The Makedown (31 page)
“Well?” Janice asks with her usual trepidation one morning as I enter D&D.
“Well what?” I ask, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
“How are you?”
“Good,” I say, pulling my hair into a ponytail to get it out of my way before I start chopping vegetables. “You want to see a movie tonight?”
Janice looks constipated with anxiety.
“Anna,” she says seriously.
“Honestly, are you still upset about Gary’s brother? I promise, when I’m ready to date again, he will be my first call.”
“It’s not about Jonathan. It’s . . . it’s Ben.”
“Ben?” I repeat back to Janice, confused.
“He called here looking for you.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Yeah, he sounds good. I don’t know if that’s what you want to hear, but—”
“No, he deserves to be happy.”
“Oh, Anna.”
“Honestly, Janice, it’s better he’s in good spirits.”
“You know, you really don’t have to tell him what you did. You both are moving on. Why dredge up the past? Especially since it doesn’t paint you in the best light.”
“It will help me move on. Hand me the phone; I need to get this over with.”
The final flame of possibility is about to be blown out. I expect Ben to say he never wants to see me again. But at least I will know I did the right thing.
“Hello.”
“Hey.”
He recognizes my voice immediately, reminding me how close we once were.
“How are you?”
“I’m okay. How are you?” I ask politely.
“Good. So what’s up?”
“Um, well, I was wondering if we could get a coffee.”
“Anna, it’s too soon.”
“I know, I know. But I really need to tell you something.”
“Can’t you tell me on the phone?”
“No, I think it would be better—”
“I really don’t want to see you. It truly is over between us.”
“I know it’s over, but I need five minutes. Please, you are the only man I have ever been in love with. Just five minutes.” I fight off tears. I don’t want Ben to feel manipulated by emotion.
There is a long silence on the other end of the phone.
“How about the Starbucks near the apartment?”
He says “the apartment” as if we still live there together.
“Yeah, that works.”
“Can you make 5:30 this afternoon?”
“Thank you, Ben.”
This afternoon’s actions will dictate the tone of the rest of my life. This is the first step toward being proud of myself as a person. This is a character-building exercise. However, as dedicated as I am to building character, I maintain a superficial need to look good in front of Ben. Today’s outfit must convey my sincere apologies while also highlighting my subtle sex appeal. I know that Ben cannot be lured back into my arms, but this afternoon will be emblazoned in his memory forever. He will never forget what I am going to tell him. He will tell his future wife and children about it, finding laughter in the story as the years pass. At first, I will be a mentally unstable psychotic freak, followed by a neurotic bitch, then a crazy young woman, and finally a sweet but misguided girl. Oddly enough, the less he cares about me, the kinder his description of me will be. Therefore, if I am to be engraved in his mind for eternity, I must look good. Today’s outfit will be wide-cuffed black slacks that create the optical illusion that I am both tall and skinny and a low-cut black sweater. It’s not too revealing, but it offers a tempting glimpse of cleavage.
Sitting alone at the Starbucks on Spring Street, my stomach wrestles with anxiety and fear. I begin my traditional hand-wiping exercise. My palms are once again a watery mess and my sweat ’stache is rapidly forming.
Ben enters.
I wipe off the ’stache, rub my palms, and stand up. He walks toward me with a serious expression. Remember, what’s done is done. I cannot change or redo anything. Ben sports jeans and his Born in the USA T-shirt, the same shirt he wore the first time I saw him. Does he know that? Did he wear it on purpose? It is more likely that he has no idea of the shirt’s significance and just happened to put it on today. I prepare for what will most likely be our last hug. I am going to savor the moment as long as possible, without seeming strange. He stands in front of me, but to my great surprise, he doesn’t offer a hug, only a handshake.
We shared a life, an apartment, and countless orgasms, and he offers me a handshake? I accept his hand as if he is a perfect stranger.
“Do you want a coffee or anything? I’m buying,” I say awkwardly. Why did I say “I’m buying” as if a three-dollar latte is going to sway his opinion of me?
“No, I’m good.”
“I don’t want any coffee either.”
Silence hangs between us. I need to say it, but somehow my mouth remains closed.
“How is your new place?” Ben asks without making eye contact. An unbearable sadness takes over me. If I don’t tell him quickly, I may fall apart.
“It’s fine. Listen, I need to tell you something.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t look like the girls you normally date.”
“Anna, why are you doing this?”
“No, please let me finish. I knew from the beginning that you gave me a chance because your mother forced you to after Gela. I didn’t care. I loved you. Everywhere we went, women smiled at you and scratched their heads when they saw me, wondering how I got a man like you. And when they smiled at you, you smiled back.”
“Stop this, please.”
“No, you need to know, Ben. I was convinced I was going to lose you to someone more physically appropriate. This is me at my best— I had to work really hard to get here.”
“ Anna—”
“I only did it because I was afraid of losing you.”
Ben stares at me perplexed. “Did what?”
“I made you gain weight. I was the one who canceled your gym membership and pushed those awful flannels on you. The bald patches were from me putting Nair in your shampoo. I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand. I wanted to make you less perfect.”
“That explains the fake Nature’s Way bars.”
“They were Skor bars. How did you find out?”
“Someone gave me a Skor bar,” Ben says calmly.
Maybe this will be okay. Maybe he won’t hate me.
“Anna, this is a little hard for me to accept. I let you into my life and I loved you. You actively worked to destroy me.”
“I didn’t mean for—”
“Only a cruel and vicious person could do something like this.”
“I loved you, Ben. I love you still.”
He stands to leave, revolted by the sight of me. Maybe if he understood the kind of persecution I withstood as a child, maybe he could find an ounce of compassion.
“If you just let me explain what it was like for me growing up . . .”
Ben turns away from me without so much as a look or a wave good-bye. I am the most putrescent of all scum. The sensation of pain, guilt, and self-loathing is worse than anything I could have imagined. To watch his opinion of me sour is excruciating.
As unscrupulously nasty as people were in my youth, I had always been on the right side of the ethical equation. I was never in a position where I questioned how my behavior affected another person. But I don’t regret telling Ben the truth. He has the right to understand the metamorphosis I thrust upon him. And I deserve to feel exactly like I do— devastated.
A
re you okay?” Janice asks soothingly.
Her face is etched with concern as she prepares me a cup of tea at D&D. It takes a loyal friend to offer compassion to the guilty. She would care for me if I self-destructed again, refusing to brush my teeth or shower. For that, I am eternally grateful. Thankfully, I don’t think it will be necessary.
“Watching him lose respect for me was unbearable, but I feel okay.”
“Did you order delivery? Maybe some donuts. It’s okay if you did.”
“No. It’s shocking, but I didn’t even think about that. I can’t believe—”
“That it’s over?”
“That I haven’t fallen apart. It feels right; we’re supposed to be over. After what happened, it should be over. He deserves to move on . . . to let go.”
“Anna, you don’t sound like yourself. It’s kind of freaking me out. Why aren’t you crying and refusing to brush your teeth?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m okay that it’s over.”
“Do you still love him?” Janice asks, grappling to understand my calm façade.
“Of course. I’ll always love Ben. Always. That will never change, but I don’t want to spend my life feeling insecure that my boyfriend will leave me.”
“But you still love him.”
“I know this is right. We’re both going to be happy.”
“You’ve come along way, baby.”
“Nothing says friendship like stealing tag lines from cigarette companies.”
“Next time you meet someone, it will be different. You will be different.”
“Yeah,” I respond.
“On the bright side, you can start eating meat again!”
“You’re sweet, but I think being a vegetarian suits me.”
The next morning, I wake to a huge surprise at 7:20.
“Hello?” I grumble into the telephone.
“The Won has arrived!” Barney cries rapturously.
“What?”
“The Won Ton fell out of Ming’s . . . soup bowl.”
“Well, there’s a euphemism I haven’t heard before.”
I’m shocked by the news. I shouldn’t really be surprised, seeing as I’ve had nine months to get used to it, but I still somehow am. I am now the proud owner of an illegitimate half-sibling, Thomas Joseph Norton, weighing eight pounds three ounces. He is the lightest baby ever born to the Norton clan.
“The Won has some grip. He’s got my whole finger in his hand.”
“So you like him?”
“He’s pretty cool,” Barney says, trying to appear nonchalant.
“I thought you were waiting until he was two to make a decision.”
“I’m not saying he’s in my will or anything, but he has that certain Norton something. It’s kind of magical.”
“Poor kid. Have you talked to Mother?”
“Anna, you have no idea what you are in for.”
“What does that mean? Is she drunk? Crying? Lighting things on fire?”
“Call her.”
“Barney, tell me!” I shriek.
“Not on your life.” Click.
Barney shouldn’t withhold such pertinent information from me. This is our mother. She’s moderately old with the mind of a circus performer. God only knows what she’s done. I can barely dial Mother’s number, I’m so hysterical.
The phone rings. Please answer.
“Hello?” Mother says with food in her mouth.
“Mother? Are you okay?” I say frantically.
“Sorry, had an egg roll in my mouth.”
“Did you say egg roll?”
“Yes, and let me tell you, it’s not easy to find a Chinese place that delivers this early in the morning.”
“You’re eating Chinese food?”
“A little MSG never hurt anyone.”
“So the ban on Chinese food has been lifted?”
“Of course! Didn’t you hear? Ming and your father apologized.”
“What? They did? I had no idea,” I say with aston ishment.
“I didn’t give Ming enough credit. She may have terrible taste in men, but she’s pretty smart.”
“What happened? When did they call?”
“Oh, they didn’t call.”
“They wrote you a note? An e-mail?”
“No.”
“Flowers? A Mrs. Fields cookie cake? Balloons?”
“No, it was more of a subliminal apology.”
“I’m not following.”
“They named the baby after me.”
“Uh, Mother, I’m not sure what Barney told you, but they named him Thomas. Your name is Mary. They don’t even sound similar.”
“His middle name is Joseph, Mary’s husband in the Bible. Pretty damn smart. Honestly Anna, I almost didn’t get it.”
“I understand that. It certainly isn’t the most direct way to apologize.”
“Anna, I can move on. This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
“Mother, are you still in love with Dad?”
“In love?” Mother laughs. “Oh, Anna, I don’t want to upset you, but I haven’t been in love with your father in many decades.”
“Then why didn’t you move on?”
“I may not have been in love with him, but we had a life, and he left that life without so much as an apology. After thirty years, I deserved an apology. I deserved something— a gesture that made me understand that I meant something. And now I have it.”
Even though Mother’s delusional, I’m thrilled she can move on. Hopefully now she can focus on deprogramming her QVC addiction.
Mother’s newfound freedom ignites concern in me. I fret that Ben is consumed by anger over my betrayal. Was telling him the wrong thing to do? I can no longer tell if I did it for his sake or merely to appease my guilt. If only he had stayed and heard what I had to say, maybe it would have helped him. It’s too late. To call him now would be another interruption. And what if he’s fine; my call will only upset him again. But what if he’s not?
The only person I trust to decipher Ben’s state of mind is the woman who brought us together— his mother, Milly. I cringe, thinking how she must loathe me. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if my face was pinned to a dartboard somewhere in her apartment. Maybe I should write her a letter cataloging the pain of my youth, explaining the misery I endured over my physical appearance. Or maybe I should simply send her Hello Fatty. The thought of someone, let alone Ben’s mother, reading my innermost secrets and criticisms makes me want to vomit. It is the emotional equivalent of a gynecological exam. My intense nervousness and nausea communicate one simple fact— there is no more powerful record of my past than this book.
On a plain white paper, I craft a note to Milly. I don’t ponder long and hard about the words. I force them onto the page. I cannot allow myself time to waver, so I write as fast as possible.
Milly,
As Ben’s mother, I suspect you must hate me. I understand. I only write to you today because I worry that my actions have had a lasting effect on Ben. I won’t contact him, for I don’t want to upset his life any more. I send this to you, on the off chance that you think he needs it to let go of the anger. If he’s okay, please just throw this away. It doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry.
—Anna
