The Standout (14 page)

“Which type?”

“What? How would I know? Granny Smith? Golden Delicious? Who cares?”

“No, what type of hepatitis?” The lights on my phone flash, which means I have a call on another line. It’s probably important; all my calls are.

“Oh. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Anyway, it sounds like she was really sick. I think they sell something at Whole Foods that you can spray on your fruits and vegetables to protect from stuff like that. I always thought it was a waste of money, but now I’m thinking—”

“Tina, I have to go. Sorry.”

“Okay, you’re the one who called me, you know.”

“I know. I just have another call and—”

She clicks her goodbye before I can finish my apology. And as I answer this other call, I long for the time when Tina and I hated to say goodbye, when all I had to do to make her smile was just be myself.

Several hours later I’m still at my desk, reviewing figures that can’t be right. If these numbers reflected on the page are real, I’m a dead man. Then Tina calls, I look at the clock, and realize I’m already a dead man.

I answer my phone. “I’m so sorry, Tina. I’m on my way right now.”

“You said you’d pick them up!” she screeches. “The school called me. Miles and Mason were waiting for an hour by the curb after baseball practice.”

My blood goes cold, even colder than my bed has been lately. “Tina, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time.”

“You are such a bastard. Now there’s no way I can make the board meeting tonight. By the time you get home it will be practically over.”

“No, I’ll leave right away, and—”

“No!” Tina’s voice is strangled with tears. “Forget it, okay?”

“Tina, come on. I’m sorry. It’s just that work has been really difficult and I got caught up.”

“That’s always your excuse, Ted. Nothing comes before work: not your kids and definitely not me.”

There’s a tug of anger in the pit of my stomach. “That’s not fair. Everything I do, I do for you.”

“Please!” She takes a series of shallow breaths. “You only ever think of yourself. You are the most selfish person I know.”

Then it just slips out. “Well, if that’s the case, you don’t know yourself at all.”

There’s a long pause, where I know I should start groveling and offer up lame justifications for why I’d say something like that. The words run through my mind but my lips stay clamped shut.

“Fuck you.” Tina finally says. Then she hangs up on me, again.

I let my head drop so that my chin is pressed against the smooth wood of my desk and all I can see is dark. The fact that today hasn’t gone much differently than any other day doesn’t make me feel worse, doesn’t make me feel better.

I turn back to my computer. Tina just said I shouldn’t rush home, and if I do, she’ll probably be even more pissed. It’s better to stay here, so it will seem like I had a real work emergency. But I can’t go over these figures one more time, so I start surfing. On one of the sites I visit, an ad pops up: “Looking for a change of career? We have online courses in over thirty topics! Start your new life today!”

The idea that it’s possible to start a new life is what makes me click on the link. I know it’s silly, but sometimes just considering the options can help. I scroll down: accounting, cosmetology, early education, funeral services. No, no, no, and no.

But then I get to private investigation.

I do feel like I’m always the last one to know things. Wouldn’t it be nice to change that? I could lurk in dark corners and do stakeouts. I’d start wearing dark jeans and crew necks and I wouldn’t have to shave every day. People would respect me, maybe even fear me a little. And perhaps I would finally understand what’s going on.

I read about the course. It’s nine hundred dollars but if I enroll now I get three hundred dollars off.
What the hell
? I think.

I sign up.

Most days blend into the background of our memories but a few stand out, and they will always be high definition, bold print shapes in our mind. I wish we could select which days those would be, but of course we can’t. My graduation from Harvard, my wedding day, the days my sons were born. . . those days are still pretty vivid. Less extraordinary days stay with me too, like when Tina and I walked to this Mexican restaurant and she laughed at my lame jokes and the sunlight bounced off her hair. But certain moments are lost, victims to the happiness, excitement or boredom I was feeling at the time.

Others are on an endless loop inside my head, moments that seem to capture certain life-long themes, for better or for worse.

The summer before my senior in year in college I was home, stuck driving Robin from one summer camp to another, and she hung out with a mean girl named Gwen. They were only eleven but Gwen was already a teenager, wearing makeup and earbuds from the CD Walkman she always had with her. Gwen was addicted to
New Kids on the Block
.

And Robin wanted to be like Gwen, so when Gwen invited her for a sleepover, she begged to go. “No way,” I stated flatly.

“You’re not my father!” Robin insisted, and she ran to Dad, imploring him to be nicer than me.

“I don’t see why not,” Dad said.

“Did she tell you about their plan to sneak out?” I asked. “Did she tell you they’re inviting boys over after Gwen’s parents go to sleep? And that they’re going to try cigarettes and alcohol?”

“That’s a lie!” Robin insisted.

Maybe it was, but I could imagine such duplicity from Gwen. More importantly, I’d overheard her making fun of Robin while I sat in my car, waiting for her after her swim lessons got out. Gwen had emerged first, laughing and drinking a Slurpee. “Robin’s such a loser!” Gwen had said as she looped arms with another girl. “I only pretend to like her because her brother is cute.”

Gwen was talking about Ian, who was eighteen, still in the closet, and irresistible to all the girls.

So I lied to keep Robin from going to that slumber party, because I’d heard the stories of how cruel girls can be, playing pranks and setting each other up for torment. I couldn’t tell Robin the truth without hurting her feelings, so I did everything I could to keep her as far away from Gwen as possible.

She hated me for it. “You’re the worst brother in the world!” she cried, her face streaked with tears and her voice choked with rage. “You don’t have any friends so you don’t want me to have any either!” Those were the last complete sentences she’d said to me all summer, and in the years since, she hasn’t said much more.

And I found my place in life; I’m the guy who makes the hard choices that nobody likes, and thus, nobody likes me either.

Robin wants to stay with me before she goes off to do another reality show. I say sure, and I even pick her up at the airport. We talk on the drive home and the conversation actually goes well.

In the morning I make French toast and sausage, place some halved grapefruits in dishes and sprinkle them with sugar, make coffee, and pour glasses of orange juice for Miles and Mason. They are the first ones downstairs, and their excitement at finding such an elaborate breakfast, on a weekday no less, gratifies me. They sit down and dig in.

“Where’s Aunt Robin?” Miles asks. His nine-year-old rooster hair is sticking up and he already has a smear of syrup on his face. I feel a rush of parental protectiveness. I can’t send him off to school like this, not unless I want the other kids to pick on him. I grab a paper towel, wet it, and use it to wipe his face, and then I smooth his unruly curls.

“She’s upstairs getting ready,” I tell him. “Robin has a big day ahead of her. She’s going to be on TV.”

“God, what smells so good?”

As if on cue, Robin enters the kitchen, and Miles and Mason jump up, ready to give her sticky syrup hugs. She returns the affection, somehow managing to keep their fingers off her weird, grayish purple outfit. All of Robin’s outfits are eccentric, but this one is especially so.

“You’re not wearing that for the first day of filming, are you?” I ask.

Robin’s face, which had been lit by a bright smile, turns blank and wounded.

‘I have to make a statement, Ted.” Her mouth turns down. “Anyway, we can’t all wear Ralph Lauren, all the time.”

“I like what you’re wearing,’ says Mason, who is the more fabulous of my two sons. “You remind me of a girl dinosaur.”

I burst out laughing, which doesn’t help. But Robin quickly recovers from Mason’s compliment. “Thank you, Mason. ‘Girl dinosaur’ is totally what I was going for.”

Tina enters, her hair pulled back and her makeup on. I almost never see her disheveled, not even first thing in the morning or last thing at night. And unlike Robin, she’s wearing neutral colors, with a shirt tucked into trim pants. She looks even skinnier than usual.

“Hey, good morning,” I say. “There’s grapefruit, French toast, and sausage.”

She frowns. “Just the grapefruit and coffee, thanks.” But when she reaches for a dish she rolls her eyes. “Ted, did you sprinkle sugar on this?”

“Yeah, only a little. Grapefruit is so bitter otherwise.”

Tina drops the grapefruit in the garbage. “Just coffee, then,” she mumbles.

Robin can sense the tension, I’m sure of it, but she pretends that she can’t. “Hi, Tina!” She goes to hug her, and Tina half-heatedly returns the embrace. “It’s good to see you.”

Tina pastes on a smile. “It’s good to see you too! How exciting, that you’re doing another reality show! I guess you’re the success story in your family.”

“Or the laughing stock,” Robin replies.

“Oh, no. Not you!” Tina sounds so fake that my neck grows warm. It’s okay for me to condescend to my sister, but other people are not allowed.

“Robin, do you want coffee?” I ask, trying to distract from my wife’s rudeness.

“Sure. Thanks.” I pour her a cup, and we all sit down to eat. Thank God for my sons, because they chit-chat with Robin, asking her questions about
The Standout
, so that the awkwardness isn’t unbearable. I give Tina a sideways glance, and think to myself,
what’s happened to us?

This evening, I consider the options with my wife. Should I tell her the truth about my job? Should I convince Tina that she’s better than the latest diet she is on? Should I ask her to get some Mexican food with me, so we can drink Margaritas and laugh at stupid stuff?

I want to, but I know she’d shoot me down.

But when the kids are in bed I find Tina downstairs in the rec room. She’s staring at our widescreen TV, watching one of those movies where the big-city-single-girl has a lot of clothes and a lot of boyfriends, but she needs to find herself. I know this from glimpsing at it for two seconds and I want to turn it off.

“Hey, are you attached to this movie? I was thinking we could watch
Breaking Bad.”
Tina and I are on the fourth season, and I want to find out what happens with Gus.

I expect Tina to throw a mini-tantrum.
Why didn’t you mention this before I started watching something? Really, Ted, you can be so inconsiderate. Don’t you care at all about what I want?
But she just picks up the slim, silver Apple TV remote, and without a word, switches off her movie and turns on
Breaking Bad
.

“Thanks,” I say, a little too shocked to believe my luck. “Are you going to watch with me?”

“Of course.” She pats the cushion next to her and I sit. There’s no rhyme or reason to her mood swings, but right now I don’t care. I have my Tina back, the one who looks at me like I’m a guy worth knowing.

My boss wants me in his office. I tell myself that this isn’t good; this can’t be good. And it’s not. It’s
we want to work with you, Ted. We want to keep you here, but this sort of thing can’t happen again. Complaints like these, over mistakes like yours, aren’t acceptable. A chain is only as strong as it weakest link. You understand, right?

I understand that we can’t lose Mr. Chew Choon’s business. But I hate that stupid chain-link cliché. And I hate my boss’ stupid, shiny bald head and the raspy sound of his laugh, like he’s a used car salesman and not a high-powered executive

“So am I fired?” I ask, half-hoping that the answer is yes.

But no, I get a second chance. My last chance. And I’m supposed to be relieved. But that night at dinner, all I can think about is how unhappy I am, how I wish I had more to give Miles and Mason, how one day they will look at their father and realize he is an empty shell. And I want to tell Tina, but the words freeze in my throat, so I do the dishes, wishing the hot tap water would melt the ice that’s inside me.

After that I hide in our office. Both Tina and I have computers in here and I use mine now. They’ve already sent me the first lesson of my P.I. course and I’m eager to get started, eager to crack Robin’s case. But it’s slow going and I have a lot to learn.

Later, I go to bed and fall into a restless sleep. In my dream I am standing on a high ledge. I don’t question why, because it’s so freeing up here, like I have wings. I’m invincible and I realize that I haven’t felt this way in so long, maybe ever, but this, I am sure, is my natural state of being. It is how I am meant to feel: financial reports, tedious meetings, tension headaches, and family responsibility seem as far away as the tiny lights of the city below me.

Then I hear her crying and I fall back into reality with a thud. I reach toward Tina but her side of the bed is just smooth, cold sheets. I get up, put my feet against our thick, plush carpet, and walk into our double-sink, shiny chrome bathroom that sparkles brighter than day. This sort of bathroom ought to make her happy. Our life ought to make her happy, but obviously it doesn’t. My wife is curled up in a ball by the toilet, sobbing so hard that she doesn’t even hear me enter.

“Tina, honey, what’s wrong?” I kneel down and tentatively reach for her. Again, I’m reminded of my dream, where my movements were so confident, so opposite of how I really am. My hands shouldn’t hesitate to touch my wife, but they’re shy, timid, barely remembering the feel of her. When my fingers make contact, her skin is cold and clammy.

She jerks her head up, out of the cradle her arms had made against the toilet, and she spins toward me. “What are you doing in here?”