mean you literally have to kill yourself.” Justin plucked the cigarette from my fingers. “Okay?” he asked and then ground out the butt on the cement without waiting for my response.

  I knew how he hated smoking, one of his brother Tommy’s many self-destructive vices, so I didn’t protest.

  “What’s up, man?” Justin inquired. “Are you mad I crashed your party?” He looked genuinely anxious that he might have offended me.

  “God no, J. You’re completely welcome. In fact, you’re welcome to it.”

  “Do I sense an existential crisis coming on?” Justin’s tone was serious but his eyes were merry.

  “You know my plan,” I replied. “Right now I’m just struggling with the patience it requires.”

  “You do work with a ton of jerks.”

  A burst of laughter escaped me. “You picked up on that way faster than I did.”

  Justin shrugged. “I had no skin in the game.”

  We stood there in a companionable silence, watching cars rush past on the avenue in front of us. The traffic lights cycled through one round and then another.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Justin finally said.

  “Len won’t be happy with me,” I protested half-heartedly.

  Justin fixed me with a knowing stare. “You don’t give a fuck what Len thinks. Besides, I have a proposition for you. Maybe the path to being your own boss is shorter than you think.”