by Robin Brande
“You should come to Girls’ Club,” Katie offered. “We learn all kinds of stuff.”
Carolyn smiled. “Not a bad idea. Next week they’re learning to make paper from scratch.”
“From scratch?” Eliza said. “I could probably use that in my profession.”
“You should come give a talk to the girls sometime,” Carolyn said. “Talk about being a writer.”
“Maybe I will. What do you think, Katie?”
She nodded, distracted by the refinements of her task. She repositioned the pencils and the chocolate in her basket until they looked perfect.
Carolyn said, “You can come any week if you want to help. We meet Friday nights.”
A good excuse for being busy Friday nights, Eliza thought. “Maybe I will.”
“But you’ll have to work much faster than that,” Carolyn observed. Eliza was just wrapping up her first basket, while Carolyn had already moved on to her fifth in the same amount of time. “We run our crafts like a chain gang.”
* * *
As she was leaving the Jackson house, Eliza met Carolyn’s husband Will just coming in from basketball with his friends. His shirt was stained with sweat. He wiped his palm on his equally damp shorts before shaking Eliza’s hand.
“I knew your husband,” Will said. “Went to school with him.”
“Were you friends?”
“Sure. He lived just up the street.”
“I might have to quiz you about him sometime.”
“Any time,” Will said. “He was a great guy—sorry you lost him.”
“Me, too. Nice meeting you.”
The afternoon breeze felt cool against her bare legs. Eliza ambled back up the street, in no hurry to get back to her work. The Mother’s Day basket break had done nothing to stir up ideas for her column. She felt as hopelessly blocked as before.
“Teddy called,” Hildy announced as soon as Eliza came in.
“Great.”
“He had a nice time last night.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“I invited him for dinner,” Hildy said.
“You didn’t!”
Hildy clicked her tongue. “If you’re not going to be nice to that boy, I will.”
“He’s not a boy, and don’t you think that should be my decision?”
“I told him I want to talk business tonight. I need to set up some classes.”
“I’ve already seen him two nights in a row,” Eliza said. “Don’t you think this is a little much?”
“We’re making friends.”
“You are,” Eliza corrected. I’m staying in my room.
“I thought we’d make that pasta—the one you like? With the sausage?”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“Lizzy, are you going to act like that all night?”
“Probably.”
“Because if you are, I’ll cancel.”
“Good. Cancel.”
Hildy sighed. She patted the chair beside her. She marked the place in the cookbook in front of her and closed the cover. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
Eliza almost held a hand against her heart, that question hurt it so much. I miss your boy. I want him back. I want to be kissed. I want to be loved. I miss being loved by Jamey.
“It’s just too much right now,” Eliza said instead. “The move, getting settled in...”
Hildy reached over and stroked Eliza’s hair. “Honey, I’m sorry. I guess I forgot how it must be for you. I’m used to this place—for me it’s coming home. If you don’t want me to have him over tonight I won’t. We’ll make it another night.”
Eliza chewed her thumbnail. Suddenly all the fight had gone out of her. “Either or,” she said glumly. “I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Nothing’s going to happen.
Hildy brightened. “Good. Because I have some ideas for the first class I want to teach. Look here...”
Eliza looked without seeing. She eyed the daisies still sitting on the kitchen counter. She thought again how strange it was that Ted had sent them after such a disastrous date, and that his brother had delivered them. She thought about her awkward conversation with David Walsh in the woods and about the merits of her first date. And she wondered—not for the first time—whether she was the worst kind of coward for refusing to let another man into her life.
Hildy removed her half-glasses and peered at her daughter-in-law. “You aren’t listening.”
“Everything you cook is wonderful,” Eliza answered. “Ted will love it no matter what.”
Hildy studied her silently for a moment, then reached for Eliza’s hand and held it between her own. “My girl. When are you going to stop being so sad? I miss him, too, but we have to go on.”
Eliza’s heart felt leaden.
Never, she thought.
“Soon,” was what she said.
9
Eliza opened the front door to admit their guest. Ted shook her hand. “There,” he said. “We got that out of the way.”
“Very funny.”
“Did you like the flowers?”
“No. Everyone hates daisies. Hildy, your date is here.”
Some time between the afternoon and that evening, Eliza had developed a new attitude toward Hildy’s matchmaking and Ted Walsh’s attentions: She just wouldn’t care. They were free to do as they liked, and so was she.
Eliza reached for her coat inside the front hall closet. “See you in a while.”
Ted’s smile faded. “Where are you going?”
Hildy called from the kitchen, “She’s pretending she doesn’t like us. Won’t she be sorry when she finds out how much fun we had?”
“You’re not serious,” Ted said.
Eliza smiled pleasantly. “Have a good time.”
“When are you coming back?”
“In a while. You two go ahead and take care of business—I don’t want to get in your way.”
Ted’s eyes narrowed. Eliza noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses. “It won’t work, you know.”
“What?” she asked innocently.
“Trying to hide from me. I know where you live.”
“Apparently. See you.” And with that she made her escape.
As she started up Hildy’s car, Eliza smiled to herself. She felt good. Satisfied. On top of things again. She’d taken a positive action on her own behalf, instead of just flailing around feeling uncertain.
Eliza dined on pineapple fried rice and mixed vegetables in a Thai mango sauce at Careyville’s only Asian restaurant. The food was better than she had hoped, and she liked the look of the rest of the menu. It might be a good place for takeout on those nights when neither she nor Hildy felt like cooking. Eliza’s usual fallback was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but she was willing to sacrifice that for something spicy and delicious instead.
She brought her blue legal pad and a pen and sat puzzling over what her column should say. Usually by Sunday night she had at least an idea for the next week’s work, but tonight her thoughts were too scattered. She knew if she forced it, any piece she wrote would sound bad. So instead she pretended she was under no pressure and had so many ideas she couldn’t decide which to tackle first.
If she were truly desperate by Tuesday, she could always pull something from her Extras file, where she stored columns she had written in a fit of creativity, but never used yet.
“Everything all right?” her waitress asked. She wore low-riding jeans and a red T-shirt with the restaurant’s logo in gold.
“Yes. Wonderful.”
“Sure you don’t want to try one of our Asian beers? They’d go really good with that.”
“No, thanks.” Eliza’s capacity for alcohol had weakened over the years. Just a few sips usually sent her straight to bed, and left her with a pounding headache in the morning.
Satisfied at last with the prodigious amount of food she had managed to stuff in, Eliza paid her bill and left. She checked her watch: eight-thirty. Time for bed after two nights of too li
ttle sleep. No doubt Ted would still be at the house, but maybe she could plead exhaustion and slip past both of them.
If Ted was offended by what Eliza had done, he didn’t show it. In fact, he acted as though Hildy were the most delightful dinner companion he could imagine. Their laughter greeted Eliza at the door and carried her up the stairs.
Hildy batted Ted’s arm. “You’re awful!”
Ted shrugged and didn’t deny it. “Have fun?” he asked Eliza.
“Lots.” She held up her notepad. “Work, you know.”
“Oh, can I see?” he asked.
“No. I don’t show it ahead of time. You’ll have to buy the issue just like everybody else.”
“Teddy has a surprise for you,” Hildy practically sang.
Great. Eliza pasted on a smile. “Oh?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Ted said. “Maybe you can walk me out.” He stood, stretched, and thanked Hildy for the meal. “I haven’t eaten so well in...years, probably.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Hildy said, obviously relishing the compliment. “You must go to some really good restaurants.”
“Nope,” Ted said. “My uncle’s is pretty good, but other than that...”
Hildy beamed.
Eliza resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The two of them looked too cozy. “Well, I’m off to bed,” she announced.
“Wait,” Ted said. “I really am leaving. Mind walking me out?”
Manners took over. “Sure.” Eliza waited while Ted praised Hildy’s cooking a few more times, and Hildy pretended not to believe him.
“I’ll get you those schedules,” Hildy said in parting.
“Great. We’ll work something out.”
Hildy caught her daughter-in-law’s eye and smiled. Apparently the dinner had been a success.
Eliza led Ted down the stairs and outside. She stood with her arms wrapped across her chest and pretended it was because she was cold.
Ted moved closer to her than she liked, but Eliza forced herself to stand her ground. She would not appear afraid.
“I have a strategy, you know,” Ted said.
“Oh?” Eliza answered. “What’s that?”
“To be as much in your way as possible.”
Eliza’s teeth mildly chattered. She knew it was from her nerves, not the weather.
“Why do you want to do that?” she asked. “You don’t even know me.”
“But that’s the point—I’d like to.”
“I’m sure there are lots of other women who’d be thrilled to go out with you.”
“That’s true,” Ted said without any attempt at modesty. “But maybe I’m not interested in them.”
“You’ll survive,” she said. “What would you have done if I hadn’t moved here?”
“Suffered.” Ted moved closer as if to kiss her, then caught himself—or caught the look on Eliza’s face—and backed away.
“Look,” she said, dropping any pretense of being tough. “I need to not see you for a while. I’m sorry, but the truth is, this is all too much for me right now.” Stop shaking.
“All right,” Ted said, “how long?”
“Weeks. Maybe months.”
“No good,” he answered. “We have an appointment this Thursday.”
“An appointment? For what?”
“I might have another newspaper for you.”
“What?” Eliza heard it, but didn’t entirely understand.
“I got you an interview,” Ted said. “We’re meeting with the editor of the Syracuse Tribune this Thursday at eleven.”
Eliza stood there stunned for a moment, unsure what to say. Yes, having her column picked up by a newspaper as large as the Tribune would definitely help her finances—and help her convince other major newspapers to give her column a try.
But Eliza wasn’t expecting—and wasn’t sure she wanted—an opportunity like this to come through Ted Walsh. She wasn’t sure what kind of obligation she might feel toward him. Or what he might expect.
Something Ted said nibbled at her brain. “Did you say ‘we’re’ meeting with him?”
“Well, Walsh’s does give them an awful lot of advertising,” Ted said. “They know me pretty well.”
“I see.” Eliza wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But she was sure that Ted Walsh had just gained the upper hand in the last few minutes, and she wasn’t very comfortable with it.
“I’ll call you,” Ted told her, then got into his car and drove away before she could disagree.
Eliza stood in the darkened driveway, still hugging her arms across her chest. What just happened?
You got played, that’s what, she told herself. He figured out what you wanted, and he got it for you.
But that’s nice, isn’t it?
Is it? a part of her shot back. You just finished telling him you didn’t want to see him for a while—a long while—and instead he manipulated you not only into spending more time with him, but also being in his debt.
Wow, Eliza thought, he’s good.
And she wasn’t so sure that was good.
But one thing had come from all that: the idea for her next column. As she walked back into the house and mounted the stairs, the opening paragraphs were already writing themselves in her brain:
I met a self-defense instructor once who said people who refuse to hear your “no” are trying to control you. To bully you. It might be your spouse, your mother, your in-laws, a friend. Or it might be an attacker testing the waters to see how vulnerable you are.
In any case, the solution is to practice. You have to say “no” more times than “yes” for a while until you finally feel comfortable with it coming out of your mouth. You have to learn to say it and mean it, and to expect others to listen to you and honor your wishes.
Which is all my way of confessing that I’ve lost my edge somewhere along the way, and it’s time I got it back.
10
“Cut it all off,” Eliza said.
“Really?” Delia the hair stylist slid her second and third finger across a section of hair parallel with Eliza’s chin.
“Okay, maybe not that short. How about another inch?”
Delia slid her fingers down. “Like this?”
“Perfect. I guess.”
“Because once I take it off—”
“I understand. Do it.” Eliza closed her eyes, but thought better of it. Wasn’t this part of the plan—to embrace change, to charge head-first into it? Change on her terms, of course, instead of everyone else’s.
She had written a different column that morning than the one she imagined the night before. That column—the “No” column—would have to wait two weeks, she decided. First she needed to lay the groundwork for a more ambitious plan.
She had awoken with it clawing at her brain, and by six-thirty that morning had pounded it out and e-mailed it two days ahead of deadline.
Have you ever hidden out so long, she wrote, that you begin to wonder how you ever did half the things you used to? You know, for example, that you used to be able to make friends easily (maybe not since grade school, but at least there was a time). You used to be able to make decisions—peanut butter and jelly today or baloney? You used to like experimenting with your life. And remember when you used to get excited over surprises, instead of avoiding them?
I put forth this challenge to myself and to you: Do something different today. It doesn’t have to be huge, like quitting your job or disappearing into the wilderness without leaving a note. No, let’s just agree to try something small. Today I am getting a haircut—not the kind of action that normally will get you on the front page, but for me, it’s different. I’ve worn my hair the same length in the same style for at least ten years. All right, there was that brief stint of getting it permed, but basically it’s always looked the same, which is fine since I don’t normally think too much about trivialities like how I look. I prefer to save all my brain power for solving world problems and memorizing song lyrics.
&nbs
p; So here’s our action plan: Choose just one thing, but you have to do it today. Drive a different route home from work. Drink a different flavor of coffee. When you take a shower tonight wash your left leg first instead of your right. Do you understand IT DOESN’T MATTER what insignificant thing it is? What matters is that you decided to be the driver of your life today instead of the passenger. You and I are going to wake up and be involved in our lives again.
And I promise, if we all try to do just one thing out of order for the next thirty days, we will see a change in how we think. Creativity will blossom again. Joy might even creep in. We are scraping off the old, peeling wall paper and uncovering the beautiful, timeless oak beneath. We are shaking out the dust in our brains. We are doing something radical bit by private bit. Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing—this is between you and me. Thirty days, starting now. I’ll have a new assignment for you in two weeks, so get to work on this one right away.
Are you with me? Feel free to share what changes you’ve made and you feel about them. I’ll pick out a few to include in my next column.
And now, my friends, I have a hair appointment to attend.
Eliza surprised herself by smiling at the first dramatic snip of the scissors.
“You okay?” Delia asked. “A lot of people get freaked out right now.”
“I’m fine. I like it. Keep going.”
Forty-five minutes later Eliza rose from Delia’s chair feeling the weight of what was missing. She pocketed her ponytail holder and slipped a generous tip into Delia’s cup.
Delia smiled. “You look fantastic.”
Eliza put her glasses back on.
Delia assessed her. “Hmm...you looked better without them.”
“One step at a time.”
“You could get green contacts and really bring out the color of your eyes.”
“I’d look like an alien.”
“Suit yourself.” Delia brushed a few stray hairs from Eliza’s shoulders. “A little lipstick could be nice, too.”
“Did my mother-in-law put you up to this?”
“I sell Wisdom Cosmetics on the side,” Delia said. “Take this catalog. I keep most things in stock at my house, so if you call me I can bring it here the next day.”
