Sometime Soon (16 page)

I notice that Dad, who was yawning
when the topic of conversation was my friends, now hangs on my every word. With
a mortgage to pay each month, he seems to worry about me more. He doesn’t talk
much. He never has. And he hardly ever initiates a conversation, but these days
he always seemed to ask, “Are you doing okay for money?” In turn, I always
assure him that I am. I think he’s afraid that he’ll end up having to pay my
mortgage in addition to his own. But I really am doing fine, and I even have a
small, but growing savings account in case my job disappears.

The sun is slipping below the
horizon when we finally pile into the car to head over to the hotel. From the
darkness of the backseat, I watch headlights strobe by from the other lane. I
always feel about thirteen-years-old when I sit in the backseat of my parents’
car.

Mom turns back to me from the
passenger seat. “Laura said she wasn’t sure if you would be able to come with
us tonight because you had a date.”

Laura is in serious trouble. “I
didn’t have a date.”

“She said it was with the boy you
got into a car accident with.”

I sigh. “It was supposed to be.
Yes.”

“You didn’t cancel, did you?”

“No, he never called to arrange
it.”

“Oh,” she says, her lips forming a
tiny circle.

I see her thinking this over, and
I’m not optimistic enough to believe she’ll drop it and turn back around. She
is desperate for me to find someone. Here I am doing a favor for Laura, and she
has broken the unspoken rule of never telling Mom about my private life. I want
to absolutely strangle her. “Maybe something happened and he couldn’t call
you,” she suggests after moment, raising her eyebrows at me.

“Maybe,” I said noncommittally.

“An emergency could have come up.”

“Anything is possible,” I smile
grimly, desperate for a change in topic.

“You’re upset at him for not
calling,” she states.

Despite my clipped monotone
responses, she’s not taking the hint to drop the subject. I sigh again. “I’m
not anything. I hardly know him. He said he would call and he didn’t. That’s
all.”

“You could give him the benefit of
the doubt.”

“Yes, I could.”

She narrows her eyes at my swift
agreement, wondering if I’m being sarcastic with her. Of course, I am.

“Who is this?” Dad asks.

“No one,” I reply quickly.

He looks at Mom questioningly. She
turns to him and puts on her long-suffering
she’s your daughter
expression.

We arrive at the hotel within ten
minutes of our targeted time. A sign balanced on an easel inside the lobby
doors of the Marriott points the way to the
Winsted Corporation Annual
Awards Dinner
. The dinner has already taken place, and JB of JB and the
Enthusiasts, whose name is actually Joe I’ve learned, has instructed my parents
to arrive after nine to see the band. We can already hear the music as we
approach the open doors of the function room. As we get closer, the melody of
“New York, New York” becomes clear. Hovering in the doorway, we peer in at a
typical hotel function room with crystal chandeliers, walls papered in shimmering
gold, and round tables surrounding a parquet dance floor. To the left of the
dance floor is a platform that serves as a stage for the band. The band has
several pieces, including a horn section. Beside me, my dad is subtly swaying
to the music. “Pretty good,” he comments, raising his voice to be heard. “New
York, New York” is his kind of tune.
To the band’s credit, the dance floor is full. But its occupants appear to be
Wall Street refugees who have been enjoying the open bar for several hours. Of
course, Laura and Jonathan’s friends aren’t that different from this group.
After “New York, New York” finishes, they go right into “What a Wonderful
World.”

“They’re terrific.” Dad smiles at
me.

“They’re the most expensive one on
the list,” Mom comments, obviously not pleased that Dad likes them so much.

This dampens his enthusiasm.

“What do you think?” Mom asks me.
We’re still standing in the doorway.

I am far from an expert on live
music, but I know the playlist hasn’t interested me so far. I shrug noncommittally.

“They are pretty good,” she admits.

“Do they play any songs written in
the last fifty years?” I ask. The entire band seems to be playing music from
their own youth.

“You don’t think they’re
contemporary enough?”

“They’re not contemporary at all.”

“Did you like the other band
better, Jack?” she asks my dad.

He shakes his head. “Not
particularly.”

“I can ask them if they play more
contemporary music for the kids,” Mom offers.

“Good idea,” I answer, trying not
to grin at the thought of Laura, Jonathan, and their friends being referred to
as
the kids
. But I’m soon distracted from my thoughts when the band
starts playing their next tune. The horn section suddenly comes alive, and the
room buzzes with excitement as people pour onto the already crowded dance
floor. I now recognize the song as “25 or 6 to 4” by Chicago.
I look to Mom and Dad for their reactions. Dad cringes and Mom put her hands to
her ears. “Too loud,” she mouths.

At that point, they decide they’ve
seen enough. If I had known we weren’t even going to enter the function room, I
wouldn’t have changed into a dress.

“They were terrific up until that
last song,” Dad muses once we’re back in the quiet of the parking lot.
 My ears are still buzzing from the noise. “I thought they were great on
the last song.” It may be a foolhardy move, but I’ve decided to go ahead and
offer an opinion. “Did you see how the dance floor filled up? Everyone loved
it.”

“It was awfully loud. Wasn’t it,
Jack?” Mom asks with obvious distaste.

Dad nods.

“It looks like they can play
different types of music though,” I offer.

“Those first two songs were great.”
Dad softly hums “New York, New York” as he unlocks the car for us.

“We’ll have to decide if they’re
worth the extra money,” Mom states. Then she turns to me and asks, “You’ll call
Laura and tell her what you thought?”

“Sure. Would you like to tell me
what I thought before I call her?”

I hear Dad chuckle.

Mom narrows her eyes at me--not the
first time tonight. “Very funny, Andrea.”

Laura really has to try to see the
humor in this process if she’s ever going to survive it.

Laura calls me from her car. It’s
nearly eleven, and I’m about to call it a night.

“How was the closing?” I ask,
stifling a yawn.

“Fine. No surprises. How was the
band?”

“They were pretty good. Dad loved
them until they belted out a loud Chicago song. Before that, they played some
sedate Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong
tunes. But I don’t think Mom liked them overall.”
“Well, that’s it then. They’re off the list. Glad I didn’t waste my time on
them. Thank you for going.”

“My pleasure. Are you almost home?”

“Nearly there. Andy.” She hesitates
before continuing. “I’m sorry Ryan didn’t call.”

“It’s no big deal,” I lie. “And I
thought you knew better than to mention it to Mom.”

“When you weren’t sure if you could
make it, I had to tell them something.”

“I just don’t want to be asked
about it by Mom. Even if I never hear from Ryan again, she’ll be questioning me
about him for the next decade.”

“Sorry,” she mutters weakly. “Can I
ask you something without your getting mad or saying no right away?”

“No.”

“Andy, come on.”

“What is it?”

“There’s an attorney I’ve seen at a
few closings. He’s very nice and smart and he’s single. I think you’d really
like him.”

I switch off my bedside light,
snuggle under the covers, and blink in the darkness until my eyes gradually
adjust enough to discern the dark familiar shape of my bedroom. I feel Tiger
curl up beside me. “Is there a question in there?” I ask.

“You know what the question is.”

I sigh. “Not interested.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not. Thanks anyway.”

“Andy,” she whines.

“Not now Laur. I’m tired, okay?”

“Okay, fine. But promise me you’ll
think about it.”

“Fine. I’ll think about it.” I
relent to end the conversation. “Good night and drive carefully.”

“I will. Your time will come, Andy.
 He’s out there somewhere,” she says softly, sounding disappointed for me.

A tight knot of frustration forms in
my stomach, and I feel my anger bubbling to the surface. “Good night,” I repeat
before ending the call.

I roll over abruptly and startle
Tiger into jumping off the bed. I’ve made a successful career for myself. I’ve
worked hard and bought my own home. I am generally a happy and contented
person, but as far as my family is concerned, unless I get married and have a
family of my own, I will never truly be successful. As for me, I can’t even
begin to think about what I want. It’s as though I have no control over that
part of my life. I’ve been dating for years. That’s the only part of my life in
which I can’t manage to find success, and I’m afraid that if I let myself want
it too badly it won’t be for the right reasons anymore. I believe that I’m
actually happier when I’m not dating and being disappointed over and over
again. What’s so bad about saying that I’m simply done for a while? I could
take a dating sabbatical for a few years. I’ve really applied myself and I just
can’t make it work right now. I can give up for a bit if I want to. Can’t I?

Sleep does not come as I lay there
in the darkness in that place between slumber and wakefulness. It’s only when I
purposely put those thoughts away that I finally drift off.

“Karthik quit.”

“What?” Nate and I ask in unison.

“Steve is gone, too. He and Karthik
went to Cronus Technologies.” Phil, a light-haired, diminutive software
engineer that I’ve had some dealings with is standing in the space between
Nate’s cubicle and mine.

“When did this happen?” Nate asks.

Phil turns to him. “Yesterday
afternoon. Once they gave their notice, they were both escorted out of the
building. They couldn’t take anything with them.”

“I’m sure they took whatever they
wanted before they resigned,” I say. Steve is one of  Karthik’s lead
engineers. They have been a team for a long time.

 “They came and said good-bye
to a few of us. Told us where they were going,” Phil confirms.

“That’s it then,” Nate stands up.
“The exodus begins.”

He’s right. This is generally how
it works. Unexpected changes made without adequate explanations causes panic in
the ranks. Then a few key people jump ship, and a domino effect begins. Nobody
wants to be the one left to turn off the lights. I look at Phil. “So, did you
catch their work?”

He nods. “For now. That’s why I’m
here. I need to see the white papers before you guys post them. We were just
told to slash some features.”

I roll my eyes. I now have to
rework the white papers, again. “Why?”

“Napa wants it out the door next
month.”
“But the deal hasn’t even officially been approved yet.” Nate moves outside the
perimeter of his cube walls. “How can they start telling us what to do?”

“I think they’re already making a
lot of changes by proxy,” Phil answers, having to crane his neck back to talk
to Nate.

Nate’s face is beginning to flush.

“I’ll tell Rob to hold off on
posting them, and I’ll send them to you by email this afternoon,” I offer. I’m
already composing the email as Phil thanks me and strolls off.

“Karthik bailed pretty fast,” Nate
comments, wanting to chat. He’s leaning against my cube wall. With his size, it
is a move that always makes me nervous. Today he has on a bright blue T-shirt
that reads
I beta tested your mom
.

I reluctantly stop what I’m doing.
“Karthik is a smart guy. He must have had all sorts of offers. He never had to
stay here one second longer than he wanted to.”

Nate leans in toward me. “Are you
going to start looking for a job?” he asks in a whisper.

I was afraid that question was
coming. I hesitate. “I don’t know. Are you?”

He sits back on his heels and
pushes his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts. “I don’t know.”

We’re at an impasse. I smile
sympathetically at him. He returns the gesture, but it’s a ghost of a grin that
doesn’t reach his worried eyes.

News of Karthik’s departure is the
impetus for the afternoon call I put in to the recruiter. Perhaps my job search
now requires more urgency. Maryanne tells me that there is nothing new and asks
if I want to change my location or salary requirements. I don’t. Not yet. Although,
if a layoff is imminent, I need to get out before it occurs. When interviewing
for a new job you’re always more attractive if you currently have a job.

Today is Friday, and it’s the last day
of August. Monday is Labor Day, part of the three-day weekend that signals the
unofficial end of summer. I hate Labor Day. Mainly because it means fall and
then winter is on its way, but also because it signals the arrival of the
annual Whitman family barbecue. This much-dreaded barbecue is a seasonal
mainstay for my parents. Attendance has slowly dwindled as the older aunts and
uncles have passed away, and various cousins have moved away or begged off. But
the barbeque will not be deterred by a lack of attendance or the inability of
my father to use the grill. “It’s a new grill. I’m still getting used to it,”
he complains every year.

On Saturday, I sleep late and then
putter around the house, cleaning up, doing laundry, and eventually getting out
to run some errands. On Sunday, I have plans with Katie.

I meet her downtown at a sandwich
shop on Arlington Street. With everyone soaking up the last days of summer, the
streets of Boston are packed with people, and the line for the sandwich place
is out the door. All the sidewalk tables are taken, and waiting patrons hover
around diners hoping to swoop in the moment anyone makes a move to leave.