Can I Get An Amen? (26 page)

“I just wanted to see how your friend was doing.”

“Oh, he’s fine,” he said quickly before correcting himself. “I mean, he’ll
be
fine. Thanks for asking.”

“I’m excited to see you on Friday,” I said, rolling over onto my side so that my back faced the door. I pictured him sitting in his living room, his thin gray T-shirt stretched over his chest, his bare feet up on the coffee table. The lights would be dim, with just a reading light on above him.

He exhaled, as if thinking the same thing I was, as if imagining our being together. “I wish it could be sooner,” he said, and I waited for him to offer either an invitation or an explanation. “I just have a really busy week at work. I have something scheduled every single night.” I wondered what he was doing, whether it was the type of thing that a girlfriend could join him for.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I know you’re busy.”

“Maybe I can take you to lunch?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment at another G-rated, approved-for-all-audiences, thirty-minute daytime date. At least I would get to see him. At least he would slide his hand onto my lower back and kiss me good-bye. “That would be great.”

. . .

Before work on Monday, I went to the bank, stood in line, and requested a cashier’s check for six thousand dollars. “Made out to Roger Carlisle,” I told the teller, spelling his name out slowly. I felt that I owed my parents at least that much for living with them over the past several months. I tucked the check carefully into an envelope in my purse, keeping the bag under my arm as I left.

My mother was at a prayer meeting when I got home that night, and my father was at his usual post in his office. I knocked gently before walking in.

“Dad?”

He was seated at his desk, facing the bay window in front of him. His back was hunched slightly, his shoulders rounding under his blue-and-white windowpane shirt. “Hi, Ellie,” he said gently and without turning around.

I held the envelope awkwardly as I hovered behind him. “I just wanted to give you this.” It was burl wood, his desk, a beautiful piece that I remembered him and Mom picking out. The surface was so highly polished that it reflected my hand as I laid down the check.

“What’s this?” My father still did not look at me.

“It’s for room and board for four months.”

He stared at the envelope with a defeated, hopeless look, like it was one of the apocalyptic headlines from his financial papers. He made no move to touch it.

“So that’s it,” I said, to fill the dead, empty air. “And I’m going to get a place of my own after the New Year.”

“Have you started looking?”

The question felt like a blow to the gut. “I’ve started browsing—you know, just seeing what’s out there.” I couldn’t
explain my resistance to finding a place of my own. Unlike Kat, I’d never liked living independently. My parents’ home had been a sanctuary, a refuge when I left Boston, and moving out would mean that I was truly alone.

“Maybe your sister can ask around her complex, see if anything is available.”

“Yeah,” I said, backing away. “That’s a good idea.”

I closed the door as I left. Only then did I hear the envelope being torn open.

. . .

Brenda was aflutter at work all week with talk of her upcoming trip to Chicago and soon-to-be-born grandchild. “Jake says that Nora feels like she could go any day now,” she said, sitting on her hands, almost unable to bear the excitement. “I just hope she lasts until I get there.”

“When is her due date?”

“Christmas Eve.” Brenda was flying out on the twentieth and would stay for ten days, at which point her ex-husband and new wife would go for a visit. “I hope she’s not late,” she said, her face darkening as she imagined her replacement ingratiating herself, changing diapers and tickling chins with her long red nails. She would be the type of woman who would wear strong perfume to the hospital and dress the baby in uncomfortable, starched clothing.

“Don’t worry. I’ll bet Nora will go into labor when you’re there.”

Brenda looked at me gratefully. “That would be wonderful. Just imagine if he was here in time for Christmas.”

Brenda had purchased a shocking number of gifts for the baby, legacy items that would serve to mark her territory, to
solidify her role as grandmother. There was a rocking horse, a sterling silver cup, a cashmere receiving blanket. Brenda didn’t have tons of money, but she was sparing no expense for
the baby
.

“I’m going to give him a Christmas ornament every year. It’ll be our tradition.” This year, she had found a blown-glass baby bootie with a satin ribbon for hanging. “Have you finished your Christmas shopping?” she asked. This question invariably came from those who started in August, taking the time to find that just-right gift and tucking it away lovingly for months.

“No,” I said plainly. “I really haven’t started.”

“There’s still time,” said Brenda, meaning that there was no time. She used the exact same tone that I had used when assuring her that she would be present for her grandson’s birth.

When I was with Gary, we had always spent Christmas with his family. This would be the first Christmas in five years that I would be with mine. And while I hadn’t really taken much time to shop in the past, usually devoting just one solid evening to online ordering, I decided that this year I wanted to find something special for everyone. This year seemed important somehow, seminal.

Gary and I had spoken only twice since the final hearing. Each time, he’d reached out, wanting to foster something close to a friendship. I decided that I would get him a gift, along with gifts for Daniel and his mother—not really as an olive branch, but more as a reminder. I didn’t want to be so easily forgotten. And even though I had come a long way toward accepting that Gary and I weren’t right for each other, it still hurt that he had realized it first.

And then there was Mark. Mark was much harder. The first occasion for exchanging gifts was always so telling. Gary and I had started dating just before Valentine’s Day, and it was when I received two dozen red roses at work that I knew we were officially together. But that wasn’t Mark’s style. How intimate a
gift, how much to spend: these were the things that Kat would know.

. . .

“Ellen, I am
so
busy,” scolded Kat. She spoke loudly to be heard over the din of the salon. “Why are you calling me at work anyway?”

“I called you yesterday and you never called me back,” I retorted.

“All right, well, what is it?”

There were so many things that I could have said. Yes, I wanted her advice about Mark, but I also missed her; I wanted to hear her voice. Despite our trip to Boston, I felt that there had been a distance between us since that night with the Arnolds. But as I opened my mouth, my intentions stumbled, and I said only, “I was just wondering if you are coming to see Aunt Kathy.”

She exhaled. It was a long guttural noise that sounded as if she were clearing her throat. “Are you serious? That’s why you’re calling?”

“Yeah, I mean, everyone has been wondering where you are.”

“I’ll come when I can, Ellen,” she said.

“You should probably call Mom and let her know.”

And with that, Kat hung up.

. . .

Over the next day or two, I didn’t see my parents. My mother and Aunt Kathy had gone to Connecticut to visit one of Aunt Kathy’s friends from when Uncle Bill was stationed out of Groton; my father was either not home or holed up in his office. Jill was absorbed into Greg’s family’s holiday preparations. “Theresa is going to show me how she does her stuffed cabbage so I can
make it on Christmas Eve.” So with few distractions, I began to look in earnest for a new place to live. I was on Craigslist when Parker bounced into the office.

“Don’t you look cute!” oozed Brenda when she saw her. Parker was dressed for a day at the mall with lime green driving moccasins, a cashmere trench coat tied above her pregnant belly, and a pair of designer maternity jeans.

She slipped her sunglasses up onto her forehead. “I have had it up to here”—she raised her hand well above her head—“with
Christmas shopping
. I’m telling you, if I see so much as one more twinkling light, I think I might vomit.” Brenda giggled, delighted by Parker’s practiced, clichéd suburban angst.

“Ellen,” she said, turning to me, “is Philip in? I have some papers I need him to sign.”

“Um, yup,” I said as I brought the phone to my ear. “Let me ring him.”

She held up a familiar-looking heavy, white, watermarked envelope with crisp blue type and an elaborate crest. “Can you believe that Austin is starting at Horton already?” she trilled.

Philip answered. I was instructed to send Parker right in. When she came out she again waved the envelope in victory. “One more thing checked off the to-do list! You are so
lucky
, Ellen.” She kept walking as she spoke, letting her words trail behind her. “You wouldn’t believe how busy these kids keep me!”

Brenda looked at Parker, then at me, with an uneasy, confused expression. She was unfamiliar with the cruel side of Parker.

On her way out, Parker passed Mark, who held the door open for her as she sashayed regally out of the office. His eyes scanned the expansive lobby and made their way up to the mezzanine, looking for me. I didn’t wait for Helen to call me and tell
me that he had arrived. Instead, I grabbed my things and hurried toward the stairs, bouncing down them with a grin on my face. He met me at their base.

“Hey, you,” he said, brushing the hair off my face.

“Hi,” I said, inching closer.

“Let’s go get you some lunch.”

Though it had stayed cold, all signs of the weekend’s pristine snow had vanished, transformed into gray slush that gathered at the edges of the street. It was as if Monday was reminding us that all that white was too romantic, too special to linger. As we walked, Mark reached for my hand.

We passed window after window of elaborate displays, all elegantly done in natural tones or tasteful metallics. It wasn’t a colored-lights-and-tinsel sort of town. “What are you doing for the holidays?” I asked, not wanting to assume that he celebrated Christmas.

“I usually spend Christmas with some friends, since my family is so far away. This year we’re actually going to do some volunteer work.”

I squeezed his hand. “
Of course
you are,” I teased.

“What do you mean?”

“You are so
good
,” I said, turning to see his profile against the backdrop of the shops.

He reddened. “No, Ellen. I’m not.”

“Yes, you
are.
You are so kind and honest and
good
.”

He pulled us to a stop. “Ellen,” he said, turning toward me, words forming on his tongue.

I wrapped my arms around him. I wasn’t going to let him deny it. With our bellies pressed against each other, I felt his stomach growl. “Come on,” I said, pulling him forward. “You’re starving.” His feet reluctantly followed.

We sat with our legs intertwined under the table, talking about the holidays and our plans. He told me how he missed his family, how he wanted to plan a trip to Africa soon. “You would love it, Ellen,” he said. It wasn’t an invitation, but I allowed my mind to meander down that path.

I, in turn, gave Mark the highly edited version of my family turmoil. The years-long feud between Kat and my parents became a little tiff; weeks of silence and resentment became a communication issue. “I think it’s taking its toll on my mother. She and my dad have been really stressed-out lately about some other stuff, so this is just the icing on the cake.” And again, as whenever I revealed a small personal detail to Mark, I immediately felt as though I could tell him everything and anything.
But there’s time,
I reminded myself, remembering my too-early confession about Gary. And about me.
No need to rush it.

After a quick lunch, Mark walked me back to the office. He tucked us into a small side street next door to my building and leaned against a brick wall. “I’ll see you Friday,” he said, pulling me close to him. He looked at once proud and mischievous as he added, “
I’m
making dinner.”

“You can cook?” I asked, not quite skeptically, as it seemed that Mark could do anything.

“I can make a thing or two.”

I leaned up and kissed him.

K
at never did call my mother. Instead, she came walking defiantly into the house. It was Thursday evening. Aunt Kathy and my mother had gotten home late the night before from Connecticut. I didn’t know where my father was.

I was alone at the kitchen table writing a Christmas card to Daniel when the back door swung open. From the look on Kat’s face, she expected—she
hoped—
for an ungracious welcome. Standing in the doorway for a moment, she let the cold, stark night air rush into the house. We looked at each other but said nothing. It seemed like such a simple thing, walking into our parents’ house unannounced, but it would be seismic in its repercussions.

Mom came hurrying in from the family room. When she saw that it was Kat, she didn’t look surprised, only wearily prepared, like a battle-hardened soldier. She straightened her back, made the effort of taking on a more formal posture. “Katherine,” she said. It was a reprimand, an accusation, and a prayer. I knew that
she was relieved to see Kat after so long, after so much anticipation, but now it would begin.

“Where’s Aunt Kathy?” asked Kat coldly.

Aunt Kathy, following my mother, appeared from around the corner. “Hey, Kat, honey!” she said nervously, in a futile attempt to defuse the situation. “You look as gorgeous as ever.” She strode toward Kat with open arms.

Kat gave her a guarded but still somehow warm hug, with her elbows tucked into her sides and hips back. Aunt Kathy hooked her chin over Kat’s shoulder. “You girls are so lucky that you got your daddy’s height.”

Aunt Kathy then leaned back and stuck out her chest, ready to deliver her breast-implant routine, but Kat peered around her and looked straight at my mother. “So what, no cozy little dinner with the Arnolds tonight?”