Woman Last Seen in Her Thirties

by Camille Pagán

  I cried when I spotted them waiting for me outside the airport. Zoe, who was wearing a sundress and a wide-brimmed hat, looked every bit as self-possessed as she had been as a girl. And there was Jack, who reminded me so much of my mother. It wasn’t just his brown saucer eyes and high cheekbones; as she had, he took the world in stride, happy to be along for the ride. These were my people, and when they walked toward the car, I ran out and embraced them like we had been apart for years.

  Zoe had instructed me to pick my favorite restaurant for dinner—and I would have, except it happened to be Charlie’s favorite, too, and I didn’t want to up the odds of bumping into him. I was desperate to see him, and yet I had not called, because what would I say? Sorry I’m such an indecisive jerk? I wish I could watch the Sliding Doors version of my life to see if I would actually be happy with the alleged “new Adam,” or if I’d be more content with a semiserious relationship with you? Of course, by doing nothing, I was choosing the third option: solitude.

  So the kids and I went to a restaurant that was rumored to have decent fried chicken and the best biscuits in town.

  “Drinks?” asked the waitress after we had been seated at a booth.

  “Sparkling water with lime, please.”

  “No champagne for your birthday, Mom?” asked Zoe.

  “I’m not really drinking these days.”

  “Okay . . . I’ll have sparkling water, too,” she told the waitress.

  “A Coke for me,” Jack said.

  “So you gave up wine? That’s no fun,” said Zoe after the waitress left.

  I immediately thought of Charlie. “Turns out it can be fun. More fun, in a way; you miss a lot less of life as it’s going by. That’s been the biggest surprise of all this.”

  “Interesting,” said Zoe. “Well, good for you.”

  “Thanks, love. It’s been enlightening.”

  Over dinner, we talked about Zoe’s unrelenting caseload. She claimed it was a prerequisite for making partner at a big firm one day. Just as she didn’t understand why I had hopped off the career track early in my adult life, I questioned her desire to sign over her best years to a corporation. But it was her choice to make, and I had to trust that she would know if and when to make a change.

  Then I told the kids about my work at Second Chance, and how I was close to securing a $20,000 grant through Adrian Fromm, whom I had met with the previous week.

  “The jerk who offered you an internship?” said Zoe.

  I laughed, thinking of the buzzy phrases Adrian had tossed around during our meeting. But he had also told me he would find funding for our new housing initiative. “The one and only. Maybe not quite as much of a jerk as I thought.”

  “Sounds like you and Dad are doing similar stuff,” said Jack, and Zoe raised an eyebrow.

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “You’re both working for charities and doing good things.”

  I watched the bubbles rising in my water. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

  “Is this what people do after divorce?” Jack added. His sandy hair, which had grown since I had last seen him, was tucked behind his ears.

  “What do you mean?” I had not told Jack and Zoe about Adam’s proposal, and from previous conversations with them, I gathered that Adam had not, either. Just as well, I decided: while they were adults and could handle the truth, there was no need to inform them that their parents were in a relationship purgatory of their own making.

  “Like, you’re both making big changes in your life.”

  I almost retorted that I had not changed by choice, but it was no longer true. I was again steering my own ship. “I suppose we are. What about you, Jack?” I asked. “We haven’t heard a word about what you’ve been up to since you got back from helping your father.”

  His cheeks flushed. “Um. Yeah. So I don’t know how to tell you this . . .”

  It was amazing what could flash through my mind in two to three seconds. Jack had defaulted on the student loans we had required him to take out for his extra semester of college! He had been arrested for smoking weed on his apartment stoop! He had fathered a child and wanted me to meet my secret grandbaby!

  “I’m planning to move back to Chicago,” he blurted. “Like, in two weeks.”

  “You? Chicago?” I said with disbelief. “What about New York being the creative epicenter of the world?”

  “It’s kind of not anymore, Mom. Only rich cogs like Zoe can afford to live there.”

  She lobbed a piece of biscuit at him, and I tried not to laugh. “Well, that’s unexpected.”

  “Yes and no,” he said. “Dad cut me off. Financially, I mean.”

  I almost choked on the sip of water I had just taken. Adam firmly believed it was our duty as parents to support Jack until he found his wings—however long that took. It was what his father had done for him, Adam had always argued; no matter that unlike Jack, Adam had been an A student who had gone directly from college to law school to a good job. I had assumed that our financial help would stop when we negotiated alimony during our divorce, but Adam had opted to continue supporting Jack off the record, shelling out an unspecified amount of his own spending money.

  “Is this because he sold his business?” I asked.

  “How did you know about that?” said Zoe.

  I held up a finger. “We’ll come back to that.”

  “Nope. He just said it was time. He said I needed a flame under my—” Jack coughed. “Under my butt.” He looked down guiltily. “I mean, he’s not wrong. I called Miller and Nasir,” he said, referring to his childhood friends, “and some other contacts, and got a couple of interviews lined up. Miller’s dad works at an ad agency, and he arranged for me to come in and meet the human resources director. If they hired me, I’d start in the mail room, but like you always say, all work is good work.”

  Well, wasn’t that something! I didn’t even try to hide that I was pleased.

  He grew serious, and I again steeled myself for bad news. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but being there with Dad after surgery was good. His mind was wonky there for a while, but we ended up having some decent talks and . . . I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Seems like it would be really good for one of us to be around in Chicago for him. You know, just in case.”

  “Well,” I said, blinking like I’d just walked into a sandstorm, “I really appreciate that, Jack. I’m sure your father does, too. Where will you live?”

  “I might share a place with Miller in Pilsen. It’s cheap, Mom. I could afford it even if I take a job at a convenience store.” Jack, content to have told me his secret, leaned back and took a bite of his drumstick.

  “So, Mom,” said Zoe. “You know about Dad selling his firm. Have you guys been talking? He said he went to see you in May.”

  I frowned. Why would he tell them that? “Yes, he did. Very briefly. What else did he say?”

  “Only that he had made a mistake and wanted to apologize.” She shot me a knowing look. “I told you so.”

  “Well, you were right. And yes, he apologized.”

  “Did you forgive him?” Zoe asked.

  “Of course I did.” I thought of Adam sitting on Jean’s front porch, looking so simultaneously pained and expectant. I wondered what he was doing now and what it would be like if he were sitting here at dinner with us.

  “So are you guys considering getting back together?” Jack looked so hopeful that I wanted to cry. He was such a laid-back kid—he always had been—that I sometimes forgot that beneath his cool demeanor, he was as sensitive as I was.

  “I hope you’re not, Mom,” said Zoe before I had a chance to answer. “I love Dad, but—” She made a face. “You know what I mean. You have a good life now.”

  I did, I realized at once. My day-to-day existence—my work at Second Chance, my newfound friendship with Felicia, and even little things, like planting tomatoes in a corner of Jean’s yard—was joyful.

  The big picture wasn’t so bad, either. While
I had gone through an unwanted divorce, I had also traveled to Rome by myself and moved to a new town and kicked a bad habit. Instead of merely surviving, I had managed to thrive. “You’re right,” I told Zoe. “And for right now, my focus is just to keep living it.”

  “Mom, Zoe, come out here!” The three of us had gone out for cupcakes after dinner, and we had just returned to the house. While Zoe and I were making lemonade, Jack had wandered into the yard. Now he was on his back in the grass, not far from the small vegetable garden I had planted a few months earlier. “Lie down,” he called as we came running out the screen door at the back of the house. “You have to see this.”

  I lowered myself to the ground beside him, and Zoe got on the other side of me. It had been a scorcher of a June, but I had watered the grass liberally, and it was soft beneath my skin.

  “Jack, humor me,” I said from beside him. “You’re not high, are you?”

  “Mom, come on. I know it’s not good for me.”

  “No, it’s not,” I agreed, thinking of Crystal and the two years she had spent in prison for passing a joint to a friend within view of an undercover cop. “I’m glad you know that, too.”

  “Anyways, that’s not why I asked you to come out here. Look at all that!” he said, pointing over our heads. Above us, the sky was a deep navy, with a million twinkling lights. I had not looked at a sky like that—really looked at it—in quite some time, and it was magnificent.

  “Happy birthday, Mom,” said Zoe quietly.

  I found her hand, and Jack’s, and squeezed them both. Would they ever know what incredible joy they brought me? “Thank you, love. You and Jack being here is the best gift I ever could have asked for.”

  “We’re happy to be here, Mom. Fifty-four, huh?”

  “Fifty-four,” I said. “Which sounds awfully old.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Zoe. “You still have your whole life ahead of you.”

  Yes—that was true whether I lived one more day or another thirty years. A lump formed in my throat as I thought of my mother. Even before she’d had the first imaging test, she had known that it was the end for her. “Now don’t you cry, Maggie. I’ve had more years than many people will, and I’ve loved every minute,” she had drawled after her diagnosis. Though I knew she had not literally enjoyed every minute, she had loved the life all those minutes had formed together, and that had been enough for her.

  “You know, your grandmother died when she was fifty-four,” I said.

  “Really?” said Jack.

  “You were just four then. Do you remember her at all?”

  “A little. I remember thinking she was nice. She used to slip us pieces of candy.”

  I laughed. “That sounds about right.”

  “I remember her,” said Zoe. “She was funny. And she always told me I was smart, like you.”

  I felt the tingle of tears forming behind my eyes. “She was my biggest fan. I wish she were still here.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” said Zoe. “That’s got to be really hard.”

  I was about to agree when a flash of white shot across the sky above us.

  “Did you guys see that?” said Jack.

  “I did,” said Zoe.

  “Me too. It’s been decades since I’ve seen a shooting star,” I said.

  “It’s your birthday star, Mom! What did you wish for?” said Zoe. She poked me in the side and added, “Don’t you dare say ‘good children.’”

  I laughed; that had always been my response when she and Jack had asked me what I wanted for holidays. But then I thought for a moment, and an unexpected wish, like the star itself, surfaced seemingly out of midair.

  “Well? What was it?” asked Jack.

  I told him I didn’t want to jinx my wish by saying it out loud, but that I could at least confirm that it wasn’t a person or a material thing. Jack made a few guesses, and Zoe posed a handful of possibilities.

  “How about I share it with you after it comes true?” I said. Then I closed my eyes and made another wish: that one day soon, I could tell my children I had inherited my mother’s ability to fold life’s bad moments into the good and believe it was enough.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  As I was driving the kids back to the airport, Zoe asked me what I was going to do with the house in Oak Valley. I confessed I wasn’t sure. Financially, selling it made the most sense; if I didn’t have a full-time job come the following January, then I would at least have extra savings to cover the health insurance policy I would need to secure for myself at the start of the new year.

  “Okay, but how do you feel about it?” pressed Zoe. “Not financially. Emotionally.”

  Emotionally? While it had been a place of love, the house no longer symbolized that or security for me, and I didn’t want to move back there. Trouble was, I hadn’t settled on staying in Ann Arbor—or anywhere else. With just over a month before Jean’s return, the walls were closing in quick, but I kept standing there, a woman paralyzed by her own options.

  “Ditch it, Mom,” said Jack from the back seat. “We’re not waiting to inherit it.”

  “It was your childhood home,” I said as I switched lanes.

  “And it always will be,” said Zoe, reaching across from the passenger seat to pat my shoulder. “We’re not going to forget the memories we had there just because we can’t go back.” She began to laugh and swiveled to face Jack. “Do you remember when you sledded down the stairs on your flamingo pool float?”

  “You told me to!” he said indignantly, but then he started to laugh, too.

  “I did not,” said Zoe.

  “Either way, it was a very bad idea,” I said. “Jack, remember the two black eyes you had after you hit the wall headfirst? I was so worried people would think me or your father had hit you.”

  “You two? Yeah, right,” he scoffed.

  “Or what about the time you almost set fire to the kitchen trying to make muffins?” I said to Zoe. She had been maybe seven at the time and had been convinced that she could follow instructions out of a recipe book. I had come downstairs just in time to pull out the fire extinguisher and coat the oven and everything near it with white foam.

  “I still owe you for that one,” she conceded. “But sell the house, Mom. It’s weighing you down.”

  What I needed, I decided after I returned from the airport, was clarity about whether I was going to stay in Ann Arbor after Jean’s return. Though I would have preferred warmer weather, I had grown to like it there. The townies, as the year-round residents called themselves, were both nice and interesting. I liked my coffee shop and going to the farmers’ market on Saturday mornings and the river that roped through the city. There were far worse places to live.

  The next day I began looking at rentals to get a sense of what my options were. I checked out a quirky one-bedroom with cupboards customized for a professional basketball player, and a new-construction condo within walking distance of downtown. The latter piqued my interest, but the lease revealed dozens of hidden fees. The next half a dozen other places I saw were just as problematic for different reasons.

  Then a rental agent showed me a small yellow craftsman on the west side of town, about a mile from Jean’s place. It was not quite as charming as Jean’s, and instead of a view of the woods, bungalows and backyards greeted me when I looked out the windows. The neighborhood, however, was a friendly mix of young families and those who had lived there for decades.

  The house itself had two bedrooms, a spacious kitchen that opened into a dining nook, and a yard with a verdant vegetable garden and fresh lavender and rosemary bushes, whose scent filled the air.

  “What do you think?” asked the agent eagerly as we were standing in the garden.

  It was nearly ninety degrees, and I wiped sweat from my brow. “I think it’s perfect,” I said.

  “Would you like to fill out a rental application?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  The agent looked at me like I had sprouted a second head.


  “I’m not ready to make a decision,” I explained.

  “It’ll be gone by tomorrow,” he said.

  So be it, I thought. I wasn’t sure where my indecision was coming from, but I had begun to realize it was having an unexpected effect. Rather than exacerbating my anxiety, embracing uncertainty was bringing me peace.

  Crystal did not show up for our second meeting, but the following week she landed back in my office. Not at her scheduled meeting time—or even on Wednesday, her scheduled day. Instead, she showed up on a Monday afternoon. I had just sat down at my desk and was gearing up for a busy afternoon. “Can we talk?” she said, sticking her head in the door.

  I had managed to raise two children without murdering them during their teen years, and that was largely because I had allowed them to learn the law of natural consequences. If it had worked for them, it could work for Crystal, too.

  “You’ll have to come back at six,” I told her.

  “Six?” Her eyes bulged. “I’ve got Jade then,” she said, referring to her daughter.

  “Bring her. I have a box full of toys and art supplies she can play with while we talk. But right now,” I said, pointing toward the clock on the wall, “I have another client. And then another, and another, until six.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m sorry.” I shrugged. “But lucky for you, I don’t have plans tonight, and I’ll stay late. That’s the best I can offer.”

  She eyed me suspiciously. “Thanks, I think.”

  I smiled at her. “You’re welcome, I think.”

  Six came and went. Just when I started wondering if I had given Crystal too much credit, a small child with bright blue eyes stuck her head in my door. A second later, Crystal appeared behind her, red-faced and out of breath. “Bus trouble,” she huffed. “Me and Jade got here as fast as we could. I’m sorry.”

  An apology? All was forgiven. “It’s fine,” I told her. “Come on in.”

  I pulled the box of toys out from under my desk and handed them to Jade. She looked at them solemnly, then back at me, then at my door. “Can I take them into the hallway?”