Unravelled (20 page)

“And now with my mom going into a nursing home, I’m going to be busier than ever.”

“It’s okay,” I said, hiding the sadness that his admission evoked in me.

He put his sandwich down and reached for my hand. “I want you to know that it’s not always going to be like this. If you can just bear with me for the next couple of weeks, I promise things will settle down.”

“Sure,” I said. Of course I could wait for him. I had plenty to keep me occupied: articles to write, a birthday scarf to finish, a poem to read at my friend’s wedding...

“I . . . I really want to make you a priority, Beth,” he said, staring at me intently. “As soon as all this craziness is over—two, three weeks tops—I want us to go on a trip somewhere.”

“That would be lovely. I had a great time in Whistler.”

“I’m talking about going away for a week, maybe even two. We could go to Tuscany or London . . . or would you rather go somewhere hot? The Caribbean? Wherever you want.”

“Oh, wow!” I cried, with girlish delight. “I just don’t know!”

“Take your time. Think about it over the next couple of weeks. And when we get back from our holiday,” he said, giving my hand a meaningful squeeze, “I’ve been thinking I should get a place here in Seattle.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I want to be closer to you”

“Reeeeeeeeeally?”

Jim laughed. “Of course I do. I’m crazy about you. Don’t you know that?”

I smiled shyly. “I’m crazy about you, too.”

We discussed holiday destinations as we finished our lunch, and for a moment, the dark cloud of his mother’s stroke seemed to lift. It wasn’t until we pulled up in front of my building that the enormity of what Jim was going through descended on me. As we sat in the car, staring at each other and trying to postpone the goodbye, I was almost overcome by the sadness in his eyes.

“Jim...” I began, a little hesitantly. “I know it might be awkward for me to meet your family under these . . . circumstances, but I’d really like to be there for you. This is such a difficult time and you shouldn’t have to go through it alone.”

He reached out to stroke my cheek with the backs of his fingers as he looked at me tenderly. “You’re so sweet... and kind.”

“Well . . . thanks.”

“I just wish . . . I wish I had met you a long time ago.” I looked at him quizzically. It seemed an odd comment, especially given the fact that a long time ago, he would have been about twenty-five, and I would have been ten.

“We’re together now,” I said, “and we have lots of years ahead of us.” It was a rather forward statement, alluding to a future together like that, but in that moment, the words felt so right. Hadn’t we just admitted we were crazy about each other? Hadn’t he just expressed his wish to spend more years with me?

But Jim dropped his hand from my cheek, and for a split second, my heart leapt into my throat. Oh shit! I should never have said that. It was too presumptuous... too needy... too clingy. But Jim smiled slowly and said, “Of course we do.”

Relief and gratitude flooded through me and I leaned over the console to kiss him. “Please . . .” I murmured, as I wrapped my arms around him. “Let me be there for you.”

“You’re a doll but... this is something I need to deal with on my own.”

I buried my head in the crook of his neck and inhaled his scent. “I understand, but I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll try to call when I can,” he said. “And I’ll definitely email you.”

“That would be great.”

“It won’t be too long... a few weeks at the most.”

“I know.”

“And when my mom’s stabilized—or . . . whatever . . . Then we’ll have an amazing vacation together—just the two of us.”

“I can’t wait.” I opened the door and prepared to exit. “So . . .” I suddenly felt at a loss for words. “Take care, Jim.”

“You too,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

I shut the car door and began to move toward my building. As I walked, tears began to pool in my eyes. It wouldn’t be too long, I consoled myself. Jim would deal with his work issues and his emotional ones, and then we’d have a wonderful, long holiday together. When I reached the glass doors of my building, I instinctively turned around to wave a final goodbye. But as I did, I heard the BMW’s engine rev and Jim sped off down the street.

Twenty-six

ON TUESDAY, WE met at Angie’s for another poetry rehearsal. I’d been so focused on my work deadlines and Jim’s family dramas that I hadn’t even had time to stress out about my impending presentation. But as I rang Angie’s buzzer, I could feel the familiar queasiness that always preceded my public speaking occasions. Tonight wasn’t really a public speaking
occasion,
of course, but Angie would obviously know that I hadn’t been reciting my verse four times per night in front of the mirror. In fact, I hadn’t even had a chance to read it! She was not going to be pleased.

And she was right. Preparedness was the key to overcoming stage fright—I remembered reading it in that
Conquering Your Fear
book. Yes, preparedness was the key—and some booze couldn’t hurt either. As I walked through her lobby and pressed the elevator button, I pulled the folded sheet of paper from my pocket. When I was safely enclosed, alone, in the metal box, I began to read out loud:

With touches soft as a baby’s breath,
Your bodies ache and yearn to become one.
With trust and faith, you’ve fought your desires,
Now the waiting is finally done.

Oh my god! Oh my god! I couldn’t believe it. The verse was all about Nicola and Neil finally having sex! It was too much! I simply couldn’t do it! There was no way I could stand up in front of three hundred people and read a verse about how Neil couldn’t wait to
bone
Nicola! I should never have traded. What was I going to do?

I would trade back with Martin, that’s what. He had duped me! Although, if I hadn’t been so fixated on my own breath and heartbeat, I would have actually
heard
the verse before I accepted it. And then, of course, I would have understood why Martin felt uncomfortable reciting these words. And why Sophie had rejected the swap, as well. God, it was my own stupid fault. We had traded fair and square.

When the elevator stopped on the third floor, I stepped out into the silent hall. Okay, I told myself, there was only one solution to this mess. I would read the verse at Nicola’s wedding, but I would completely ignore the meaning of the words. I would think of them more as
sounds.
It would be as if I was phonetically speaking Hungarian or something. And I certainly wouldn’t allow myself to
visualize
Neil and Nicola, touching each other with soft baby’s breath caresses and aching to finally have sex. Yuck! I already knew that Angie would scold me for my lack of emotion, but I would do what I had to do to get through it. Besides, she would undoubtedly read with enough emotion for all four of us.

“Hi!” Angie greeted me at the door with a kiss on the cheek. She looked stunning, as always, in a sexy off-white V-neck and four-hundred-dollar jeans. You look a bit like Sandra Bullock, I reminded myself as I followed my petite and perfect friend into the living room. “Okay, we’re all here,” she said, gleefully. “We’d better get down to business. I can’t believe it’s just over a week until we do our reading at the rehearsal dinner!”

“Wow,” Martin said, attempting to muster some enthusiasm.

At the thought, I felt a constricting in my chest, usually the first sign of hyperventilation. “How about a drink first?” I asked, in a high-pitched voice. Angie gave me a distinctly Kendraish look, but went to the kitchen to open the bottle of wine I’d brought. “So...” I asked, trying to postpone the inevitable, “how was the stitch ’n bitch club last week?”

“It was quite dramatic, actually,” Sophie said. “Nicola’s mom called about halfway through with some disturbing news.”

“Oh god! What?”

Martin picked up the story. “Their wedding photographer was in a car accident. He broke his wrist!”

“Oh no!”

“I know!” Sophie said. “There’s no way he can hold a camera. Nicola was completely devastated.”

“I’ve never seen her like that,” Martin added.

Angie, who’d returned to the room with the open bottle and four glasses, said, “She completely fell apart. The whole wedding thing has been so stressful, and now this.”

“Surely, they can get a replacement photographer?” I asked, apparently somewhat naively.

“Not of François Leblanc’s calibre!” Angie cried. “They’d booked him eight months ago.”

Sophie shook her head, sadly. “It’s such a shame. Your photos are your memories.”

“Well...” Angie said, handing me a glass of wine, “apparently Nic’s dad is pretty connected and might be able to pull some strings. But...it’s all the more reason we should really blow her away with our poetry reading.”

“Right.” I took several frantic gulps of wine.

Angie began with an extremely robust rendition of the first verse. She seemed to think that if she read with enough zeal, Nicola might not even care if she had any photos of her wedding. Sophie went next, shooting sideways glances at Martin as she recited her verse about “a love worth waiting for.” Martin read the “roots of a tree” bit and then it was my turn.

I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes for just a moment. I envisioned myself standing in the Spanish Ballroom before Nicola and three hundred wedding guests—another trick picked up from
Conquering Your Fear.
Over the sound of my rushing blood and pounding heart, I spoke soothing words to myself. What was the worst that could happen? So I fainted or had an attack of diarrhea? Embarrassing, yes, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to die. I didn’t even know any of those people. I was there for one person only, and that was Nicola. I would do it for her, my dear sweet friend Nicola.

I began reciting the
sounds
—not
words
about Neil and Nicola aching and yearning to finally get it on. Pretend you’re reading phonetic Hungarian, I instructed myself. You can do it...

... With trust and faith, you’ve fought your desires,
Now the waiting is finally done.

Before Angie could read the last verse, I blurted out, “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What?” Angie squawked. “You have to!”

“We traded!” Martin shrieked, his voice tinged with fear.

“But it’s all about how they’re going to have sex!” I cried back. “I understand that they’re proud of themselves for waiting, but do they need to, like, advertise it at their wedding?”

Sophie said, “Do you think Neil’s a virgin, too?”

Martin answered, “Probably not.”

Sophie continued, “I agree it’s a little unusual to
announce
that you haven’t had sex...” Her eyes moved to Martin’s face. “Even though you’re really
dying
to.” Martin cleared his throat nervously.

Angie addressed me. “You’ll have lots of champagne to drink! It’s one little verse! You said you could do it.”

“No one will be listening to the words, anyway. They’ll all be drunk by then,” Martin said, desperately.

God! If only I could go back in time to that last rehearsal, I would never have traded! “Look,” I explained, “I’m a nervous public speaker to begin with, and this . . .
sexual
verse doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Think of how much this will mean to Nicola!” Angie cried desperately.

“Maybe
we
could switch?” I suggested to her.

“That would mean I’d be reading two verses in a row and I’ve already memorized the first and last one!”

Sophie tried to placate me. “You’ll be fine. Just think of Jim supporting you in the audience.”

Was she crazy? Reading these words in front of Jim would have made it even worse! “He’s not going to be there, thank god.”

“Why not?” Martin asked.

“He’s going through a lot, right now. His mom had a stroke on Thursday night.”

“Oh no!” Sophie cried. “Is she going to be all right?”

“It’s touch and go at the moment.”

“That’s too bad.” Martin gave my arm a sympathetic squeeze.

Angie said, “I hope she pulls through.”

“Me too.”

“So, I guess this means you guys didn’t...” Angie trailed off.

“No,” I said, morosely, but then brightened. “But we could have!”

“Great!” Angie instantly got my meaning. “Well, sounds like Jim’s overcome his stage fright. Now, you just have to get over yours.”

She was right. It was too late to back out now. I couldn’t add to Nicola’s anxiety over losing her photographer by refusing to read the poem. Somehow, I just had to get through it without hyperventilating or having to run to the toilet. “Okay...” I said, grudgingly. “I’ll do my best.”

The next morning I paced the apartment, repeating my verse over and over. Angie had insisted we memorize our lines. Apparently, she felt that it wasn’t quite stressful enough
reading
a verse about Nicola finally losing her virginity to three hundred people. We were going to do a dress rehearsal for Nicola at Thursday’s stitch ’n bitch, so I had to be prepared. When the phone rang, I answered it somewhat gratefully.

“Beth?” the male voice asked.

“Yes?”

“It’s Martin.”

“Oh, hi Martin.” I’d sent the
Northwest Life
article to him yesterday. Hopefully, he’d had a chance to read it and was calling to thank me.

“I was wondering if you could come down here. I . . . need to talk to you.”

“Okay. Have you read my article?”

“Yeah, I read it. Look...could you come now? This is important.”

“I’ll be right there.” As I sat on the bus, I pondered the reasons behind Martin’s urgent request. It could be about my article, of course. Maybe I’d skewed it too much in favour of the little independent grocer? Or focused too much on the shopper’s perspective and not the business end of things? I suppose Martin might want to apologize to me in person for convincing me to switch verses with him. Perhaps he’d summoned enough courage to read the aching and yearning part himself? Oh, pleeeeeze! But as I stepped off the bus across the street from his office building, I knew in my heart what this was about.

“Thanks for coming,” Martin said, ushering me into his tiny glass-walled office. He closed the door behind me as I took a seat across from his cluttered desk. “So . . . I uh, got your article.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I had a quick read of it and it looks great. I’ll have some more in-depth feedback in the next couple of days.”

“Great.” So it wasn’t about the article.

“I also wanted to thank you, again, for trading verses with me. You’ll do a much better job than I ever could... honestly.”

I shrugged. Obviously, he wouldn’t have called me all the way down here to say that.

“Umm . . .” He cleared his throat nervously. “I wanted to talk to you about... Sophie.”

I knew it! “Yes?”

“She . . . uh . . . Sophie’s . . .
interested
in me, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I ruefully admitted.

Martin puffed out his cheeks and let the air out in a long, steady stream. “Don’t get me wrong, I like her a lot. She’s a really sweet girl, but... she’s just not my type.”

Not his type? What did he mean by that? Not his type as in, she had a husband and a baby? Or not his type as in, she had breasts and a vagina?

“Maybe, if things were different, it could work out between us . . . but it’s just not going to happen.”

“I completely understand.” Of course I did. I just didn’t quite understand
why.

Martin leaned forward, looking at me intensely. “I know this is a lot to ask, but... will you help me, Beth?”

“Help you how?” I gasped.

“You’ve got to talk to her for me, tell her that we can’t be together,” he said, desperately. “Please, Beth. She’ll be humiliated if I have to tell her.”

I didn’t like how Martin was getting me to do all his dirty work for him lately. First, I had to read his dirty poem, and now this! But curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I finally saw an opportunity to uncover the truth. “I don’t know...” I said, hesitantly. “What would I say to her?”

Martin looked at me. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Uh . . . Sort of?”

“Beth...” He seemed incredulous that I was having trouble finding the words. “Just tell her the truth.”

“Umm . . . ?”

“I can’t have a relationship with her because she’s married.”

“Of... of course,” I stammered.

“It wouldn’t be right. They have a child together and they should try to work things out.”

“I agree. So . . . couldn’t you maybe just tell her that? I mean, I’m already reading the aching and yearning verse for you.”

Martin heaved another heavy sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just thought it might be easier hearing it from a friend. I mean, I’m her friend, too, but if I tell her, it’s going to be really hard on her ego. I just thought...” He leaned back in his chair. “No, you’re right. I’ve asked too much of you already.”

Oh shit. I had to agree with him. It would probably be less painful for Sophie to hear that Martin wasn’t interested in her from me. If he told her, it would be almost like he was breaking up with her before they’d even started dating! “I’ll talk to her for you,” I said, glumly. “It’s probably better that way.”

“Really? Are you sure?”