I Liked My Life

by Abby Fabiaschi

  When she finishes we’re all excused to the parking lot, except me. “Eve?” Robin says, tapping my shoulder.

  “Yes, nice to meet you,” I say, extending a hand.

  “Hopefully you still feel that way in a minute. I need a favor.” She looks down at her clipboard for moral support. I wonder what the top piece of paper actually says. “One of the counselors had to back out unexpectedly. I’ve been freaking out all morning, but when I saw you it was like a divine intervention. Use Eve. That’s what my heart told me. I’d be so grateful if you’d step up and man the craft station.”

  I look at the rest of the involuntary volunteers and see why I’ve been singled out for the unpaid promotion. “Why not,” I agree. I have to be here either way.

  “Thank God. Well … I guess thank you is more accurate. It’s pretty basic.” She shuffles through a stack of papers and hands me a catalog of choices. “Pick a craft, any craft. Get supplies from the storage shed first thing in the morning and instruct each group on the project as they come through.”

  “Got it,” I say. With all the aides present, it shouldn’t be a biggie. I walk to the shed and grab a bunch of Popsicle sticks and glue to make picture frames. When I return to the art station campers are arriving.

  It’s instantly clear there aren’t enough aides. We’re not talking about learning issues here—these kids have no-joke disabilities. Even a dedicated person for every single child wouldn’t cover it. I do awkward things like stare a moment too long before wiping the drool off a boy’s face and struggle to find an appropriate way to move the older kids in wheelchairs over to the bench. Then there’s Hanna, a ten-year-old hooked up to a ventilator. I’m terrified to accidentally detach one of the tubes and go from an underage drinking violation to manslaughter.

  Each second feels like an hour. When the five-minute-warning bell rings, I arrange the frames in a row to dry and work with the three aides to line everyone up. I lift Hanna, noticing midair that the bench is wet. I look down to see her soaking shorts in time to avoid mushing her pee into my T-shirt. “Oh my God,” I shriek, knowing I sound like a spoiled brat. I hold the poor thing at arm’s length with no idea what to do. It’s not like I have a change of clothes. Hanna’s aide rushes over, aggravated by my reaction. This is session one of day one—the idea that I have to live through twenty-nine more is totally overwhelming.

  The second group includes Kathleen, who is blind. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I can’t exactly hand a blind girl a bottle of glue and say, “Make a rectangle.” Maybe I should bail at the end of the day. I mean, legally, can I switch jobs? There were a ton of options that fulfilled the hours, the simplest filling ice trays at the senior center. It’s not that I don’t want to help, I do, I feel terrible for these kids, but I’m afraid I’ll do more harm than good.

  Kathleen sits at the freshly cleaned picnic table in total silence. “How old are you?” I ask.

  “Twelve.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Framingham.”

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Yes.” But apparently no interest in telling me about them.…

  I take the hint and leave her alone. I’d be pissed too, stuck at a camp where my only choice was to sit there. When Robin stops over to check in, I quietly suggest Kathleen stay at a different station twice since she can’t really participate in art. Suddenly Kathleen is at my side, tugging my sleeve. How does she know where my arm is? “Excuse me, Miss Eve,” she interrupts, “but this is my favorite activity.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “But you aren’t able to do the project.”

  “I’m doing it with my imagination,” she says. “I love art.”

  I’m such a freaking idiot. This whole time I’ve been interrupting her with pointless questions.

  As the group files out of my station, I approach Kathleen. “I’m sorry about the confusion. Tomorrow I’ll be sure to give you some peace and quiet while you think.”

  Her face lifts. “It’s hard to know what to do with me sometimes. Thanks for apologizing. No one ever does that.”

  I smile. My mom would have. She was big into accountability. Who makes mistakes? she’d ask out of nowhere when I was a kid. Everyone! I’d shout, as she trained me to. And what do you do when you realize you’ve made a mistake? she’d ask, her voice getting louder. Acknowledge! Apologize! Address! I’d cheer.

  I get home and take a nap without stopping for lunch. I’m too exhausted to even sneak some of my mom’s journal. I’ll deserve a trip to Paris by the time these two weeks are up.

  I awake to a ringing phone and slobber on my pillow. Still groggy, I take a second to process that it’s John’s number. His thirty days in rehab are over. I’d be a giant ass to ignore this call.

  “Hey,” he says, pretending all is normal.

  “Hey back,” I play along.

  Silence. There’s no way to move the conversation forward without giving up the act. “We need to talk,” he says. “Can you pick me up?”

  “Sure.” Better to get the breakup over with before he hooks up with someone and causes drama. I head to his house in sweats and no makeup, knowing this isn’t a date that ends with a selfie.

  When John gets in the car I notice he’s lost weight and, for summer, is way pale. He’s still completely hot, but it’s like looking at a magazine photo; he doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

  “Was it horrible?” I ask.

  “Nah … it wasn’t that bad. It was crazy to hear how messed up some people get. The circle would come to me and I was like the loser. Compared to those crack heads I haven’t done shit.”

  “Sounds depressing.”

  He flings his chin my way. “Probably wasn’t as bad as things have been for you. You holding up?”

  I think of the night I just spent crying so hard I hyperventilated. “Yeah, I’m good.” I wish we weren’t in a car. It forces us to be so close.

  “Jake and Noel said they haven’t seen you around.”

  “Yeah, well, my dad’s needed me, and I have the community-service thing.”

  He puts a leg up on my dashboard. “I hope you can forgive me for the accident, Eve. I know it’s the last thing you needed.”

  The apology reminds me that he’s a good guy. I hadn’t been thinking he was a bad guy; I’d just stopped thinking about him altogether.

  “Oh my God, John. I’m the whole reason we dragged ourselves to your car. It’s my fault. I know your father blames me, like we were on some kind of death wish or something.”

  “My father blames a lot of people for a lot of things. I think it goes with being a judge.”

  “Well, I’m wicked sorry you got in so much trouble. Thank God no one got hurt.”

  “Yeah.”

  I know he has more to say because he flips his thumbs in circles without letting them touch, the way he did the first time he said he loved me. It’s crazy to compare how much I cared then with how little I care now.

  “Here’s the thing though, I know my dad said we couldn’t talk, but I was surprised you didn’t send a letter or anything.”

  I look down at my lap. “I’m sorry. I suck. There’s been a lot going on. Just constant shit.”

  “Stop apologizing. It’s fine anyway; I’m only wondering if we are, you know, fine.” His eyes are on me now, looking for clues.

  “Is that what you want?” My voice can’t hide my surprise.

  “Of course that’s what I want. I love you. I don’t see why a car accident should change anything.” He places a hand on my knee. I look at it. He loves me. Huh. I feel like I barely know him.

  “Honestly though,” I stall, “things were different before the accident.”

  “I know.” He squeezes my knee to show that doesn’t matter.

  “I’m a totally different person now.” Tears slide down my cheeks. “I think about everything more, you know? I question if I’m spending my time in, like, a meaningful way. No one really gets me righ
t now.”

  “Do you think I get you?”

  “Pfft. I don’t know. I think you want to. I think you’re the only one in our group who cares anymore.”

  “That’s not fair. Everyone cares.”

  “No they—”

  He puts a hand up. “In April, we didn’t know how to respond. I admit that. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. A lot of time. I never should’ve dragged you to Lindsey’s. Kara told me to skip it and she was right. That was shitty.”

  “Kara told you to skip it because she suddenly hates me. It’s like my mom’s death ruined her life.”

  “Forget Kara. She’s been a freak to everyone, not just you. But the rest of us care. We just don’t know how to show it.”

  I understand why John would fight to keep me. We’re finally seniors. The bridge by the railroad track reads Class of 2016 for the next twelve months. He doesn’t know how to separate me from his excitement. We lost our virginity together. We’ve been going out almost two years, the longest of any couple in our grade. People joke that we’re the school mascot. I have to tell him I’m leaving. Telling him will end it for good.

  “I’m going to Exeter in September,” I whisper. “As a boarder.”

  He pulls his hand away, a relief. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “I mean why didn’t you tell me? How long have you known?”

  “I dunno. Since May, I guess.”

  “So you knew before the accident, before I left?” I nod. He glares at me. “What the hell, Eve?”

  The passion in his voice stuns me. How can two people view the same relationship so differently? “I-I guess I assumed no one would give a shit by the time I left anyway and-and I didn’t want to get into a whole big conversation.”

  He throws both hands in the air. “What else can I possibly do to prove I love you?”

  I turn the radio on instead of answering. Solid-gold oldies fill the car, making me think of my mom. If she were here she’d say, Listen to this music. No wonder everyone was happy in the fifties.

  “How far away is Exeter?” he asks.

  “A little over an hour.”

  “That’s not too bad. You’ll be back for weekends?”

  “I have classes Saturday morning, but I’ll be back after that unless there’s a game or something.”

  He smirks. “Saturday classes? Sounds like an awesome time.” I don’t have a comeback, so he keeps talking. “Whatever. Weekends are what really matter, right?” His voice is desperate, like a wannabe’s, which he’s not.

  It’s tempting to join the world of the living with someone other than my father. I don’t know what I’m going to say until I say it: “Wanna see a movie tonight?”

  “Can’t. My parents are having some lame welcome-home-even-though-we’re-the-ones-who-sent-you-away-in-the-first-place dinner. Tomorrow?”

  “I’m going to a funeral.”

  His eyes bug out, but I wave him off. “My tutor’s mom. I never even met the lady. How about Thursday?”

  “Great, but you’ll have to pick me up. I can’t drive till I’m nineteen.” He winks to show there’s no hard feelings, then leans in for a kiss good-bye. I turn so he’ll catch my cheek. He settles for it.

  I’m not worth his forgiveness, but he hasn’t figured that out yet.

  Brady

  It’s tough to build on being a Republican businessman allergic to penicillin, so running is really my only option to Dr. White’s challenge of fostering a passion.

  I’m training for the Boston Marathon next spring. To qualify, I need a time of less than three hours and twenty minutes at the race in Quebec. That’s under an eight-minute mile for twenty-six consecutive miles. After a week and a half of training I ran a nine-minute mile for ten miles, so I have work to do. I’ve read several articles that say the type of training I need, in the five weeks I have to do it, can’t be done. My confidence could use an impossible accomplishment right about now.

  People often run in someone’s memory or to promote a cause. I’ve been envisioning myself crossing the finish line with the tagline RUNNING FOR SUICIDE. Maddy laughs with me on that one. The sound is unmistakable, knocking against my skull, like she’s running next to me. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I indulge the fantasy that we’re in this together, that after Quebec and Boston we’ll travel the world running marathons.

  Every day, about three miles in, I pass Wellesley College. I consider it penance. For two years I believed Maddy volunteered here to pass time and thrived, when really she came for fulfillment and failed. Usually I nod my head to pay respect, but today I veer off the sidewalk toward the library as though someone called my name. It’s too late to stop Maddy, but I can stand in her final spot and beg her memory’s forgiveness. How did I let work swallow me whole? If only I had been there, in that moment, to yell, “THIS CHOICE IS THE ONLY THING HAPPENING THAT IS PERMANENT. I CAN CHANGE.”

  A JAG#2 vanity plate brings me to a halt—Kara’s dad’s car. What the hell is Todd Anderson doing here? Compelled as I am to atone, I won’t do it in the presence of a man who once questioned how three people manage to fit in a house that’s only six thousand square feet. I turn back toward Route 9, but not before catching a glimpse of Todd with a woman I don’t know. He presses low on the small of her back, guiding her to the passenger seat. I feel sorry for Christie, but not surprised. There’ve been long running rumors about the interesting interworkings of that marriage. Maddy never let Eve spend the night there. My general understanding is that faithfulness isn’t revered by either spouse.

  The rest of my run I’m overtaken by the possibility Maddy had an affair. That’d explain everything. There was a journal entry about a professor she met while having lunch on a bench overlooking the lake on campus. Maddy claimed she forced my name into the conversation early, as much to remind herself as enlighten him. That’s not exactly a strong statement of loyalty. She went on and on about how marriage doesn’t mean you’ll never be attracted to another man, but rather that you respect your partner so much you’d never jeopardize what you built over such a fleeting inclination. She signed off claiming she’d take her lunch elsewhere moving forward, but who knows? Maybe it was the start of something.

  By mile eight I have officially chucked Maddy in the same dirt pile as Todd Anderson, but by mile ten I acknowledge I’m being unfair. So she talked to someone intriguing … I can’t pretend I’ve never had a conversation that left me wanting more. And Maddy wrote she was enthralled because the man asked so many questions. It’s a fair stab. I only covered the basics. What did you do today? How’d it go?

  It’s amazing, really. My career—the entirety of my professional success—is founded on my ability to drill down, to understand every situation with specificity. My big claim to fame was precisely this sort of attention to detail. HT was about to buy a company that boasted twenty thousand customers. The client list was the primary motivation for the acquisition, so I asked random questions to multiple people during due-diligence meetings. How many customers bought additional software in the past twelve months? How many customers have you lost in that same period? Is it easy to find references? I uncovered a bleak picture: a base declining more rapidly than sales accounted for, no incremental business, and poor overall customer satisfaction. We avoided the train wreck. Our competitor did not. The acquisition ultimately brought both companies down, and Jack personally thanked me. It was the catalyst for my promotion to CFO. Why have I zipped that skill up in my briefcase before coming home at night?

  I need to dig in more with Eve, but asking teenagers questions is a fine art. Ask too many and you’re overbearing; ask the wrong ones and you don’t get it; ask the right ones at the wrong time and you’re annoying. It’s like walking on the edge of a cliff that Eve occasionally elects to push me off. I never know what will set her off. Last night I tried to confirm she was certain about Exeter because the full tuition is due.

  “You think I’m a flake?” she replied. It
was so hypersensitive that I laughed. “Is it funny when you offend people?” she snapped.

  If I had a white flag I would’ve waved it. “Whoa there,” I said.

  “Whoa there? I’m not a horse, Dad.”

  “Sorry I asked,” I said, uncertain why I was apologizing. “I’ll mail the check.” I left the room even though the show I’d been watching wasn’t over.

  How could Eve flip from the loving daughter I watched fireworks with to such a crazy lady? Maddy’s voice popped into my head: It’s that time of month. I have to give myself credit. For a man without a creative bone in his body, I have Maddy’s phrasing and sense of humor down pat. Reconstructing my dead wife is the most inspired thing I’ve ever done.

  Thirteen miles complete and I’ve come full circle. There’s no other man to stick this mess on. Everything I provided Maddy was overshadowed by everything I held back. I thought it made good sense to treat work separate from home, but it meant my family only had access to half of me. I go inside to take a shower and wash off my shame.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Madeline

  Eve wears the same black dress she picked out with Meg for my funeral. I was as surprised to see her look up the time and location of Linda’s memorial as Rory is when she arrives.

  It’s a simple burial led by the nursing-home minister. After some spiritual sayings about the circle of life, Rory stands, placing the urn into the plot next to her father’s, and speaks softly to the thirty or so people in attendance. Eve expected to blend in with the crowd because her only point of reference was my service, which hundreds of people flocked to, in curiosity more than sorrow.

  Rory’s low volume commands attention and the group leans in to catch every word. She wears no makeup. There are faint lines on her forehead and around her mouth, but she still looks too young to lose a parent. I wonder where that leaves Eve.

  “My mother was blessed with a lived life. She danced for the Rockettes at Radio City in her teens, fought for social justice in college, married her soul mate, bore two children in two different decades, and dutifully served our family for the remainder of her life.