It's a Waverly Life

by Maria Murnane

  “Yep. And we were the only ones with kids back then, so we hung out a lot on the road and looked out for each other, to keep out of trouble, you know?”

  I nodded. There was so much about my dad I didn’t know.

  He shrugged again, still looking at the TV. “Anyhow besides him, it seems like no one really writes letters anymore.”

  I smiled at the innocence of his comment. He had a cell phone, but for the most part he ignored modern communication. Our worlds were eternally intertwined, yet they barely intersected.

  “I brought you something.” I stood up and reached for my purse on the couch, removing a small box. “Merry Christmas, Dad. I hope you like it.”

  He took the box and unwrapped it, then slowly removed the lid. Inside was a Swiss Army knife I’d had engraved with his name on it. Paul J. Bryson.

  “Baby, I love it.” He turned it over in his hand and ran his fingers over it. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Since you can already fix anything and everything, I figured with this in your pocket you could really fix anything and everything.” I, on the other hand, could barely pound a nail straight. I pointed at him. “It’s not fair that I managed not to inherit a single one of your MacGyver genes. Not to mention your athletic genes, which apparently went into the hamper and never came out.”

  He laughed. “You got your mother’s brains and her looks, now that’s for sure. So don’t you be complaining.” He stepped toward the tree, then leaned down and picked up a small package. “I’ve got something for you too.” He handed it to me.

  “Thanks, Dad. I love the wrapping paper.” The thin, flat box was meticulously enveloped in shiny red with a silver ribbon. It reminded me of the Santa hats we were wearing.

  I opened the box.

  Inside was a thirty-dollar gift certificate to Olive Garden.

  He smiled. “Merry Christmas, Waverly.”

  I smiled back. “Thanks, Dad.”

  I was trying not to laugh, trying not to cry, and feeling horrible for wanting to do both.

  “I like it, like it, like it.” Larry Bergman, the red-cheeked features editor at the Sun, tapped his chubby fingertips on his desk. “It’s just what we need to bump up readership for your column. The advertisers will love it, which means our publisher will love it too. This is a great way to start off the year.”

  “I hope so.” It was the first week of January. Larry had just returned from his vacation, so I’d finally brought up the Today Show opportunity.

  “The column is doing okay locally.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms to rest across his globular belly. “But we need to attract a readership that goes beyond the Bay Area. And being on national television will certainly help with that.”

  “I hope so.” I quickly realized I’d already said that. It was amazing how inarticulate I could be at times, given that I was being paid to use…words.

  “Did they give you any details?”

  “Not many, but Scott Ryan said it would be a pretty straightforward panel, probably just two or three of us. He thought they’d probably ask me to share an example or two of typical e-mails I get from readers, then offer a piece of advice for Valentine’s Day.”

  Larry unwrapped a big piece of green taffy and popped it into his mouth. “I like it. You’ll need to grab people’s attention, make them want to check out the column, give that panel some oompf.” He made fists with his chubby little hands, which made him look like a Cabbage Patch Kid. I wanted to hug him.

  I stood up. “Will do. I certainly have enough material to consider. I got an e-mail this morning from a woman who was accused of cheating after she didn’t respond to ten text messages from a guy she’d been on like three dates with. He’d sent them over the course of two hours on a Saturday afternoon, when her cell phone was turned off because she was at a movie. I swear, Larry, people are crazy.”

  He shooed me out the door. “I like it. Now go make us proud, Waverly.”

  I saluted. “I’m on it.”

  On my way out of the building, I ran into Nick in the lobby. He was carrying a brown paper bag from Noah’s Bagels and had on a light blue T-shirt with Cougar Bait emblazoned across the front.

  “Walgreens?”

  “T.J. Maxx.”

  “Nice.”

  “You know it.”

  “Don’t you ever get in trouble for wearing stuff like that to work?”

  “Are you serious? This is a newspaper, Waverly.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s a paper dinosaur in a digital world. In the middle of Silicon Valley, of all places. They’ve got much bigger problems to worry about than my choice of office attire.”

  “Really? I didn’t realize.”

  He laughed. “Don’t you read the papers? Oh, wait, that’s right, no one does.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  He shrugged. “I just know it’s not good. But they need me, because I’m the only one around this place who knows anything about technology.”

  I smiled. “So it’s all about Nick?”

  He headed for the elevator. “You know it is. And don’t think I don’t have that on a tee shirt too.”

  As the doors closed behind him, I wondered if he was right. Was the Sun doomed? Was my column doomed? I pulled my phone out of my purse. This could be important, and I wanted to talk to someone about it. Someone who cared about me and my future.

  I stared at the phone in my hand.

  I’m calling Jake.

  I squeezed the phone.

  I’m totally calling him. I’m not calling McKenna or Andie this time.

  I took a deep breath and dialed his number, then exhaled and smiled.

  I did it!

  I’m moving this relationship forward. I’m opening the kimono.

  It went straight to voicemail, no ring.

  Ugh, his phone is turned off.

  I thought about leaving a message, but I couldn’t think of something witty to say, and I wanted to be witty. I wanted to be charming. I wanted to be something completely different than what I was feeling at the moment.

  Before his voicemail got to the beep, I hung up and called McKenna instead.

  I’ll call him tomorrow, I thought.

  I stood there for a few moments, then slowly turned toward the bus stop. On the way I passed my favorite homeless person in San Francisco, the guy who carries a sign that says “I bet you can’t hit me with a quarter.” I smiled at him, then hurled a quarter in his direction. In a city where on any given day you are one hundred times more likely to be asked for spare change than for your phone number, you’ve got to reward anyone with the ingenuity to stand out like that.

  I mean it. I’ll really call Jake tomorrow, I thought again.

  When I got back to my apartment, I picked up the phone to call Scotty.

  “Okay, it’s official. I’m in. They said yes.”

  “That’s great news, sweetheart.” Scotty was the only man I knew who could call me pet names without sounding patronizing or lecherous. I could practically feel his pretty green eyes sparkling through the phone.

  “My editor really liked the idea.” I leaned back in my chair, which creaked a bit. I made a mental note to put some WD-40 on it. Then I chuckled silently because I knew I never would.

  “Of course he did. Everyone loves The Today Show.”

  “I just hope I don’t blurt out something ridiculous. I have a tendency to do that when I get nervous.”

  “Oh pumpkin, please, you’ll do great.”

  “Fingers crossed. I’ve been reading through my favorites e-mail folder this afternoon, you know, to prepare something good, something really entertaining.”

  “Perfect, that’s what you need to do.”

  “But I’ve got to tell you, Scotty, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

  “Harder? Why?”

  “Because I have so much material here that I’m finding it hard to choose what to go with.”

  He laughed. “That good?
Or should I say, that bad?”

  “So bad. Wanna hear some?”

  “Oh yes. Lay it on me.”

  “Okay.” I sat up straight and put my hand over the mouse. “I’ll read you a few short ones. You ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Okay, here goes: ‘Dear Waverly, what the hell is wrong with men? My boyfriend of three years just broke up with me over e-mail. E-MAIL. After THREE YEARS. He hopes we can be friends. I hope he contracts E-coli.’”

  “Oh my,” Scotty said.

  “Oh yes. Here’s another one: ‘Dear Waverly, I just found out the guy I’ve been dating seriously for five months has an estranged wife (AKA HE IS MARRIED). He told me this while we were on vacation together in Hawaii. He also slipped in that he has two kids. Then he proposed. I proposed that he get his lying ass on a plane back to Oakland.’”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yep. And check this one out: ‘Dear Waverly, I just got a text message from my BOSS that said, “Thanks for the awesome dream last night.” Btw, my boss is male and has a wife, and my name is Brian. WTF??’”

  “Good lord.”

  “You said it.”

  “You think the last guy is referring to a senator, a congressman, or an evangelical TV pastor?”

  I laughed. “That’s not bad. I should have used it in my reply.”

  “You weren’t kidding about the abundance of material.”

  “That, my friend, is the horror of being a single person in the San Francisco Bay Area.”

  “Not that you would know.”

  I sat up in my chair. “Hey now, I’m single.”

  “Sweetheart, you are so not single.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  He laughed. “No, you aren’t.”

  “Yes, I am. We haven’t had the talk, Scotty. So nothing is official. Jake is not my boyfriend. We’re not exclusive. We don’t even live in the same city.”

  He sighed. “Gorgeous, I’m not talking about labels or geography, I’m talking about your heart. Don’t try to tell me it isn’t one hundred percent taken.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him he was wrong, but then I realized something.

  He was right.

  It was nearly four o’clock the next morning when I woke up and realized something else.

  I sat up in bed, half asleep, but aware that something was wrong.

  Oh no.

  I got out of bed and groggily stumbled into my office, moving aside my notebook, calculator, and phone to look for my calendar. I was the one of the last people alive to use a paper planner, but I loved writing things down with an actual pen. It kept me organized and on top of things.

  Until then, apparently.

  I flipped the pages back to November, then started counting forward from the last date I’d circled in red. My fingers tapped along the days, then stopped.

  I bit my lip.

  I’m late.

  For three days, I ignored it. I also ignored everything else. I don’t think I’d ever gone so long without talking to McKenna, although she may not have noticed given all the life changes she was dealing with. Andie was at a conference in San Diego. So I’d basically been holed up in my apartment, eating chocolate and hoping it wasn’t true.

  On day four, I checked the calendar again.

  Ten days late.

  I was never late.

  This is not good.

  Could I really be pregnant? I put my hand on my stomach to see if it was any bigger. Then I looked at my boobs. Still small. Actually, that part would be pretty cool, I thought for a moment. Then I smacked my forehead and told myself to get a grip.

  It was time to find out.

  I zipped up my fleece and grabbed my keys. Next stop, Walgreens. I just hoped I didn’t run into Nick in the checkout line. Maybe he could buy me a shirt that said Knocked Up and Single.

  As I walked down Fillmore Street, I wrapped my arms in front of me. Given the situation, I couldn’t help but notice my bare left ring finger. Regardless of what Scotty had said about my heart, the truth was that I was single. There I was, on my way to buy a pregnancy test, alone. Jake was probably on a plane somewhere over Indiana or Illinois or Iowa at the moment, clueless. His ignorance was my fault, of course. I hadn’t returned his last call, not sure what to tell him, or even how to tell him. What would he think? Would he be as freaked out as I was? Would this make him run for the hills?

  After making my purchase, I headed back up the street to my apartment, staring at the sidewalk and holding the Walgreens bag so tightly that I thought the plastic might melt into my skin. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

  Please, God, I know I never go to church, but please, don’t let me be pregnant.

  “Well hello there, Miss Waverly.”

  The sound of his voice stopped me in my tracks.

  Please, God, please also don’t let this bag be see-through.

  I raised my head and smiled.

  “Hi, Red. How are you?”

  He stopped walking, then took off his fedora and bowed his head slightly. As always, he had a newspaper tucked under his arm. “I’m wonderful, Miss Waverly, just on my way to volunteer at a soup kitchen.”

  “A soup kitchen? What do you do there?”

  “Whatever they need me to do.”

  “How did you get involved with that sort of thing?”

  “Oh, I’ve been helping out at soup kitchens for years now. It started when I struck up a conversation with a newly homeless man—in line at Starbucks of all places. He’d lost his job and had no family to fall back on.”

  I titled my head to one side. “If he was homeless, why was he spending his money on Starbucks coffee?”

  Red smiled. “He wasn’t, my dear. He was in line to request an application for employment.”

  I blushed, embarrassed at my assumption.

  “It sounds simplistic, but sometimes even a smile can make a difference in someone else’s life,” Red said.

  I nodded as I stood there, impressed not just by his kindness, but by his wisdom. I wondered how my life would have gone if my dad hadn’t been there for me, however dysfunctional our relationship. At least we had a relationship. I knew he was always there if I needed him.

  “You’re a good person, Red.”

  He bowed his head. “Just doing my part, Miss Waverly. So how are you?”

  Talk about a loaded question. “I’m good.” I squeezed the Walgreens bag. Ha.

  He narrowed his dark brown eyes. “You sure, my dear? You look a little…anxious.”

  I swallowed. “Just trying to work through some writer’s block. Did I tell you I write a newspaper column?”

  “You did indeed. You know I’m a word man myself.” He patted his newspaper. “So you’ve got a tangle of thoughts bumping around in that pretty head of yours but don’t know how to straighten them out?”

  “Something like that.”

  He didn’t speak for a moment, then slowly tapped two fingers to his temple. “You know, Miss Waverly, sometimes you just have to let things happen.”

  “Let things happen?”

  “Exactly. Loosen your grip, and things will work themselves out. It’s like my crossword here.” He held up the newspaper. “I find if I’m patient enough, the answers eventually come to me.”

  “Do you think so?” Suddenly I felt like crying. Were we talking about my column? I certainly wasn’t. I held onto the Walgreens bag.

  “Have faith, Miss Waverly.”

  “Thanks, Red, I’ll try.”

  Suddenly a breeze stirred around us, and I wrapped my arms around myself to stay warm.

  “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” he said.

  “What is?”

  He turned his head, and my eyes followed to a storefront that was boarded up.

  “You can look at this as someone’s failed dream, or as the chance for a new dream to take flight. It’s all in your perspective,” he said softly.

  I stared at the vacant building. I couldn’t even r
emember what used to be there.

  He took his fedora off again and pointed up the street with it. “Now get yourself back inside to get warm, my dear. I don’t want you to catch cold.”

  “Okay, Red, thanks. It was…it was nice running into you.”

  He bowed his head again and smiled. “Always a pleasure, Miss Waverly.”

  When I got back to my apartment, I put the cotton balls away and set the pregnancy test on my kitchen counter.

  Should I take it and then call Jake? Or should I call him and then take it?

  I didn’t know what to do, but one thing I did know was that I didn’t want to be pregnant. Not yet, maybe not ever.

  I thought about what Red had said.

  Things will work themselves out.

  I contemplated the box on the counter.

  Red was right.

  First I would tell Jake. Then I would take the test.

  I pulled my phone out of my purse and called him, but it went straight to voicemail. This was no time to call McKenna or Andie first. I had to leave a message.

  “Hey, Jake, it’s me, Waverly. I think you’re in…Phoenix? Salt Lake City? I swear I’m going on NBA dot com right now. Anyhow…I’m sorry to have been a little MIA lately, but…um, I’d like to talk to you about something. Please give me a call—thanks. Um…I hope the Hawks are winning, wherever you and they are. Bye.”

  I hung up the phone and cringed. I was the worse voicemail-leaver ever.

  Jake called me back that night. When I saw his name on the caller ID, I thought of the unopened pregnancy test, still sitting on the counter. I took a deep breath and answered.

  “Jake, hi.”

  “Hi.” His voice sounded…off.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called you back in a few days.” I immediately felt like I was going to cry. “I’ve been a little stressed out. How are you?” I sat on the couch and curled my legs underneath me.

  “Actually, I’m not so good. I have some bad news.” He didn’t sound angry, just…sad.

  “Bad news?”

  There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.