Wife 22 (37 page)

“Do you think I can get down to eight?”

“Don’t push it.”

We walk quietly for a few minutes.

“So how’s Tipi going?”

“Oh, Alice, I couldn’t be happier. And guess what? They offered me a full-time job! I start in two weeks.”

“Caroline! That’s wonderful!”

“It’s all falling into place. And I have to thank you, Alice. I don’t know what I would have done without your support and encouragement. You and William letting me stay here. And Peter and Zoe. Really, just incredible kids. Being with your family has been so good for me.”

“Well, Caroline, it was truly our pleasure and our gain. You’re a lovely young woman.”

When we get home, I pick up a laundry basket full of clean clothes that has been sitting in the middle of the living room floor for days and bring it upstairs into Peter’s room. I place the basket on the floor, knowing full well that it will now sit there for a week. He’s been petitioning for a later bedtime. I told him the day he started to put his clothes away and take a shower without me asking him to was the day I’d consider a later bedtime.

“You have so much energy, Alice. Maybe
I
should start running,” says Bunny, poking her head into the room.

“All thanks to your daughter,” I say. “And congratulations, by the way, to the mother of the recently gainfully employed. It’s incredible news about Tipi.”

Bunny’s eyes narrow. “What news?”

“That she’s been offered a full-time job?”

“What? I just got her an interview at Facebook. I pulled major strings to get it. Did she accept the job at Tipi?”

“Well, I think so. She seemed deliriously happy.” Bunny flushes red. “What’s wrong? She didn’t tell you? Oh, God, was it supposed to be a surprise? She didn’t say that. I just assumed she would have told you.”

Bunny shakes her head vigorously. “The girl has an advanced degree in computer science from Tufts. And she’s going to blow it all away working for some nonprofit!”

“Bunny, Tipi is not just some nonprofit. Do you know what they do? Microfinance. I think last year they gave away something like 200 million dollars in loans—”

Bunny cuts me off. “Yes, yes, I know, but how is the girl going to support herself? She’ll barely make a living wage at Tipi. You don’t understand, Alice. Your kids haven’t started to think about college yet. But here’s a piece of advice. The liberal-arts education days are over. Nobody can afford to major in English anymore. And don’t get me started on art history or theater. The future is math, science, and technology.”

“But what if your kids are bad at math, science, and technology?”

“Too bad. Force them to major in those subjects anyway.”

“Bunny! You can’t be serious. You of all people, who’s made a living in the arts all her life!”

“For crying out loud, you two,” says Caroline, stalking into the room. “Yes, Mom, it’s true. I’ve accepted the job at Tipi. And yes, it’s also true, I’ll be making basically minimum wage. So what? So is half the country. Actually, half the country would be lucky to be making minimum wage, to even have a job. I’m the lucky one.”

Bunny staggers backward and sits down on the bed.

“Bunny?” I say.

She gazes blankly at the wall.

“You don’t look well. Should I get you a glass of water?” I ask.

“You’re living in a dream world. You cannot survive on minimum wage, Caroline. Not in a city like San Francisco,” says Bunny.

“Of course I can. I’ll get roommates. I’ll waitress at night. I’ll make it work.”

“You have a master’s degree from Tufts in computer science.”

“Oh, okay. Here it comes,” says Caroline.

“And you are absolutely crazy not to do something with it. It’s your job, no, it’s your responsibility to do something with it. You’d be making twice, three times the income right off the bat!” she yells.

“The money isn’t important to me, Mom,” says Caroline.

“Oh, the money isn’t important to her, Alice,” says Bunny.

“Yes, the money isn’t important to her, Bunny.” I sit down next to her on the bed. “And maybe that’s okay for now,” I say gently. I put my hand on Bunny’s knee. “Look. She’s young. She has nobody to support but herself. She has lots of time for the money to be important to her. Caroline’s going to be working for an organization that really makes a difference in women’s lives.”

Bunny glares at both of us defiantly.

“You should be proud, Bunny, not angry,” I say.

“Did I say I wasn’t proud? I didn’t say that,” she snaps.

“Well, you’re certainly acting that way,” says Caroline.

“You are pushing me into a corner! And I don’t appreciate it,” shouts Bunny.

“How am I pushing you into a corner?” asks Caroline.

“You’re making me out to be somebody I’m not. Some ungenerous person. I can’t believe—I mean, what in the world? Me, of all people,” says Bunny indignantly, then, suddenly, she covers her face with her hands and groans.

“What now?” asks Caroline.

Bunny waves Caroline away.

“What, Mom?”

“I can’t speak.”

“Why can’t you speak?”

“Because I’m mortified,” whispers Bunny.

“Oh, please,” says Caroline.

“Be nice. She feels bad,” I mouth to Caroline.

Caroline sighs heavily, her arms crossed. “Mortified over what, Mom?”

“That you’re seeing this part of me,” says Bunny in a muffled voice.

“You mean
Alice
is seeing this part of you. I see this part of you all the time.”

“Yes, yes,” says Bunny, her hands dropping to her sides, looking absolutely miserable. “I know you do, Caroline. Mea culpa. Mea culpa!” she cries.

Caroline starts to melt when she sees her mother’s genuine distress.

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Bunny,” I say. “It’s not that black and white. Not when it comes to your kids.”

“No, I’m a hypocrite,” says Bunny.

“Yep,” says Caroline. “She’s a hypocrite.” She leans in and kisses Bunny on the cheek. “But a lovable hypocrite.”

Bunny looks at me. “How pathetic am I? Not even half an hour ago I was lecturing you pompously about how you should let your kids go.”

“There’s only one way to let them go that I know of,” I say. “Messily.”

Bunny picks up Caroline’s hand. “I
am
proud of you, Caro. I really am.”

“I know, Mom.”

She strokes Caroline’s palm. “And who knows, maybe you could give yourself a little microloan, if you need it. One of the perks of working at Tipi. If you find it difficult to live on the salary, that is.”

Caroline shakes her head at me.

“But, Alice, I have to tell you, if either Zoe or Peter shows any aptitude for math or technology, you really should—”

Caroline puts a finger on her mother’s lips, silencing her. “You always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

Later that afternoon I check Lucy Pevensie’s Facebook page. There are no new messages or posts. Yossarian is not online, either.

I scroll through my Facebook news feed.

Lately when I read my feed I feel such a mixture of worry, irritation, and envy, I wonder if it’s even worth having an account.

I’m antsy. I open a Word file. A minute goes by. Five minutes. Ten. My fingers hover over my keyboard. I nervously type “A Play in 3 Acts by Alice Buckle,” then quickly delete it, then write it again, this time in caps, thinking capital letters might give me courage.

The sounds of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” drifts into my bedroom from downstairs. I look at my watch. It’s 6:00. The cutting board will be pulled out soon. Peppers will be washed. Corn will be husked. And somebody, most likely Jack, will take his wife for a spin around the kitchen. Others of us—William and I—will be reminded of middle school dances and drinking cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer in the basement of the neighbor kid’s house. And the youngest of us, Zoe and Peter, and perhaps even Caroline, will download Marvin Gaye onto their iPods, feeling like they are the first ones on earth to discover that earthy, sexy voice.

I put my fingers on the keyboard and begin to type.

W
illiam walks into the kitchen. “Are you hungry for lunch?” he asks.

I look at the clock. It’s 11:30. “Not really.”

He rummages around the cupboard, pulling down a box of crackers. “Do we have any hummus?”

“Second shelf. Behind the yogurt.”

“So. News,” says William, opening the fridge. “I got a job offer.”

“What? William! You’re kidding me. When?”

“They called yesterday. It’s in Lafayette. Great benefits. Health. Dental.”

“
Who
called yesterday? You didn’t even tell me things were serious with anybody.”

“I was afraid it would fall through. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s an office supply company.”

“Office supplies? Like Office Max?”

“No—not like Office Max. King’s Stationery. It’s a mom-and-pop shop, but they’re growing. They’ve got two stores in the Bay Area and plan to open two more in San Diego this year. I would be direct mail marketing coordinator.”

“Direct mail? As in flyers, postcards, and mailers?”

“Yes, Alice, as in what people usually throw in the recycling bin before even looking at it. I was fortunate to get it. There were dozens of applicants. The people seem nice. It’s a perfectly fine job.”

“Of course it is,” I say. “But William, is this what you want?” Were office supplies his big dream?

“What I want doesn’t matter anymore,” he says quietly.

“Oh, William—” He holds up his hand and cuts me off.

“Alice, no. Stop. I owe you an apology. And if you’ll just shut up for a second I can give it to you. You were right. I should have tried harder to
make it work at KKM. It’s my fault I was laid off. I let you down. I let the whole family down. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

I’m stunned. Did William just admit to me he may have had something to do with being laid off, that it wasn’t just all about redundancies? Did he just say it was his fault? He leans over the sink and looks out the window into the backyard, chewing his lip, and as I watch him I feel the last bits of anger over the Cialis debacle drain right out of me.

“You haven’t let me down, William. And your ‘not trying’ wasn’t the only reason you were laid off. I know that. A part of it was out of your control. Maybe it’s my fault, too, somehow. All of this. Where we are. Maybe I let you down, too.”

He turns to face me. “You haven’t let me down, Alice.”

“Okay. But if I did, and I probably did, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, too.”

He gathers his breath. “I should take this job. I like paper. And pens. And sticky notes. And highlighters.”

“I
love
highlighters. Especially the green ones.”

“And mailing supplies.”

“And staplers. Don’t forget staplers. Do you know staples come in colors now? And Lafayette has a great downtown. You can probably walk there for lunch from the office. Grab a Starbucks in the afternoon.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” says William, dipping a cracker in the hummus. “That will be nice.”

“Have you formally accepted?”

“I wanted to talk it over with you first.”

“When do you need to give them an answer?”

“I have a week.”

“Well, let’s just let it sink in. Really weigh the pros and cons.”

I’m hoping this will buy me some time to find out what’s going on with my job. I haven’t heard anything back from Kentwood Elementary as to my query about going full-time in the fall, but I’m hopeful. Often the Parents’ Association doesn’t make decisions about how funds are being dispersed until the very last minute.

“Seeing that there are no other job offers forthcoming there are only pros, Alice. I can’t think of any negatives,” says William.

He’s right. We don’t have the luxury of choice. Nobody does. Not anymore.

T
he next day I wake with a headache and a fever. I spend the morning in bed, and at lunchtime William and Zoe bring me up a tray: a bowl of chicken noodle soup, a glass of ice water, and the mail: an envelope and
People
magazine.

I sniff the soup. “Mmmm.”

“Imperial Tea Court,” William says.

I pop a noodle into my mouth. “You drove to Imperial Tea Court? In Berkeley?”

He shrugs. “They make the best noodles. Besides, my days of bringing you noodles in the middle of the day are numbered.”

“What are you talking about?” asks Zoe.

“Nothing,” I say.

We haven’t told the children about William’s job offer yet. I know they’ve been worried and will be very relieved to hear he’s employed again, but I don’t want to say anything to them until we’ve made a firm decision. William and I glance at each other.

“Obviously not nothing,” says Zoe.

Jampo comes running into the room and leaps on the bed.

William snatches him up. “You’re not allowed up there. How about a run, you monster?” Jampo stares at him aggressively like he’s a terrorist and then suddenly licks his face. William’s really been making an effort with Jampo. Are they friends now?

“We need to have a discussion about
nothing
this evening,” I say.

“Can you give me a ride to Jude’s before your run, Dad?” asks Zoe.

Jude and Zoe are officially a couple again. The day after we caught the mouse, I heard Zoe on the phone with Jude, crying and apologizing. That night he came over for dinner and the two of them held
hands under the table. It was so sweet and felt so right it stopped my heart.