by Hope Lyda
“It’s a meeting to introduce Blaine. That’s all.”
Marsha patted me on the shoulder and then looked past me to Rachel and shook her head. “It’s a shame. Just when Rachel was starting to become friendlier.”
Ken Dunson stood at the head of the oval table. He held the Reed and Dunson snack bowl and ceremoniously passed it to the first person seated to his right. This was a tradition the employees appreciated. As the vessel made its way around, bags of chips and cookies and gummy creatures were selected.
When most people had their preference, Ken cleared his throat. “I’m headed to the airport in a few minutes, but I wanted to be here to introduce our newest Reed and Dunson member. He is new to us, but Blaine Slater is not new to the public relations industry. For more than ten years, Blaine has earned a reputation for clever campaigns, lasting relationships with clients, and intuitive, successful decisions in an ever-changing market. We are lucky to have him, and in Cecilia’s absence, I’m pleased to welcome Blaine Slater to the head of this table today.”
Everyone clapped, but Marsha kicked me under the table and winked. It reminded me of her response to Angus, and I cringed yet again. It must have reminded her of the same thing because she jotted a note down on the back of her steno pad and held it up: If I were you, I wouldn’t keep a hot boyfriend like your rocker a secret!
I slapped the pad down onto the table with a loud whack. All eyes were turned our direction, and Blaine stopped his introductory speech to address the commotion—us. “Oh no, I’ve inspired note passing already! I’m in trouble.”
Everyone laughed. I felt bad for disturbing Blaine, especially since he had confessed to being nervous. “I’m sorry,” I said directly to him. He nodded graciously and continued. I was so embarrassed that I stared straight ahead the entire time and barely took in a word. I did notice how well the group was responding to him. They laughed. Nodded. Clapped. And seemed totally engaged. When Cecilia addressed the team, she would start talking about last night’s date or the fabulous oatmeal-and-mango massage therapy treatment she tried. Nobody paid attention. People actually read and wrote emails on their BlackBerries. Once, a woman even used the intercom phone in the center of the conference table to order a spinach salad and rye sandwich for lunch.
Blaine concluded the meeting with praise for everyone on the staff, and he promised to learn his way around Reed and Dunson and become useful as soon as possible. The group loved that. More clapping. On the way out I kept my eyes trained on Rachel. I didn’t want to talk to or look at Marsha.
But unfortunately, I had to hear her. “I’m sooo sorry, Mr. Slater. That was bad of me and Libby. It had nothing to do with you, I swear.” Her big, flirty laugh made my jaw go tight.
“As long as you weren’t rating my speaking skills, I will forgive you and Libby.”
I held my breath at the mention of my name by Blaine. I’d never find my day in the sun—my chance for promotion and my dream trip to Italy—if I was labeled a troublemaker. I turned to apologize again, and instead watched with horror as Marsha turned the steno pad around to show Blaine.
“You see. It wasn’t about you at all. Libby has a delicious, leather-wearing, rocker boyfriend she has been keeping to herself. That’s all.”
Blaine appeared to skim the note. “You are forgiven then,” he said flatly, with a forced smile. I tried to catch his attention—to say what, I don’t know—but he was already shaking hands with Brad Wendell, the account executive for Salt Lick Potato Chips.
The hallways were cleared by 6:00. Only the diehard workaholics who had offices and decent pay stayed any later on a Friday night. The glow from Blaine’s desk lamp was the sole illumination in the hallway as I paced back and forth. Unable to make a decision about what I would say to him other than one more round of apologies, I grabbed my purse that was draped over the back of my chair and started to walk in the direction opposite his office.
“Libby?”
I froze.
Blaine’s voice became louder as he approached my back. I turned quickly, getting my dangling purse strap tangled in my legs. “Hey,” I said cheerily, stepping sharply to the side to regain my balance.
“I thought everyone was gone by now.”
“I’m sorry about the meeting. Marsha’s note just triggered a reaction. A wrong, bad, unprofessional reaction…” I berated myself and was prepared to keep going until Blaine held up his hand to stop me.
“It actually broke the tension. I should thank you.” Blaine’s tan and manicured hand cupped his chin, as if he needed help to hold his head up. It was an endearing gesture. Too endearing. I looked away.
He continued with a slightly slower cadence. “Honestly, I’m the one to apologize. Here I was asking you about going to church together and you are dating. How awkward for you. Not that our church thing would be a date-date, but you don’t want to have me tag along with you and your boyfriend. I didn’t think…I mean, of course you’d be dating…but the way you said that you hadn’t found the right guy before, I just assumed…”
It was my turn to hold up my hand and stop him. “I’m not dating anyone. I did date the quote-unquote hot rocker, but that was a very short phase and it ended recently. I came to my senses, thank goodness.”
Blaine tried to hide a smile behind a momentarily raised folder, but I saw a glimpse of his white teeth before he said, “So you said no to the church thing because…well, you just didn’t want to.”
And hello…you’re married.
“The truth? I’ve been trying to get back into the church scene after quite a few years away from it. I didn’t want to add to my nervousness by combining the stress of hanging out with my boss and his family. Or I didn’t want the commitment of saving a pew for everyone and being a more conspicuous newcomer.”
He laughed. “If I go, I won’t require a whole pew. My family all lives in Chicago.”
“Until they move,” I said to finish his sentence.
“Nobody else is moving.”
I stared blankly at the man whose shirt matched his eyes.
Blaine leaned his head slightly to the right, looking as puzzled as I felt.
I interrupted the silence. “Are we talking about that family?” I pointed to the photograph featuring Blaine with the toothpaste model and the child I scared.
“Yes. My sister and Adam live in Chicago. They’re not relocating. I’m just hoping Adam will spend some summers with me in the future.”
“Sister? You’re not…”
Blaine’s puzzled look returned and then his eyes grew wide with understanding. “No. No. Regina is my sister and Adam’s my nephew, though I think of him as my son.”
“That’s great,” I said softly.
“Do you have any siblings?” Blaine asked.
In fact, I think he repeated the question, and I don’t recall responding that time, either.
I couldn’t tell you how I made it out of the building with my purse and my composure. I’m not really sure how I managed to get on the number 15 bus, let alone get off at the Mercer Street stop. I’m not sure how I walked the several blocks to my building and hiked up the worn carpeted stairs to my apartment. I don’t recall any of this. I do know that I was really, really happy Blaine had a sister.
Sixteen
Some women dress for men. Some women dress for other women. I, however, dress for my parents. After much consideration and checkbook analysis, I purchased a new happy-birthday-to-me outfit to wear to my birthday party at Cass’s house. A long suede skirt with cute fringe at the bottom and a cream-colored blouse with beading at the cuffs. Deep brown, high-heeled, sophisticated boots finished off the look. It was the new me. The me trying to become something else. I wasn’t sure what the look was exactly, but I thought it would at least reflect that effort had been made.
I had not seen my folks in several months. In a single woman’s life, that is the equivalent of oh, say, five years. You could have the “I’m not dating” conversation with a parent on Sat
urday and then have your ring finger scrutinized by them the following Wednesday just in case your status had changed. Just in case you had forgotten to mention bumping into the one while waiting for your single serving of pasta at the local romantic restaurant.
Since mother knew Angus was no longer in the picture, I would receive the usual interrogation. Had I been making myself available? Was I giving the wrong message to academic-oriented men by hanging out with my circle of arty friends? Could it be I had made the choice to be single and wasn’t woman enough to own up to it? (Because they would support me should I make that choice.)
But I had a decoy up my stylish sleeve for this encounter. I have been demoted, deported to a cubicle, and de-vacationed. Surely these disasters would satiate my problem-solving parents. And the fact that my recent failings could probably equal the number of candles on my berry cobbler made this an even more ideal case study in Pathetic Living 101.
Nate had originally offered to pick me up, but Cass called last-minute to request that I take a cab to and from my own party. “No problem,” I had said stoically. That actually meant I would have more freedom to plot my departure time.
I sidled out of the backseat of the Yellow Cab and thanked Harley the driver. He wished me happy birthday and sped off, leaving me standing at the foot of a very pristine hill, known in these neighborhoods as a mere lawn. I don’t think I’d ever feel at home in these mini-mansions. There was something so disturbing about the giant, angled roofs and disproportionate gables. It was like a huge scary pop-up book with tales of suburban royalty and knights of conference room tables.
There wasn’t anything more depressing than being envious of a life you didn’t even want.
I rang the doorbell and noticed a new hangnail. I quickly pulled back my hand and placed it at my side. It would remain in hiding for the next three hours.
Cass opened the door and hugged me tightly.
I patted her head and wondered when we started being a family that touched?
From over her shoulder, I purveyed the posh living room, which had received another recent, expensive makeover. Some new pieces of framed art to the right of the fireplace featured meadows of what appeared to be metal sunflowers. Weren’t real sunflowers a prettier image? Was this some sort of statement about industry and nature coexisting? My mind went deeper into minutia and the hug continued.
“Hey, your place looks great,” I mumbled and awkwardly stepped back into my personal space.
“Really? You like it? I’m going for something different to reflect another side of me.” She said this with a look that pleaded for validation.
I responded as a good guest. “It’s beautiful. And it’s totally you. Now I see it.” I said this jokingly, but she took it as sincere and I left it at that. Five minutes here and I was already out of sync.
“Goodness, are the Dixie Chicks in town?” Mom asked, motioning up and down to showcase my outfit as she approached me for a quick hug.
“You look wonderful, Libby,” Dad said, but only after chuckling over Mom’s comment.
Mom did a twirl about the entryway to show me her travel-friendly, flowy, wild-colored print skirt. It was everything my outfit wasn’t, and that was all the statement she wanted to make. She ushered us all into the living room with the clap of her hands above her head, like the dancing waitresses at the Greek restaurant on Ariel’s block.
I turned to roll my eyes at Cass, but she was staring off into space. No fair. She could go to her happy place, and I was still present with the Simon Cowell of mothers.
“Hey! Where are the nieces I love to pieces!” I said this loudly enough to bring the girls out from their rooms.
“Nate has them,” Cass said slowly, as though she had been sucking on ice for too long.
I waited for more information, but none followed. I looked around at everyone’s diverted glances. Mom sat down in an overstuffed green chair and slapped the arms with her large, ring-covered hands. “We might as well have the conversation now, Cass.”
I watched my sister bow her head down. Her hair fell forward and she left it there, defeated.
“What…?”
Ever so quietly Cass spoke her secret to me. “They are with Nate…” Her silence took the last bit of breath from my lungs. “At his apartment.”
Whatever blanching is…I did it. Right there on the new crimson carpet. “What do you mean, Cass?” I reached for her hand instinctively. Moments before I had tried to let go of her, and now I wanted to pull her over to my lap and hold her like a child. My mind scanned the many recent messages from her scrawled down by Philip on pink and yellow memo sheets. Sometimes she was asking to get together for lunch. Sometimes for a shopping day. I swallowed hard when I thought of a most recent one that was merely “Want to get together and talk?” In my haste to improve my life, I had not wanted to be around Cass and her utopia. I had forgotten that becoming a better person required being a better person.
“Uh…” Cass looked to my parents for emotional support. I ignored this extreme misjudgment and looked her in the eyes. She continued. “Nate moved out three months ago. We are…you know,” she laughed self-consciously, “we are separated. Oh my, such a cliché, isn’t it, Mother?” She turned to Mom, who was skimming the edges of a Dale Chihuly glass sculpture on the end table with her index finger. The high-pitched squeal that resulted from this action was Mom’s controlling way to interrupt without speaking. It might as well have been a gong.
We all stared at her. Me out of frustration and annoyance, Dad out of pure curiosity, and Cass out of hunger for answers to her big life questions.
After what seemed like an entire concert performance, Mom nodded as if giving permission. For what, though? For Cass to share her pain or her problems?
“Cass. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…” Admitting this last part was difficult. If I had only known, right? Isn’t that what we always say…freeing ourselves from ultimate responsibility. If only I had known…then what?
“Cobbler time!” Mom shifted the focus to dessert. I gave her a stony stare and asked Cass if she was okay.
“The hardest part is on the weekends when Nate has the girls. You know…I’ve never lived alone.”
“Living alone teaches independence,” Mother Superior chimed in on her way to the kitchen. Her perfume, a sort of musky scent of grass and lemons, wafted in her wake. My eyes watered.
“Mom. Really!” I used a tone I never dared before. But she was wrong to say such a thing. “Cass, you are an independent spirit. You always have been. You’ll be okay. Besides, you two are meant for each other. It will work out.” Not knowing the circumstances, that might have been a careless thing to say, but I meant it. I really did believe they were meant for each other. Maybe I had resented it just a tad in the past, but really I was more amazed by it. I held on to their example when I became too cynical about romance and dating and the quest for finding someone who loved me enough to sacrifice for me and who wanted to know why I liked to wear gym socks and skate around my apartment on Saturday afternoons, and why I chose relish as my only condiment for hot dogs at Seahawks games.
“I sure could go for something sweet and tasty.” Dad rubbed his stomach to remind us of Mom’s badly timed suggestion. Cass and I looked at one another with mirrored half-winces, half-smiles. Even in this difficult moment, the workings of my parents’ finely tuned coercion teamwork almost made us laugh. I placed my arm around her small shoulders as we walked to the dining room.
Normally I would have been ticked that no mention of my birthday had been made up to this point and on through the dishing out and eating of the cobbler. But I was now glad for the lack of attention. We all ate in silence. Each miniscule bite I placed in my mouth rested there for about three minutes before I could force it down. I would be toasting my birthday at the midnight hour with Pepto-Bismol. Oh, joy. And I couldn’t breathe well. At first I thought it was the tightness of my new skirt. But it was the uptightness of my old family patterns.
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br /> Cass was the one most willing to try conversation. She discussed what the girls were up to in school, what they thought of their teachers, and how much they had grown. “They think it’s fun to have a sleepover with their daddy at his play home. That’s what they call it…” she choked on the girls’ sweet interpretation of a family in trouble.
“How about we retire with our coffee to the lovely living room?” Dad suggested, rubbing his hands together to warm the moment.
I offered to clear the dishes and start the coffee, eager to get rid of this perfectly unsuitable treat for my birthday—Ariel wasn’t going to believe this fiasco. I let my mind wander to happier possibilities. I’ll bet she and Ferris are hard at work planning my party…where to buy the freshest lobster, what scent of candles to burn in the entry of Ariel’s apartment, where on earth they will find a screenplay of Out of Sight autographed by George Clooney, etc. That would be my real birthday celebration. It’d be my belated gathering, but it’d be the one worth waiting for.
I stared out the window above the sink as I slowly rinsed the Mikasa china plates. I could see the neon colors of little Libby’s sand pail and shovel half hidden by the purple hydrangea bush. What would happen to my precious nieces? All those times I didn’t return Cass’s call or accept her invitation to come over to watch a video, I was also saying no to those adorable munchkins. I had missed opportunities to be a good sister and a good aunt. Conviction set with my stomach about as well as the berries did.
I braced my elbows on the sink’s edge and rested for a moment, both hands remained beneath the rushing warm water. If I confessed my recent failings, it could take the pressure off Cass. Mom and Dad would spend the rest of the evening giving me ten steps to a new and improved professional me. On the other hand, it could sound as though I’m a totally insensitive whiner who is self-absorbed during her sister’s most difficult hour. I was never a good judge of such things. I have almost swallowed my size seven foot many a time among family and friends.
