He raised his eyebrows. “See what I’m saying? I think you need to put some more thought into why you would be doing this. Not that you shouldn’t, but you know... If you want my two cents, which I’m sure you don’t, I think you’d look great. It would suit your very sassy personality. Hey, how about a back rub? You need to relax, you’re getting yourself all worked up over here.” He rolled her over, lifted her hair up, twisted it over her head and gave her a massage. It was much better than the one she had at the Ritz.
* * *
The next morning, he made French toast and bacon before driving her to work, arranging the strawberries into a smiley face.
“Nice, French toast on Monday morning. I usually just eat something at my desk. I love the strawberry face.”
“Most of your strawberries were going bad. I had to chuck them.”
“Guess I should have emptied the fridge before I left.”
“Well, I salvaged a few, and stale bread makes better French toast.”
It was a much nicer commute than taking the subway to the train. They played a game her parents taught her when she was young. The object was to find a word that began with each letter in the alphabet, in order, the first person to get to Z winning the game. He had been stuck on Q for quite some time because she saw the Quality Inn first.
“This is harder for the driver. I have to keep my eyes on the road.”
“Pizza. I win!”
“Pizza does not start with Z.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. X and Z are exceptions. They can be anywhere in the word, not just the beginning. I got lucky with that Nissan Xterra.”
“You’re making stuff up. This game is rigged. Why isn’t Q an exception too? I saw that LaQuinta Inn and you wouldn't give it to me.”
“Sore loser.” Not ready for eight hours in her cubicle, she stayed in the car, kissing him.
“Hey, you better go. You’re gonna be late.” He kissed her again.
“Okay. Thanks for the ride.” She blew him a kiss.
* * *
Passing through the rows of cubicles, it was eerily quiet for a room full of people. Everyone was busy at their desks, eyes glued to their computer screens, the sound of keyboards clicking and clacking, a symphony of new age office musak lulling everyone into submission.
After settling at her desk, she opened her email to find a message from Melody, another young girl in her department. They weren’t friends outside the office but they chatted quite often. Melody also wanted to be a writer when she graduated from college, so they commiserated about their boring job and their frustration with where they ended up in life. She felt bad for Melody, with her eight hundred dollar a month school loan payment. Eight hundred dollars, and she didn’t even go to Harvard. It would have to be a school like Harvard to justify that kind of loan, she thought. Didn’t Melody's parents sit her down and have the come to Jesus meeting, as her Dad called it? Poor Melody, trapped for at least twenty years paying off that thing.
Coffee in the cafe? I have to tell you something that happened while you were on vacation.
OK, how about ten fifteen?
Sounds good.
At the designated time, she got up and walked over to Melody’s cubicle. In the employee cafeteria, they helped themselves to the free coffee and took a seat in the far back corner by the window. Dreary and gray outside, there would be no glimpse of sunlight that day.
“So Melody, what’s up? What happened while I was gone? It feels weird in here, some strange kind of tension.”
Melody whispered very softly, as if they worked at the CIA and she was revealing top-secret information. “You know Joan, the woman two cubes over from you?”
“Yeah, she’s really nice. She always shows me pictures of her grandkids.” She caught a glimpse of Sophie and Dan by the bagels and toasters.
“She’s gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone? She’s been here for fifteen years.”
“Sixteen. Our new boss, Lou, decided she wasn’t working fast enough and meeting quota. He gave her an evaluation three months ago and she didn’t meet his goals, so on Wednesday he set a meeting with her at five ten, after everyone left and he fired her.”
“What? How can he do that?”
“He just can. It’s called an employee at will. She called Mandy at home later that night and told her all about it. She went in his office and recognized one of the girls from HR, never a good sign. He had a list of his complaints against her, a review of her work, so to speak. They went over COBRA and unemployment, which apparently she will be able to collect.”
“Oh, gee, that’s nice of them. She’s been here sixteen years. Suddenly she’s too slow?” She looked incredulous.
“They walked her to her desk, had her take her personal belongings, like the pictures of the grandkids, took her door pass away from her, and escorted her out of the building.”
“Oh. My. God. Done?” She waved her hand like her boyfriend’s blackjack move. “Just like that?”
“Do not tell anyone I told you. Lou may call you in and tell you himself or maybe not. He told us she left due to personal reasons, but everyone knows the real story. I mean she’s got friends. She’s been here sixteen years. Did he think she wouldn’t talk? Needless to say, morale is really low right now and everyone’s scared. No one knows if someone else is next and who it will be. So we better get back to our desks, our fifteen minute break is almost up.”
Back in her cubicle she wasn’t scared, she was mad. She Googled employee at will and discovered it was a part of American law that stated either party could break the relationship “for good cause, or bad cause, or no cause at all", as long as the company didn't recognize a collective bargaining group or union.
She thought to herself, “Wow. No cause at all.” She became concerned about sixty year old Joan. Where would she find a job now? And what would she do for health insurance? At sixty, she definitely needed it. She thought COBRA might be expensive. She knew from hearing her parents' talk, that Medicare wouldn’t cover them until they were sixty-seven or something like that. How could a sixty year old woman who just got fired, find a job in this economy? She wished it had been her instead of Joan. At least she was young and could bounce back.
* * *
The following weekend, an unseasonably warm breeze was in the air. She and her boyfriend walked across Boston Common, joking about global warming and the people who didn’t believe it was happening. She told him about Joan getting fired and asked him a lot of questions about the IBEW. “Maybe I should start a union at work.”
“Ah honey, that’s not gonna work, unions are a dying breed. A lot of big construction jobs won’t even hire union workers anymore. You’ll just get fired. Companies like yours don’t have unions and most people won’t be interested in fighting along with you.”
“Baaa, they’re all sheep. Just wait until they sit on the same side of the desk as Joan, your boss and someone from HR on the other side, no one defending your rights. Anyone who thinks HR is on the side of the employee is crazy. Yeah, they’ll get you an ergonomic chair if you need one, but they won’t go to bat for you when you’re getting fired for no cause at all.”
“You don’t have to tell me. People fought for unions for years, coal miners and railroad workers, but ever since Reagan busted the air traffic controllers in the eighties, it’s been down hill ever since. Unions are seen as the bad guys. You should hear my Uncle Dave on this subject. He’s a union steward and it pisses him off.”
“I should have gotten fired. I’m not that good at my job, and she probably needs her job more than me.”
He laughed softly. “Ha, You’ve only been there a little over a year. You’re probably making less money than her for the same work. It's cheaper to keep you on. It’s all about profits and the bottom line. What you need to do is get out of this job and start writing. You’re not paying rent right now, right?”
“No, but I have a school loan.” She sighed. “I didn’
t even get a raise at my annual review. Raise freeze they called it, although the company’s growing and making profits. Someone’s getting a raise. I just don’t know. I’ll stay until the lease is up. I’m saving money now, without the rent.”
“You can pay your loan waitressing part time, can’t you?” They were coming out of the Common onto Tremont Street near the Park Street station. He pointed down the street. “Hey, have you ever been in that graveyard near the Park Street church?”
“No. Isn’t Sam Adams buried there?”
“Yeah, he is and John Hancock, too. But guess who else? I’ll give you one hint. The person has nothing to do with the Revolutionary War. She was a writer.”
“Okay, let me think.” She stopped on the sidewalk outside the gate to the cemetery, tapping her chin with her pointer finger. “It can’t be our friend Emily Dickinson, because she must be in Amherst.”
“No, it’s not Emily.”
“Louisa May Alcott?”
“Who’s she?”
“Little Women? My sisters and I loved that book. You know, the four sisters?”
“I didn’t read that one.”
She laughed. “I’ll let that go, it’s okay... I’m not gonna get this. Who is it?”
“Mother Goose.”
“No way. Get outta here. She’s not real.”
“Oh, yes she is. She was married to Mr. Goose and took care of his ten kids then had ten kids of her own.”
“Are you pulling my leg? Seriously?”
He opened the gate. “Come on in. I’ll show you.”
As they walked around, looking at the gravestones, she shook her head. “What do you think some of these guys would think about America today?”
“Face it, this country’s a mess, but it’s like your crazy thing with this Olivia chick. You can’t really change people’s minds. Most people have their minds made up. Focus on what you can achieve, like leaving your job and writing. That’s something you can control.”
“Humbug. Do you think Sam Adams and Thomas Jefferson thought that?”
“I think you’re a starry eyed romantic with unrealistic ideas about other people, but that’s one of the things I love about you. You’re idealism and conviction. That and a million other things.” He stepped in front of her, cupped her face and leaned over to kiss her.
* * *
The rest of March and April flew by in a happy haze. They spent weekends together either in Boston or Newburyport. He did most of the cooking at both places, although he was teaching her some recipes. “I can’t believe you don’t even know how to make scrambled eggs. What do you eat when I’m not around?”
“Cereal, cheese and crackers, salad. I told you my mother never let us cook. It was all about keeping the kitchen clean, not actually cooking in the kitchen. My mother was a decorator building her nest. She didn’t like to cook. Besides you’re so good at cooking.”
“Oh okay, butter me up and get out of doing the cooking. In that case, you’re on permanent KP duty. You must know how to keep the kitchen clean, right?”
They did lots of things with his friends and sometimes hers, such as attending concerts and shows at small music clubs. They stayed at her place the nights they were in the city, although he was uncomfortable with the fact she had lived there with Nick and some of his things were still around. He preferred Newburyport on weekends, she didn't mind. Once she called in sick to take a three-day weekend at his friend’s place in Waterville Valley for some spring skiing. Although she didn’t beat him down the mountain at Cannon, they were pretty evenly matched on the slopes. Other weekends they took long hikes around the area, cross country skied at a beautiful state park on the Merrimack River not far from his house, or visited small towns across the border in New Hampshire and Maine. Sometimes they were just happy staying home, eating the delicious meals he cooked and watching movies. She soon found out he really preferred movies like The Godfather, Good Fellas and Pulp Fiction, but if she really wanted to watch a chick flick or classic film, he was easy going enough to oblige. Most of the time he stayed awake until the end. For her part, she did keep the kitchen clean and was back to writing the story based on her time in Portland, now set in Burlington. He was very good with constructive criticism and positive reinforcement.
On a Wednesday in late April, he was working near her office and invited her to lunch. They picnicked in the park. Sounding awful, her head all stuffed up and fighting a cold, he said, “Tell your boss you need to go home. Take the afternoon off and go to bed."
“I only have two sick days for the rest of the year, which I want to use for long weekends this summer. Besides, I’m already here.”
He called later that night, around seven. Groggy and feverish, she couldn’t remember what she said to him. At eight fifteen, her doorbell rang, buzzing three times before she got up to answer it. Dragging herself to the intercom, she pressed the button and rasped, “Ya?” She barely got the word out before she started coughing and hacking.
“It’s me. Let me in, it’s pouring out here.”
“Who?”
“The doctor. Come on, are you okay? Buzz me in.” When he got upstairs his hair was dripping wet from the rain and he was soaked. He was carrying a few grocery bags. She was standing in the living room in an old college T-shirt and undies, shivering.
“Okay, come on.” He put the bags down on the coffee table and got her to her room, where he found a bathrobe and some cotton p-j pants, helped her into them and put her back to bed. “What are you taking for this?”
“I took the last cold pill early this morning before I went to work. I was going to get more stuff on my way home but didn't have the energy and it started to rain. I barely made it here.” She closed her eyes.
“Okay, I’ve got a bag full of stuff.” He came back with cough medicine and a glass of water, gave her two pills and put his hand on her forehead. “You’re really hot. Do you have a thermometer?”
“No.”
“Shoot, I knew I should have got one. Well, let’s see if this stuff works.”
She didn’t remember falling back to sleep. Around midnight she woke feeling slightly better, but weak and thirsty. The TV was on. He was dozing in front of the Celtics game, which was in double overtime. He stirred and opened his eyes. “Hey, you’re up. I just checked on you a half hour ago and you were sound asleep. How are you feeling?”
Coughing, she said, “A little better. I'm thirsty.”
“You don’t sound better. Do you want some ginger ale or something? Sit down, I’ll get you some.”
“I’m kind of hungry, too.”
He made her chicken noodle soup with saltines, which he also brought with him in his grocery bags. “This is what my mom always made me when I was sick.” Then he put her back to bed, climbing in next to her. “You’re going to get sick too,” she whispered.
“I’ll be okay.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re a lot cooler, I think your fever broke.”
The next morning he insisted she take a sick day. He had to leave for work, but checked on her throughout the day and came back later that evening. He never did catch her cold.
By May, their relationship had become very comfortable, but not comfortable in a boring way at all. Not in the least. She still got excited every time he picked her up at the train station in Newburyport, or pulled up to her apartment in Boston. The sex was amazing and they still had a hat trick at least once a week. They had yet to have an argument that escalated into a fight. It was a little scary to think about. How could that possibly be?
Katie moved in with her in May. Nick thought it was a good idea when she asked if it was okay. Finished with graduate school, she was starting a summer internship at the state house in Boston. Meanwhile, she would be looking for a permanent job in healthcare public policy work, which would most likely bring her to D.C. Nick’s lease would be up by then, so maybe they could both move to D.C.?
“You aren’t going to leave your new boyfriend, are you? He sounds s
o nice,” Katie smiled.
“But he’s moving to L.A. in September.”
“I’m guessing he’s going to ask you to come with him. If he does, will you go?”
“I don’t know. I’m just coming off a bad domestic partnership. Maybe I’m only good at beginnings. The day to day routine doesn’t seem to work for me.”
“I don’t think that’s true. Nick just wasn’t the one. This guy could definitely be the one. You won’t know until you try. When do I get to meet him?” They were boxing up some of Nick’s clothes that he left behind and getting ready to ship them to Dallas. Katie was taking Nick’s room, because she had settled into the guest room.
“He’s picking me up at the bus station after the wedding Memorial Day weekend. Are you here that weekend?”
“I’ll make sure I’m back on Monday. I’m dying to meet him. Hey, what are you going to do with your furniture in September?”
“Well, my sister Monica is getting married in late June so she’s going to take my parents stuff, unless I find a place to live around here.”
“Oh, that’s right, the summer weddings. I forgot there were two.”
“I didn’t, although my sister’s isn’t costing me nearly as much. I was back in New York for that bridal shower last weekend. Another bus ticket, a gift for the bride, and I had to pitch in for favors and food. This wedding is costing me a fortune.”
“Memorial Day is in two weeks, right? How is that gonna go?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been talking to Nan. She’s actually gained five pounds, and I told you about that promise.”
“Well, you don’t have to do it.”
“I don’t want Nan to be the only outcast bridesmaid. Olivia will probably have her standing behind everyone just to hide her. It’s the principal of the thing. She can’t be a total bossy bitch just because she’s getting married. I mean we’re all spending a ton of money to be in her stupid wedding, and she’s telling us to lose weight and how to wear our hair? Honestly? Besides, Nan is nice. She doesn’t deserve this. This is not what weddings are supposed to be about, right?”
The Reverse Commute Page 19
