like cannibals.
We could talk to each other, listen to each other.
We could teach each other things, make each other better people.
I used to say: I wish we met ten years from now. Maybe we could be something. Something other than what we are.
In the morning, I pretend to be asleep until the whole family is awake. Lou leaves to get the newspaper and Olive floundersaround the kitchen making eggs for the boys with such little finesse I wonder if she has ever prepared a meal in her life. The twins are still in their pajamas; mussed blond tuffs of hair, sleep crust around their eyes. They’re telling Sierra a story about Martians and marshmallows, wizards, and blizzards, and I try to follow, but there’s no chance.
I ask Olive if I can help her out.
“Sure. Beat some more eggs for me. These kids eat a lot.”
I go to work on the scrambling, and she leans against the stove, so close the back of her jeans might catch fire. Again, she has that blurry gaze, like she’s both here and living in another city at the same time, with another family.
I decide to go the extra-polite route.
“Thanks again for letting me stay here. I really appreciate it. It’s nice to be around a family in a time like this and you have such a lovely home.”
She lifts her top lip. I guess it’s supposed to be a smile.
“You don’t have family?”
“They’re in Jersey.”
“You don’t have friends?”
I rotate the fork so quickly in the bowl that the eggs pull into a perfect open blanket. I move past her to tuck them into the frying pan.
“I just came out of a relationship.”
“You’re a grown-up when you realize no one’s going to take care of you.”
“Right.”
“Lou is not the cheating type, you know.”
I wonder if we’re having the same conversation. As far as I can tell, she has no reason to be wary of me, but if there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it’s that I am usually wrong about everything.
“I can tell. He adores you. He talks about you all the time.”
“That’s right. He does.”
And then, “You want some advice, Bean? That’s what he calls you, right?”
I nod.
“Guard what’s yours.”
I don’t say anything. Just finish off the eggs while she watches like I’m her employee, the lines of her home clearly drawn.
I eat with the kids. I don’t even like eggs but I chew them, slowly, feel them glide down my throat. Lou returns with the paper but puts it away so the kids won’t see the pictures or headlines. After I help clean up the breakfast mess, I slip into the living room and pull my bag out from behind the sofa.
I tell them I’m leaving. Thank them too much for theirhospitality. Act like they saved my life but, really, I just want to run.
Lou insists on walking me to the corner. It’s all I permit even though he offered to take me all the way back downtown, make sure everything is okay at home. I don’t want to look him in the face and I feel bad for that fact. He’s been good to me.
“Once it calms down, we can start your lessons again.”
I smile, yeah sure. Though I’m obviously out of a job. My workplace doesn’t exist anymore. Won’t be able to afford those late-night sessions.
He goes for a kiss on my cheek but instead hits the curve between my nose and lip, and I drape an arm around him quick, give him the hug he wants, then pull off and cross the street before the light changes.
On the way home, fellow pedestrians are mute, shock-eyed, and I long for noise. At Union Square, the park is transformed into a shrine lined with candles and posters of the disappeared. I feel inappropriate. We’re supposed to be mourning and all I want is to scream.
There he is.
Nico. Sitting on my bed, writing in a notebook. I forgot he still has a key.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.
“How did you know I was coming back?”
“You weren’t on the list of the missing. I checked.”
He tells me he’s been in New York all along. The stint in Los Angeles was
We could talk to each other, listen to each other.
We could teach each other things, make each other better people.
I used to say: I wish we met ten years from now. Maybe we could be something. Something other than what we are.
In the morning, I pretend to be asleep until the whole family is awake. Lou leaves to get the newspaper and Olive floundersaround the kitchen making eggs for the boys with such little finesse I wonder if she has ever prepared a meal in her life. The twins are still in their pajamas; mussed blond tuffs of hair, sleep crust around their eyes. They’re telling Sierra a story about Martians and marshmallows, wizards, and blizzards, and I try to follow, but there’s no chance.
I ask Olive if I can help her out.
“Sure. Beat some more eggs for me. These kids eat a lot.”
I go to work on the scrambling, and she leans against the stove, so close the back of her jeans might catch fire. Again, she has that blurry gaze, like she’s both here and living in another city at the same time, with another family.
I decide to go the extra-polite route.
“Thanks again for letting me stay here. I really appreciate it. It’s nice to be around a family in a time like this and you have such a lovely home.”
She lifts her top lip. I guess it’s supposed to be a smile.
“You don’t have family?”
“They’re in Jersey.”
“You don’t have friends?”
I rotate the fork so quickly in the bowl that the eggs pull into a perfect open blanket. I move past her to tuck them into the frying pan.
“I just came out of a relationship.”
“You’re a grown-up when you realize no one’s going to take care of you.”
“Right.”
“Lou is not the cheating type, you know.”
I wonder if we’re having the same conversation. As far as I can tell, she has no reason to be wary of me, but if there’s anything I’ve learned in my life, it’s that I am usually wrong about everything.
“I can tell. He adores you. He talks about you all the time.”
“That’s right. He does.”
And then, “You want some advice, Bean? That’s what he calls you, right?”
I nod.
“Guard what’s yours.”
I don’t say anything. Just finish off the eggs while she watches like I’m her employee, the lines of her home clearly drawn.
I eat with the kids. I don’t even like eggs but I chew them, slowly, feel them glide down my throat. Lou returns with the paper but puts it away so the kids won’t see the pictures or headlines. After I help clean up the breakfast mess, I slip into the living room and pull my bag out from behind the sofa.
I tell them I’m leaving. Thank them too much for theirhospitality. Act like they saved my life but, really, I just want to run.
Lou insists on walking me to the corner. It’s all I permit even though he offered to take me all the way back downtown, make sure everything is okay at home. I don’t want to look him in the face and I feel bad for that fact. He’s been good to me.
“Once it calms down, we can start your lessons again.”
I smile, yeah sure. Though I’m obviously out of a job. My workplace doesn’t exist anymore. Won’t be able to afford those late-night sessions.
He goes for a kiss on my cheek but instead hits the curve between my nose and lip, and I drape an arm around him quick, give him the hug he wants, then pull off and cross the street before the light changes.
On the way home, fellow pedestrians are mute, shock-eyed, and I long for noise. At Union Square, the park is transformed into a shrine lined with candles and posters of the disappeared. I feel inappropriate. We’re supposed to be mourning and all I want is to scream.
There he is.
Nico. Sitting on my bed, writing in a notebook. I forgot he still has a key.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.
“How did you know I was coming back?”
“You weren’t on the list of the missing. I checked.”
He tells me he’s been in New York all along. The stint in Los Angeles was
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