by Naomi Niles
I’d known since before I got up that Mama was getting ready to give me a lecture, and she did not disappoint.
“It’s a shame Kelli couldn’t have stayed longer,” she said as she set the gravy boat down on the table. “Of all the girls you’ve brought home, I think I liked her the best.”
“Well,” I said, “it’s a shame things didn’t work out.”
“What happened, exactly?” asked Curtis, reaching for the pitcher.
It didn’t seem fair to talk about what she had done when she wasn’t here to defend herself. “I’d rather not get into it,” I said curtly. “Sometimes things just don’t work out.”
“You’ve just gotta keep looking until you find the right one,” said Darren. “She’s out there somewhere, but you’ll never find her unless you go after her.”
“Darren,” I said, “you’re the last person in the world who ought to be lecturing me about ‘finding the right one.’”
“When’s the last time you even went on a date, Darren?” asked Curtis.
“Doesn’t count if they were drugged,” I added.
“Y’all need to be stopping so mean to poor Darren,” said Mama. “Give him enough time, and he’ll find the right girl”—which was the funniest thing anyone had said so far.
I had thought that would be the end of the lectures, but after breakfast, Dad asked me to come outside and help him with the fence post. We’d been working on that fence post for about a year now, and it wasn’t any closer to being fixed. I’d figured out a while ago that Dad only used the fence as a pretext to have conversations he couldn’t have around the rest of the family. Reluctantly, I grabbed my shovel and followed him outside into the bright August sun.
We hadn’t been out there for more than a few minutes before he asked me, “So what really happened between you and Kelli?”
I knew he was going to keep asking me until I gave him a straight answer. Reluctantly, I told him about how she had learned I was writing a book and how she had offered to help me expose the “evils” of the military.
“And you know I hate that shit,” I told him. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s liberal do-gooders who think they’re single-handedly going to bring down the world’s most powerful military, who think they’re better than us because they’ve never had to kill nobody, when the only reason they’re not dead or enslaved is because we defend them.” I was so worked up I wanted to hit something, but I settled for ramming the shovel into the dirt.
“Well, I don’t know all the details of what happened, but from what you told me, it sounds like she had a pretty traumatic experience with the Navy when she was little.”
“She did, and I don’t blame her for that, but look, it was one bad apple. The entire Navy isn’t like that, and she ought to know that better than anyone.”
Dad stood silently for a moment, staring down into the hole we were digging as though lost in thought. “This just feels like the sort of thing that you could have worked through with a bit more communication,” he said finally. “When your mother and I was first dating, she walked by the malt shop one Thursday night and saw me sitting at the bar with a pretty girl. She called me that night and broke up with me. It wasn’t until a few days later, I figured out why she had done it; right away I went over and explained to her that the woman had been my therapist. I hadn’t wanted to tell nobody I was seeing a therapist because I didn’t want to embarrass myself. But I made things a lot worse by not talking about it.”
“Dad, that was a completely different situation,” I said, feeling irritated. “You know I respect you and Mom, but things were a lot different when you and her was coming up.”
“Well, I just think you ought to talk to her before doing anything rash,” Dad said. “If I was her, I’d be panicking right now, wondering what I had done and why you had thrown me out of the house.”
“I thought I made it pretty clear,” I replied.
“Maybe so, and maybe you’ll talk to her and realize you did the right thing by making her leave. But I don’t want you to look back in a month or a year and wonder if you did the right thing, and not be able to take it back.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kelli
On the next morning, I finally came clean to Renee about what had happened between me and Zack.
We were sitting in the corner booth of a boutique coffee shop on Tenth Avenue, eating soft scrambled eggs and cinnamon-glazed bagels—she had all but given up on her diet in the last couple days since breaking up with Max. Rain lashed the windows, and outside a howling wind tore umbrellas from pedestrians’ hands. Overhead the pale amber bulbs in their brass fixtures did little to illuminate the midday gloom.
“I’d never seen him that angry before,” I told her. “It wasn’t the kind of anger where he yells and threatens you. That kind of anger is scary, but it has a way of diminishing the one doing the yelling, making them look smaller. He got really quiet and told me to pack my bags. Somehow it was way scarier.”
Renee took a sip of her macchiato. “I remember Dad used to do that when we were little. That’s how I would know I had crossed a line, not when he yelled when he whispered.” She shivered.
“Yeah, so those were the last words he ever spoke to me.” I glanced sadly at our reflections in the dim window. “I’ve never had a relationship end so abruptly, like a balloon that someone punctured with a needle. If you’d told me twenty minutes before that I would be on a plane back to New York within the hour, I’d have thought you were joking.”
“I can’t imagine being that impulsive,” said Renee. “He probably regretted sending you away the moment you were gone.”
“If he was that worried about that, then surely he would have called or answered my texts by now. I have to assume he was being serious, and he really doesn’t want me in his life. But I’m still not even sure what was so bad about what I said.”
Renee shrugged. The rain was getting louder, and she had to raise her voice to be heard over the gale. “I mean, who knows with some people? I’ve known women get mad at me because they didn’t like the kind of pants I was wearing. Some folks are just easily offended and irrationally angry, and it’s got nothing to do with you; it’s just how they are. Honestly it’s probably best that you figured it out now.”
“I guess,” I said with a shrug. “But there’s always a part of me that blames myself, even when I know in my head I did nothing wrong. If someone I really cared about me is mad at me, then there has to be a reason, right? But that’s not always the case. Sometimes they’re just mad.”
There was a shelf full of old board games standing in a corner of the shop. Renee grabbed Trouble and brought it over while I finished the last of my cream cheese.
“I haven’t played this game since we were in Mogadishu,” she said, opening the box like it was some sacred relic. “And if I’m not mistaken, it was raining then, too.”
“So anyway,” I said, shoving my plate away. “Now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”
“Are you still going to write that article?”
I watched as she took the board out of the box. “I don’t really see the point anymore. Zack’s response was so hurtful that I sort of lost interest. I know at some point I’ll have to explain to Evan that I don’t want to write it, and then he’ll be pissed. It just feels like men are impossible to please.”
Renee frowned, a pained look on her face. “I know Zack’s opinion was important to you, but you can’t let it control you. If you really wanted to write this article, then you should write it.”
“I guess.” I watched as she removed the totems and arranged them on the starting square. “What are you going to do now that you and Max are finished?”
“Well,” she said, “now that I have all this free time on my hands, I’ve been thinking about maybe starting my own yoga studio. How would you like to be my partner and co-manager?”
I had to laugh at the earnestness on Renee
’s face. “That sounds like the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” I replied.
Renee shrugged in defeat. “Well, it was worth a shot.”
By the time we had finished our first round of Trouble, it was almost 11:00am. I tried texting Evan a couple times to let him know I was stranded and wouldn’t be able to come in until later. But when he didn’t respond, I was forced to hail a cab.
I spent the next twenty minutes in traffic while the rain fell miserably down around us. I knew it was best if I didn’t put off telling him I had given up on his pet project; I’d have to let him know when I reached the office. I had no idea how he was going to react. He had been dangling the lure of a promotion in front of me, and at this point, I would almost certainly never get it. I gazed sadly out the window at a girl in a pleated skirt and neon-pink rain boots who was skipping up the street, heedless of puddles. I had never seen anyone enjoying herself so much. I hadn’t even known it was possible.
I descended into the basement at noon to find Dennis half-buried under a blanket with a space heater at his feet while Evan sat at his desk under the drain pipe looking increasingly harassed by the constant drip-drip of water from overhead.
“My kingdom for a DeliWorld sandwich and a pair of headphones,” he muttered in irritation. “I understand this was how the Chinese used to torture people, and it was arguably more effective than waterboarding.”
“If it rains anymore, this basement is going to be under three feet of water.” I pulled up the one empty chair in the room and sat down. “Maybe we ought to consider going home for the day.”
Evan ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of agitation. “You know when you come in an hour late and immediately ask to go home, it doesn’t exactly reflect well on you.”
“If you think that’s bad, wait till you hear what I have to tell you.” Evan raised an inquisitive brow. “I’ve thought long and hard about the offer you made me—”
“Don’t say it—”
“And I’m afraid I can’t accept for personal reasons. I’m already sort of notorious in the military community for being a ‘traitor’ and whistleblower, and I don’t want to sink my reputation any further.”
Evan buried his face in his hands. “Do you know how much I was counting on this?”
“I do, and I’m sorry. I realize my previous experience made me seem like the perfect person to write this exposé, and in theory that’s true. But I have to take my own feelings into account. I’m not just a machine that spits out essays, but a woman with a life of her own to look after. Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s how it is.”
By the time I’d finished speaking, my hands were shaking. I sank back into the chair, feeling exhausted, and coolly waited for his response.
“You really haven’t been helping yourself out lately,” said Evan with a shake of his head.
“Well,” I said quietly. “I can’t please everyone.”
“No, but you could try to put in some actual work, sometime.” He waved me away. “Go on, go back to your desk. I have a lot to get done today, and you’re not making my job any easier.”
I stood up and returned to my desk. Dennis lifted his blanket just long enough to flash shocked eyes at me, then promptly lowered it again. I pulled the last of my bagel out of my purse and finished eating it thoughtfully, feeling simultaneously proud of myself for defending myself and worried about losing my job.
My one consolation was that at least I didn’t have kids, or a husband, or even a boyfriend to look after. I could find another position pretty easily if I needed to, and I would probably have to. I remembered something Zack had once told me back when we were still dating: “This job is beneath you,” he had said, and before I could get angry, he added, “You deserve so much better than this.” Looking back on it now, I realized he was probably right: it would be a mercy when Evan finally let me go.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Zack
As much as I enjoyed my last few days at home, I was eager to get back to Manhattan. I missed the bustle of the city, the live bands, the rooftop bars, the parks and art museums. But somehow, Kelli had gotten tangled up in all that. When I thought of the city now, I thought of her. When I smelled the barbecue wafting down Harlem Street on my first night back, I was viscerally reminded of her.
I guess it sometimes happens that you meet a person in a certain place, and the two become linked in your mind ever afterward. Kelli was New York to me now. I couldn’t walk down the street without thinking about her. If I had wanted to get away from her, I would have had to leave the city entirely. And that wasn’t the sort of thing I was prepared to do just yet.
On that first night back in my apartment, I lay in bed for a couple hours listening to the steady drip of a drain pipe coming from behind the wall. More than once I was tempted to reach for my phone, but then I remembered Mama saying how much time I had been spending on my phone since Kelli left. I didn’t want to be one of those guys who hides in the Internet because the world is too much. So I lay there trying not to think about her, trying to ignore how alone I felt, and trying not to let my feelings sink me.
The next morning, I didn’t even bother making breakfast. Instead, as soon as I got up, I went over to Carson’s apartment.
“Get up,” I said, charging through the door without knocking. Carson, who was once again lying naked on the couch, scrambled to throw a blanket over his legs. “You and me have got things to do today.”
“What’s up?” asked Carson, looking slightly irritated. It was raining outside the windows, and the room was dark enough that he had to turn on a lamp to see me clearly. Rubbing his tired eyes, he said, “We’re not going golfing again, are we? In this weather?”
From the way he was clutching his temples, I suspected that Carson was suffering from a hangover. Either that or he really hadn’t gone to bed the night before, in which case being woken up like this was probably torture. His pants were draped over the arm of the couch; reaching into the pockets, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, letting the smoke rise to his nostrils without once setting it to his lips.
“You know you’re not allowed to smoke in this building, right?” I reminded him.
Carson shrugged. “I’m not smoking.”
Eventually I was able to coax him off the couch and into his clothes with the promise of breakfast and coffee. It’s hard to explain how good it felt to be back in the city after hiding out in the boons for a week. I wanted to run through the streets like Gene Kelly marveling over every hydrant and lamp post. It was all so big, so magnificent. But we had things to do.
“So where we going?” Carson asked as we tore down Tenth Avenue. The rain was falling thick and fast, and I could barely see more than a few yards in front of me. On the sidewalk, a large Samoyed dried itself with a tremendous shaking motion while a couple of kids carrying subway sandwiches hugged them protectively to their chests like some treasured family relic. A girl in a short skirt and a blue sweater ambled idly over wet oak leaves and damp, discarded flyers, seemingly oblivious to the deluge happening all around her.
“We,” I said, “are going to have a chat with Kelli’s boss.”
Carson stared at me as if I had gone mad. “And by ‘chat’ you mean—”
“Exactly what you think I mean. This guy’s been giving her a hard time, so I figured it’s time we went over there and gave him a hard time.”
The car drove through a puddle, splashing a couple of pedestrians on the sidewalk who were crouched under an awning trying to get out of the rain. “You sure this is a good idea?” Carson asked. When I glowered at him he added in a meek voice, “I don’t wanna do anything illegal.”
“Carson, when you can explain to me why you thought it would be a good idea to stalk a high school girl who had stolen your wallet, then we can talk about the difference between right and wrong. Until then, spare me the lectures, please.”
Carson was silent for a long moment, as though trying to think up a counter-argument. B
ut I was saved from ever having to hear it by our arrival at the Bugle’s offices.
“Stay close to me and don’t say anything unless I tell you to,” I said as we stepped out of the car into the pouring rain. “All you’ve really gotta do is look threatening.”
“This is where the Bugle is located?” asked Carson, staring in disbelief at the old and dilapidated warehouse with its peeling paint and torn awning. “Somehow I thought it would be better than this.”
“They don’t even own the whole building,” I said, leading him through the front door and down the hall. “We’re looking for a dank basement.”
“The way it’s coming down out there,” said Carson, “the basement’s probably flooded. We’d be better off coming back tomorrow or some other day when it’s not raining.”
“There it is!” I said, motioning to a steel door at the end of the hallway. When we opened it, we found a flight of stairs leading up and another flight leading down. We followed the descending stairs and within a few moments we had entered a dark room lit only by a dim bulb and the glow of a few computer screens. It smelled badly of mildew and cat piss, and there was a constant drip of water that was somehow louder and more insistent than the one in my bedroom.
Kelli’s boss was sitting at a desk in the corner of the room surrounded by pipes. I recognized him from the awards banquet, but he must not have remembered us because he stared blankly at us as we came in and tapped his pen against the desk in agitation.
Carson and I strode up to him with stony faces. “Mind if we talk to you for a minute?” I asked him.
“What do you need?” He didn’t look too happy to see us, probably because he sensed that we could break him just with our eyes.
“Heard a rumor you’ve been giving a friend of mine a hard time about a book I’m supposed to be writing.” I leaned against the desk with the easy confidence of a man who knows he can’t be bullied. Behind us I could hear someone playing “Fireflies” by Owl City, very loudly, from their laptop. Turning around and giving him a death glare, I said, “Do you mind?”
