On Grace

by Susie Orman Schnall

  “Oh, Cam. I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her.

  “Thanks, Grace. I’m glad you’re here,” she gives me a smile, and I know, because I know her, that she wants me to change the subject so she doesn’t start crying again.

  “So, you’ll never guess who’s been emailing me,” I say mysteriously, obeying her nonverbal request.

  “That creepy stay-at-home dad from James’s baby swim class?”

  “No, thank God.” I pause for emphasis. “Jake Doyle,” I say, as a grin inadvertently creeps over my face.

  “Rob Lowe Jake Doyle?” Cameron asks.

  “The only,” I say.

  “Why are you blushing, Grace?”

  “I’m not blushing. I’m just hot,” I say, as I open the windows a little more. I tell her about Scotty’s engagement, my Facebook chat with Jake, and his invitation to go to L.A. this weekend.

  “Wow, Grace, is this all on the up-and-up or does Rob Lowe Jake Doyle have some other motive here?”

  “He’s just being himself. I think. I don’t know. It is a little weird, but it never hurt a girl to be flirted with a little. Especially after she’s been rejected by her husband.” I sit in the white leather Barcelona chair across from Cameron’s bed.

  “Just don’t be one of those flirty Facebook girls. Look what happened to Elizabeth Bonder,” Cameron says, pointing at me and shooting me a warning look.

  “I know. I’m not going there,” I say convincingly. “I’m so far from there. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “What is going on with Darren?”

  I tell her about our date, about all my conflicting emotions, about my crash course in Infidelity 101.

  “I’m just going through the motions of marriage,” I say. “I don’t think I have any other choice right now. I feel like I’m on the guardrail of a mountain road. If I go one way, I fall down a steep, rocky cliff. If I go the other, I find myself on a really windy road with obstacles around every bend. But how long can I walk on this narrow guardrail?”

  “Nice analogy, English major. I get it. I think you just have to try to keep your balance and stay on that guardrail as long as you can until the road clears up a little and you come to a straightaway.”

  “Nice continuation of the analogy, organic chemistry major,” I say, laughing. “I think that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do.”

  That afternoon, Darren calls me between his meetings.

  “How’s it going?” he asks.

  “Fine,” I say pleasantly. “I just spent the morning with Cameron. I feel so badly for her. She’s kind of a mess.”

  “That sucks,” he says. “I think maybe I’ll send her flowers.”

  “You’re becoming a regular florist!” I say, a bit sarcastically.

  He lets it go. “Hey, what’s on the schedule this weekend?”

  “I don’t think much,” I say, opening my calendar on my laptop. “James has a birthday party on Saturday morning. The boys both have soccer practice on Saturday afternoon. We were supposed to have plans with Cam and Jack on Saturday night, but Cameron just told me she’s going to Maine so we have nothing Saturday night. And then just another birthday party for James on Sunday.”

  “Okay.” Pause. “So what do you think of me taking the boys to the Yankees game Saturday night?” Darren asks cautiously. I think he feels he has to walk on eggshells with me. “One of the lawyers we work with just offered me three tickets. I asked him for four, but he said he can only get three.”

  “That sounds great, actually. The boys will love it. There’s a new Rachel McAdams movie I want to see anyway. I’ll be fine.” I will.

  “Cool, thanks Grace. I think the boys will be really excited.”

  “You behaving yourself out there on that business trip of yours?” I can’t help asking. I don’t want to be that kind of woman, but I guess I am.

  Darren pauses. “Yes.”

  “Good,” I say. I am mad at myself for acting like this, but I’m even madder at him for putting me in the position that would lead me to have to act like this.

  “I guess this is what we’re gonna have to discuss every time I travel,” he says contritely.

  “I’ve been reading some books, and they all say that the hardest part of this whole thing is regaining trust. Deep inside I do trust you, Darren. But I trusted you before this happened and look where that got me. I just don’t know how to not wonder and not worry.”

  “I know. It just sucks. Is there some way I can reassure you?”

  “Can you pinch me and tell me this was just a bad dream?” I ask softly.

  “Wish I could,” Darren says. “I love you, Grace.”

  “I know,” I say, unable to return the sentiment.

  “Any word on the job?” he asks, sounding relieved to change the subject.

  “No. She said Thursday. I’m trying to distract myself from thinking about it. What happens if she offers it to me and says I have to work full time those three days?”

  “Well, then, we’ll just figure something out. The boys will be fine with a babysitter for a few hours. You have to do what’s right for you.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  “No problem. Okay, gotta run. I’ll be home around 6:30 tomorrow night. Wait for dinner for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call you guys tonight.”

  We hang up, and I type “Darren and boys Yankees” in my calendar for Saturday night. Then I go onto Fandango and check what time the movie I want to see is playing in Port Chester, and then it hits me. Cameron is going to Maine. Darren and the boys are going to soccer and Yankee Stadium. Could Grace go to L.A.? I sit back in my chair and work out the details in my mind. Then I go onto Travelocity and see how much a last-minute flight will run me. No bargain, but not too bad. Maybe this little trip is exactly what I need. I call my mom.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say, trying to make out the sounds in the background. “Where are you?”

  “I’m getting my hair colored,” she says loudly into the phone. I can just picture all the other ladies with foils in their hair turning to see why Nina Roseman is shouting.

  “Are you around this weekend?” I ask.

  “I think so, why?”

  “Well, Kiki and Arden are throwing a small engagement dinner for Scotty Saturday night with just our old group, and they invited me, and I thought maybe I would come. Darren is busy with the boys all weekend with soccer and going to the Yankees game, so it kinda works out.”

  “Oh, Gracie!” she shouts. “That will be fabulous! Wait till I tell Eva. She told me she invited you out here, and I thought that was a fabulous idea. I will clear my calendar and be yours all weekend.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say. “I have to finalize some things so it’s not a hundred percent yet, but stand by. I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”

  “How are things with Darren?” She lowers her voice a little, and I’m grateful that the entire salon won’t know my business.

  “We’re working on things. No major decisions.”

  “Good. We’ll talk all about it this weekend. Just remember what I said the other day. There is no reason to do anything crazy like divorce or any of that nonsense,” she says.

  “Okay, Mom. I’ll call you later.”

  After we hang up, I call Kiki.

  “Hey, Kiks,” I say excitedly. Kiki and Arden were my two best friends in high school. We get in touch every few months, but whenever I talk to either of them, it feels like no time has gone by, the sign of a true old friend.

  “Hey, girl!” she says. “¿Cómo está?”

  “I’m great! So, I hear there’s a little engagement dinner for Scotty on Saturday night.”

  “Yes! You better be coming. I saw Jake at the Brentwood Country Mart, and he said he had been emailing you so I told him to invite you.” I know right now, Kiki is twisting her long black curls around her right index finger.

&nb
sp; “So what do you guys have planned?”

  “Not entirely sure. Arden is in charge of making the reservation. But that’s no surprise. I think she was afraid of leaving it to me. Ha! She should be,” she laughs. “But it will be so much fun, and you have to come. Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.”

  “Ninety-nine percent yes,” I say.

  “Yay!” Kiki shouts.

  “I just have to finalize a few things, but I think I’m gonna make it happen. I’ll email you and Arden later to let you know for sure. I hope it works out, though. It will be so great to hang out.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell Arden to add two more to the reservation just in case.”

  “Just one. Darren is staying home with the boys. They have soccer, and birthday parties, and all that stuff.”

  “Even better. Not that I wouldn’t love to see Darren. It’s just that Arden and I decided not to bring Andy and Marco. We thought it would be more fun to just be the old crew again. Except for Abigail, of course, who seems stuck up when you first meet her with that fancy accent, but you will love her.”

  Kiki and I met in tenth grade. We were in the same homeroom. Rodriguez and Roseman. Kiki walked into that classroom on the first day of school like she was Naomi Campbell on a catwalk. Without the snarl. Our school started in ninth grade, and she was new, but she acted like she’d been friends with all our fellow Rs since she was in diapers. Candelaria Luisa Alejandra Rodriguez (story goes that when she was born her older brothers wanted a kitten instead of a baby sister so they dubbed her KitKit which morphed into KiKi and stuck) had recently moved to Encino from East L.A. I found out later that her dad, Alberto Rodriguez, had just been named Entrepreneur of the Year by Los Angeles magazine. He had immigrated to L.A. from Mexico and started his career drying cars at a car wash in Hollywood. After years of working hard and moving up the ranks at a McDonald’s in Westwood, he went out on his own and founded Rock O Taco, a popular rock-and-roll-themed chain of Mexican fast food. Alberto Rodriguez had just proudly moved his family out of their humble beginnings into a fancy house in the Encino hills with shiny marble floors in the foyer and a custom mosaic in the shape of a guitar on the bottom of the pool out back.

  When I saw Kiki later that first day in my honors Spanish class, she sat down next to me and asked if I wanted to hang out after school. I had plans with Arden (who had been my best friend since fifth grade) to go to Du-par’s, a hangout on Ventura Boulevard, so I invited Kiki along. The three of us bonded over Du-par’s famous pancakes with boysenberry syrup and were inseparable from then on. Kiki made us laugh so hard that first afternoon with her hilarious and spot-on impersonations of all the kids she had met that day. And she’s been entertaining us with her crazy antics and crazier outfits ever since. Kiki and I come from very different upbringings—she and Arden even more so—but that never seemed to matter. There were even times when I felt closer to Kiki’s mother, Luisa, than to my own. Luisa was just so humble, so warm, so maternal. She always made me feel safe, especially after Danielle died.

  Arden, on the other hand, is basically Hollywood royalty. Her dad is Dean Miller Standish, the brilliant director who revolutionized the way special effects and technology were used in movies. He’s won five Best Director Oscars, more than any other director ever. Arden grew up around movie sets and has had dinner with everyone from Ryan O’Neal to Ryan Gosling, from Anne Bancroft to Anne Hathaway. But she was not affected the way you’d expect her to be. That was her normal. And her parents gave her no reason to believe she didn’t have to behave like a typical high school kid. So she did.

  I email Darren.

  Thinking of going to L.A. this weekend. I’d leave Friday morning after the boys go to school and come back Sunday night. Kiki, Arden, et al. throwing an engagement party for Scotty. And my mom and sister have been trying to get me out there anyway. I’ll arrange playdates for the boys Friday after school. What do you think?

  His response comes right away.

  Sounds great. Go for it. We’ll miss you, but it’s probably a good idea for you to have time on your own to think.

  I feel like I’ve just gotten away with something huge, like winning the lottery off a ticket I found on the street. And I wonder if having “time to think,” if that’s what he wants to call it, is going to save my marriage or result in the complete opposite.

  chapter fourteen

  I spend the rest of the week making the final arrangements for my trip (car service to and from JFK, aisle seat, latest Emily Giffin novel, stocked fridge for Darren and the boys); deciding on my outfit for Saturday night (dark jeans, sexy black halter top, black heels); engaging in somewhat-flirty-but-not-inappropriate email conversations with Jake; and anticipating Nicole Winters’s phone call, which I hope will come early on Thursday, rather than late. I can’t wait any longer. I am surprised by how completely unprepared I am when the call actually comes, considering how much time I’ve spent thinking about all the different ways it could go. I have just returned from putting the boys on the bus Thursday morning and evading some question from Lorna about the neighborhood Halloween potluck party when I hear the phone ring. I feel my stomach do a swan dive when the caller ID reads “WELLINWESTCH.”

  “This is Grace,” I say, knowing it’s Nicole and trying to sound professional. My mom always says to channel who it is you want to become. And I really want to become (again) someone who sits in a cubicle and answers her phone by announcing her name.

  “Grace. Nicole Winters,” she says in a clipped voice that I immediately read into. If she were offering me the job she would sound happier. But maybe she is just trying to sound professional, considering she’s going to be my boss. After all, when I met her at the post-yoga coffee, it was under friendlier, on-the-same-level circumstances, so maybe this is just her way of exerting authority. It’s like predicting the meaning of a college acceptance based upon the thickness of the envelope. A thin envelope could have a one-page letter containing a rejection. Or a thin envelope could contain a one-page letter offering congratulations and announcing that the thick admissions packet will arrive by the end of the week. But the rejections are usually thinner. So in this split second of trying to interpret Nicole’s intention from three words, I have not only assumed I have and don’t have the job, but I’ve returned to those stressful days of college admissions. Snap out of it, Grace. For God’s sake, find out what the woman has to say.

  “Oh, hi Nicole,” I say casually, trying not to sound as if I am dying to find out what the woman has to say.

  “So,” she says and then pauses. Oh no, not good. “I really am so glad Callie introduced us. It was great to meet you and hear your ideas for our new email product.”

  But.

  “But, I’m so sorry I’m not going to be able to offer you the job,” Nicole says apologetically.

  “Oh.” Oh? Is that all you can say, Grace?

  “I’ll just be straight with you. I think you’re incredibly qualified, but the woman I hired has a deep and up-to-date network of health and wellness contacts in Westchester, and I just think she’ll be a better fit for us. I’m really sorry.”

  Key words: up-to-date. Cameron was right. Those of us who leave the workforce to have babies are suckers. When we try to go back, no one wants us. We’re damaged goods.

  “I am, too,” I say. Act with grace. “But thank you so much for giving me this opportunity. I think you have a wonderful company, and I hope the new email product is a huge success. I’ll definitely subscribe to it.”

  “Thank you, Grace. Again, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but I’ll keep you in mind if anything else ever comes up here or if I hear of anyone looking for someone with your skill set.” Packing snacks, writing the descriptions for the school benefit silent auction items, dodging sketchy neighbors.

  “Thanks, Nicole. I really appreciate it.”

  I’m crestfallen. I’ve never had the opportunity to use that word in my life. But it’s so fitting now. When I imagined getting this job, I pictured
myself on a surfboard riding the crest of a wave that would lead me from the vast sea— the one that had swallowed up part of my identity—onto the shore of my “self.” But instead, the wave has crashed into the shore prematurely, preventing me from proudly standing on my longboard, cruising onto the beach. Crestfallen.

  I pour a cup of coffee and sit on the couch. I stare out the window at the leaves that are continuing to turn. A red bird alights next to its twin on a branch. They flutter off, busy to get to the next branch, then the next. To everything there is a season. I can’t help myself from going to that place in my mind where I interpret Nicole’s decision (the thinner envelope) as a sign that I am not meant to have a real job right now. On the other hand, it could be the universe trying to challenge me to not give up so easily. Two job rejections do not a failed career reentry make. But I am really disappointed. I had really gotten my hopes up on this one.

  To be honest, I do feel some relief. Relief because I won’t have to arrange sitters three afternoons a week. Relief because I can stop waking up in the middle of the night to maniacally scribble half-legible ideas for the emails on the pad beside my bed. And relief because now I don’t have to worry about doing a good job and proving myself. Despite always having high expectations for myself and putting my all into every project I’ve ever done in my life, I am inherently lazy. The dichotomy doesn’t make sense. I just force myself to be productive, to be really good at whatever it is I’m currently doing, because I would be so disappointed in myself if I didn’t. But most of the time, I’d rather just sit on the couch, drink coffee, and watch cooking competition shows. (Will they be able to move the ten-foot bridge made entirely out of candy from the prep kitchen to the judges’ staging area without dropping it?) This leads me to wonder what it is I really want in my life. And although I’ve had this conversation with myself a gazillion times, I don’t know if I’ve been honest lately.