When I'm Not Myself

by Deborah J. Wolf

  “Well, to be completely honest, I haven’t tried it. I know that sounds crazy, but just the thought of raw fish turns my stomach.” She wrapped her hands around the small teacup and held it tightly for warmth.

  He looked astonished. “Never? Well, that hardly constitutes as a reason not to eat it. Honestly, Cara, you live in San Francisco. Next to Japan, there are only a few places where you might find better sushi. You must eat sushi. Tonight you’ll eat sushi.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him warily. “I don’t think I have much of a choice, do you?”

  “No,” he said, firmly. “Not tonight.”

  She found him remarkably attractive and somewhat reassuring. She felt safe with him, even though he was years younger than she was. She even felt daring enough to try something she hadn’t thought she’d eat, no matter how often people had teased her for it. Jack loved sushi; he’d eaten it at least once a week when they were married, sometimes even more. Cara had never given it more than a passing glance, the rolls topped with spicy sauces and raw pieces of fish, colorful fish eggs that glistened like pearls. Hamachi, magura, ebi. Jack had tried to educate her, tried to entertain her with the idea, but she’d turned up her nose, time and time again.

  She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Okay, I’m in your hands. You do the ordering.”

  “There’s no menu, Cara. Shunichi will take care of us. He’ll only serve us the freshest fish you can find. I’m sure it came right off the boat this morning. It might”—he winked at her—“still be moving.”

  She laughed and gingerly took her first sip of tea, careful not to burn her tongue. He watched the expression on her face, which was pure adventure, pure abandonment, and he smiled at her. He liked Cara, the way she tiptoed into a room without realizing how beautiful she was. He liked that she was bright—smarter and more thoughtful than one would have thought had they just given her a passing glance. He liked that she was finding her way again, as if she had been given a second chance to define who she was to become.

  “So, Cara,” he said, “about this party. I think I should be very sorry for having missed it. All of your friends were there. Tell me, who did I miss?”

  Cara inhaled deeply and settled against the bamboo chair. Her friends were not an easy bunch to describe. “Let’s see,” she started, “well, the big news of the night was from Paige. She is by far the sweetest of all of us—she always has been—and she’s pregnant for the first time. At forty-two. It shocked all of us. Leah, Mel and, well, certainly me. God, we’re all done having babies. It has been years for all of us.”

  “But forty-two is still an acceptable age to have a baby, especially these days. It’s not that old, is it?”

  Her eyes danced in the dim light. “It’s not old at all. Yeah, sure, it’s fine. But Paige and her husband, Dennis, have been trying for years to get pregnant. It’s really a bit of a miracle if you want to know the truth.”

  He nodded his head. “That’s great. Is she thrilled?”

  “To be honest, I think she’s still in a bit of shock.”

  “So, how long have you known Paige?”

  “Oh, forever. Seems like it, anyway. I’ve known all my friends forever, actually. I go back the furthest with Melanie, of course, but we’ve all been very close since grade school. Paige was always the popular one; everyone loves Paige. She teaches second grade, and God, she’s good at it. All the patience in the world. She’ll make an excellent mother.”

  “Okay, so we’ve covered Paige. Next?”

  “Um, Leah, I guess.”

  “And what’s Leah’s story?”

  Just then Shunichi brought sake and David took the opportunity to pour this for Cara, too. She stared at the clear liquid in the small, thimble-sized cup and looked at David, confusion clouding her face.

  “It’s sake. Tell me you’ve had sake. Please tell me you’ve had sake.”

  “Yes, a couple of times. But it’s usually cold. This is warm.”

  “You can drink it either way. I prefer it this way. I’ll order it for you chilled, if you’d like.”

  She held up a hand to stop him. “No. This is fine. Like I said, I’m in your hands.”

  He laughed, watching her, the way she clasped her hands in front of her face, not quite sure what she had agreed to. “So, go on now, where were we? Leah, right? Let’s get on with it.”

  “Right. Leah. Hmmm, how would you describe Leah?” Leah’s words came back to Cara, her hesitation with Cara’s date that evening, the warnings she had given as a way of protecting Cara from anything else that might have gone wrong. Leah would not be eager to meet David, not now, not after the way he had stood Cara up. Leah could hold a grudge, especially when it came to protecting her friends.

  There was no easy way to describe Leah. Leah was more conservative, more afraid to take risks, more likely to stay in the loveless marriage she was in because it was easier than admitting she should move on. Cara chose her words carefully. “Leah couldn’t be more loyal. Honestly, this year she’s been there for me anytime I’ve needed her. She’s a wonderful friend, the kind of person you want on your side, you know what I mean?”

  David reclined a bit in his chair and crossed his legs. She had his undivided attention. Cara could never remember a time when someone had been so engrossed in a discussion with her. In the last few years, she and Jack had evolved into the couple that read the newspaper over breakfast, each with their own section, void of any discussion or human contact. Jack could have cared less about her friends; he’d known them nearly as long as Cara had, but that didn’t mean he had any real interest in them, any real desire to know anything more about them. David was the exact opposite. David leaned in to hear her story, stopping her when he had a question or needed clarification.

  “And so that brings us to Mel, right?”

  “Um, yeah. Right. Mel.”

  “What’s the story with her? Actually, given Stewart’s stories, I think I might be afraid to ask.”

  Cara wasn’t particularly interested in having a long, drawn-out conversation about Mel. What could she say? That she and Mel weren’t speaking to each other? That they’d had a terrible falling out? That Mel was having an affair and that after a year—an entire year!—Cara and her friends had only just met him. Should she tell David about Mel’s insecurities, her inability to really love someone and the history that brought her here?

  “Oh, there’s a story there, alright.”

  “Well, let’s hear it. C’mon, spill it. I promise I won’t let Stewart in on any of your secrets.”

  Cara laughed. “Oh, I’m sure I don’t have to worry about that. Stewart’s probably got a few secrets of his own when it comes to Mel. They were together, you know? A long, long time ago. And very briefly. But I’m sure Stewart could tell you a few things. Mel doesn’t go far without creating a little drama wherever she goes.”

  Shunichi shuffled to their table with a platter full of delicacies Cara couldn’t begin to name. He set down the plate in the middle of the table and, as if for her benefit, began to identify each item, pointing it out and enunciating the Japanese word slowly. The names were lost on Cara. She nodded her head as if she was perfectly comfortable with everything he was pointing out. Inside she was growing queasy.

  “It looks great, Shunichi. Thank you,” David said to him, and shooed him away.

  Cara followed David’s lead and ripped open the paper wrapper on her chopsticks. She pulled them apart at the base and watched how he rubbed the two ends together. She stabbed at the small scoop of green wasabi and mixed it in with a teaspoon full of soy sauce.

  “Careful. How spicy do you like it?”

  She eyed him, following his every move. “Why?”

  “That’s wasabi,” he said, pointing at the mixture she was stirring. “Any more of that and your nostrils will be on fire. There isn’t enough sake in this place to put that fire out.”

  She poured a little more soy sauce into the mixture to dilute it.

  He
pointed to a piece of fleshy, deep-pink fish resting on a square bed of rice. “That’s tuna. You’ll be fine if you start there. It’s very mild.”

  She fumbled with the chopsticks for a minute and then managed to pick up the fish. She dunked it in the soy sauce and wasabi and brought it to her lips, praying silently that she could manage this, that the fish would somehow slide down her throat. It would be horribly humiliating to have to run to the ladies’ room, even worse to choke it down at the table.

  “Well?” he asked her, when she’d swallowed it.

  She paused for a minute, savoring the taste. “Better than I thought it would be. It’s good,” she proclaimed.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.” He smiled, satisfied. “Good. So, tell me about Melanie,” David said.

  Cara took a long drink of her water, trying to get used to the new tastes she was experiencing. She really wasn’t in the mood to talk about Mel, but he wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “Not much to tell about Mel. She’s an original, that’s for sure.” Cara was careful to keep her temper even, not to let on too much.

  “How was the party? Mel’s probably the type to throw a great party.”

  “It was very much Mel.”

  “Is that a good thing? Bad thing?”

  “It’s just Mel. Everything is over-the-top with Mel. There isn’t much she does in small form.”

  “And you’ve known Mel the longest, right?”

  Cara nodded her head. “Our mothers were very good friends; the best. Mel and I met very early on. I think they used to stick us in one of those Port-a-Cribs together and sit around and play bridge together, drinking martinis. God, can you imagine. No one does that anymore; they’d be thrown to child protective services. But in the sixties”—Cara shrugged her shoulders—“in the sixties, no one thought about things like that.”

  “No one thought about much in the sixties.”

  “Now how would you know that?” Cara teased him. “You weren’t even born then.” She giggled under her breath when he threw her a nasty glare, crinkling his forehead.

  “You and Mel . . . You have very different lives now. She lives in the city; you live down on the Peninsula. Do you still see her as often? Have you remained as close as you were when you were kids?”

  Cara eyed him over a piece of hamachi. “We have, yes. She’s gone her way and I’ve sort of stayed much closer to home, to the place where we grew up, to more familiar things, but we still see each other quite a bit. Mel’s daughter is a sweetheart, and my kids adore Mel to pieces, especially Katie, my oldest daughter. She and Mel are very close. Sometimes, I think . . .” Cara sighed. “A little too close.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  Cara struggled to find the right words. How much was too much to tell David on a first date? Or was it that at all? She couldn’t quite tell. Maybe his attraction to her wasn’t what she thought it was. Maybe he was just set on them being friendly. She waved off his question, dismissing it. “Katie can just be a handful, that’s all.”

  “Tell me about your children, Cara.”

  She looked at him across the table, waiting on more conversation, eager to know about her life, about what she was made of. He was not only charming but disarming. She could hardly relax, hardly get her footing.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Tell me all about your kids. We know Katie’s a handful, and I wouldn’t think that should be too surprising to anyone. She’s seventeen, right? Don’t you remember what life was like when you were seventeen?”

  Cara did. Her teen years had been peppered with experiments, drinking, certainly, and occasionally, some pot, but nothing like Katie’s. Cara’s parents had been married, her family intact.

  “It’s an interesting time . . .”

  “And your boys?”

  “Will and Luke. Will just turned eleven and Luke is nine. They’re all boy. They play baseball and soccer and they’re outside pretty much all summer long, riding their bikes or skateboarding. They’re good kids, really they are.” Cara paused. “It’s been a hard year for them; hard for all of them. Watching your parents go through a divorce is not easy for kids.”

  “No. I imagine it isn’t.”

  “It’s not their fault. I think that’s the hardest thing to help them understand. They really had nothing to do with it. They’re just casualties of the war.”

  “How do you handle it? You and your, um, is it fair to call him your ex?”

  “You could call him that, yes, although we’re not officially divorced yet. That happens in another month or so. The kids are shuffled back and forth, I’m afraid. Jack lives now with his girlfriend in a condo. By all reports, there’s not much room there but Jack has been determined to stay involved and have them stay with him. They usually have dinner with him midweek and go there on the weekends. I get them the rest of the time. It wasn’t so bad when I wasn’t working because I would see them much more often, you know, and be there to help with homework and after-school activities. But now it’s much more difficult. I’ve got a nanny now, someone to keep the peace in the afternoon so they don’t kill each other, and Jack and I are negotiating how we can each have some time with them on the weekends. It can get really ugly, actually.”

  “How do your kids feel about his girlfriend? What do they think?” David had finished his sake and left the last piece of sushi for Cara. She eyed it carefully, not quite sure what she was in for. When he noticed her thinking on it, he said to her, “It’s eel. It might be a bit over-the-top for you, but I can’t eat another bite. And, quite frankly, Cara, they say it’s bad luck to leave any sushi behind.”

  Cara blanched. She’d been a good sport, trying everything that Shunichi had brought them. There had been a few things she wasn’t too certain of, but nothing she couldn’t handle. But eel? It gave her the creeps just thinking about it. She lined her chopsticks up on her plate and smiled at him. “Think I’m gonna pass on that one.”

  He laughed and smiled broadly. “Okay, Cara, no eel for you. Maybe next time.”

  “The kids; you asked me what they think about Barbie.”

  “Barbie? Please tell me you are kidding.”

  “No. I wish that I could. It’s the worst cliché ever, isn’t it? Just horrible.”

  “It’s pretty bad.”

  “Oh, and she’s all Barbie, too. Store-bought boobs, bleach-blonde hair, acrylic nails, fake tan. She’s got to be five foot ten and a hundred twenty pounds soaking wet. Well, that is, of course, when she’s not pregnant. Now she weighs one-twenty-five. It’s so annoying.”

  “Surely you can’t be remotely envious of that.”

  “No,” she lied, hedging her answer. “Well, it is a little difficult. The woman did steal my husband.”

  David took her in, serious all at once. “Was she really the cause, Cara? Or were there cracks in the pavement before she came walking down the street?”

  Cara was quiet, thoughtful. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this conversation. Not just with David, but with anyone. It was the crux of why she’d avoided therapy, the knowledge that she’d have to come clean with the state of her marriage long before she had the opportunity to blame Barbie for the demise of it.

  “I’ve upset you,” David said, breaking the silence, and Cara’s train of thought. “I’m sorry, Cara. I’ve overstepped my bounds and I shouldn’t have.”

  “No. No, it’s not that. I, um, well, I just haven’t spent much time examining it. Not close-up, anyway.” She was quiet then, before saying to him softly, “There were plenty of cracks, plenty of places where things had fractured. Bones don’t heal well unless you set them, you know.” She cleared her voice and watched as Shunichi came to the table to clear their plates. He frowned at the platter, adrift with one lonely piece of eel, before he looked from Cara to David and back to Cara again.

  “She won’t eat it, Shunichi,” David said, outing her.

  Cara blushed furiously, the weight of the sushi chef’s
eyes on her. “I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed and apologetic.

  They both laughed, Shunichi’s broad grin showing a mouthful of white teeth and David’s laugh more a sly, underhanded snicker.

  “It’s okay, Cara Clancy,” David said to her. “Next time.”

  Next time. His words floated out across the table, like a promise.

  “My kids,” she said. “I’d like to be able to tell you that they all hate Barbie, every last one of them. And, trust me, there’ve been plenty of shining moments. But for the most part, they’ve adapted.” Cara shrugged her shoulders resolutely.

  She shifted in her seat, nervously alternating from one side to the other, until he placed one hand over hers, gently leaving it there. She glanced up at him and he met her eyes then, holding her gaze.

  “There’s not much you can do, really. You have to let them have their own opinions. You have to let them figure it out for themselves.”

  “That you do.”

  David was wonderful company, comfortable in every way imaginable. They drifted in and out of conversations that revolved around work, about movies, books they’d both read. She was ten years his senior. Occasionally the generation gap would widen and, fraught with doubt, Cara would stare into the deep crevice, wondering again, as she had the first day she’d met him, when he took her to lunch and charmed her into taking the job at Weaver Sinclair, what he found remotely attractive about her.

  After dinner they took a walk. He stopped her on Valencia Street, under a dim and flickering streetlight, and kissed her hard on the mouth. When he moved away from her, she touched her lips, the spot where his kiss had actually numbed them, to make sure that it was real. It was a minute before she remembered to breathe again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her gently, cupping her face so he could be sure of her answer. “Cara? Are you okay?”

  “I think so.” She wasn’t. Not in that moment, and not in the one that was to come. It was as if something inside her had been awakened, something that had been dead for such a long time that she was hardly aware of it anymore.