The Cubicle Next Door (33 page)

“Yes.”

“How?”

“They told me.”

“But…but how did you get here?”

“The nurse in the waiting room brought me here.”

“
Brought
you here? She wouldn’t even hang up her phone for me. Grandmother could be dying for all I know and I couldn’t even find her! Or you! I needed you! Where
were
you?”

“I was getting clothes for you.” He took a bag from a chair and held it out to me. “And shoes.”

I took the bag from him and sat down. As he and Oliver watched, I pulled a sweater on over my T-shirt. And a pair of Converse on over my socks. At least I slept in my socks. If that hadn’t been my habit, I probably would have walked out of the house in my bare feet. Joe had also brought me a pair of jeans, but I wasn’t about to pull them on over my pajama bottoms.

Now that I had clothes on, I began to shiver.

Shudder.

Heard my teeth actually bang together. Nonstop. Like a possessed keyboard.

I rubbed my hands up and down my thighs, trying to ignite some warmth. It didn’t seem to help, so I folded my arms around my abdomen. Rocked back and forth, trying to disguise my shivers.

“Jackie?”

“Hmm.” I didn’t trust myself to speak, sure if I opened my mouth, my teeth would click themselves right out of my head.

“It will be okay.”

“Mm-hmm.” I agreed with him. It would be. Because it had to be. Grandmother had to be okay. And when I took her home from the hospital, we were going to sell her house and buy a new one. A one-story ranch. And I was going to convince her to sell the store. Making her walk down the hill into town every day was just begging her to twist an ankle or fall and break another hip. If she hadn’t done that already. Why hadn’t I realized how old she was getting?

The door suddenly swung open. A man in scrubs was standing there.

I tried to unfold myself and get to my feet, but they didn’t seem to be working. And neither did my ears. I collapsed into my chair. I could see Joe’s lips moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

I saw his arm move out from his body. Felt it attach itself to the back of my neck. It was warm, and its steady pressure guided my head down toward my knees.

I let it float there for a while. I didn’t have any strength to resist.

Joe’s hand moved from my neck to my back. Started making furrows in my sweatshirt which reached right down into my skin. And I began to comprehend the conversation he was having with the doctor.

“So we can see her?”

I sat upright and Joe’s hand fell from my back.

“In just a few minutes. Let us get her situated in the room first. I’ll send someone out for you.”

I stood up, ready to follow the man, but Joe pulled me down into the seat.

“In a few minutes.”

And then another voice joined the conversation. “Terribly lucky, she was.”

Joe grunted.

I leaned forward to see around him. And my eyes came to rest on Oliver.

“Why is
he
here?”

That question brought flames to Oliver’s cheeks.

“Because I called him.”

“But everything’s fine.”

“Of course it is. But I knew Oliver would want to be here.”

“She’s fine. It’s okay.” I wasn’t talking to Joe anymore. I was talking directly to Oliver.

He nodded.

“
This
is why I came back from Boston. She’s too old. She can’t be trusted to take care of herself.”

At that moment, a nurse appeared. She led me to Grandmother’s room.

When I got there, I saw Grandmother lying in bed. Her eyes were open and her left arm had been wrapped in a sling. She held her other hand out toward me.

I grasped it.

“Don’t worry. It’s just my shoulder. I’m sorry. I was thirsty. I just wanted something to drink.”

“Then why didn’t you go into the bathroom?”

“Because I wanted some tea.”

“Then you should have woken me up. I would have gotten it for you.”

She patted my hand. “You aren’t my servant. Or my nanny.”

“I came back from Boston to take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of.”

“It sure looks as if you do.”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“That’s not for you to decide. I was thinking we could sell your house and get something smaller. Something that’s all on one level. And maybe you could even sell the store. So you wouldn’t have to be walking all over town.”

“I’m not selling the house. Or the store.”

“What if you fall down the stairs again? Or trip while you’re walking into town? You’re old. Don’t you see what could happen?”

“Don’t you? You’re talking about my house and my store.”

“But I have a job. I can take care of both of us.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of. I’m not a child. And neither are you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She closed her eyes. Sighed. “No more talking.”

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry. We can talk later. Let me go tell Joe and Oliver you’re all right.”

“Oliver is here?”

“Joe called him.”

“Send Oliver in.”

And that’s the way it was for the rest of the month, after Grandmother came home from the hospital. Oliver was in. And I was out.

Just like that.

But I’d never been more popular among the cyber community. Even people on my computer administrators’ message boards were talking about The Cubicle Next Door. Not only was I talking about my blogs with Joe, but I was also talking about myself on the Internet—apart from my blogs. I couldn’t get away from myself.

And then someone started a rumor that I was going to reveal my identity. On Valentine’s Day, no less.

THE CUBICLE NEXT DOOR BLOG

Valentine’s reveal

Okay, I don’t know who started this vicious rumor, but I am not going to reveal my identity on Valentine’s Day. Repeat, am not. Got it? For one, Valentine’s Day is a holiday made up by greeting card companies for greeting card companies. I haven’t sent anyone a valentine since third grade, when I was made to. Second, could there be a more obvious day to choose to reveal myself?

I’m not doing it.

Posted on February 8 in
The Cubicle Next Door | Permalink

Comments

Actually, Valentine’s Day was not made up by greeting card companies. It has a long and noble tradition in the Western world. February 14 was officially made a feast day by Pope Gelasius I in 496 to preempt the pagan revelries of Lupercalia on February 15. The feast’s affiliation with romance began during the Middle Ages.

Posted by:
NozAll | February 08 at 08:15 PM

Shut up, NozAll.

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | February 08 at 08:16 PM

Shut your cakehole, NozAll.

Posted by:
survivor | February 08 at 08:17 PM

Just because NozAll combats his feelings of inferiority (and at 15, I’m sure he has many of them) by supposed superiority doesn’t mean we have to jump all over his back.

Posted by:
philosophie | February 08 at 08:18 PM

Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m in the cubicle next door, right next to you.

Posted by:
theshrink | February 08 at 08:19 PM

Eee-eee. Eee-eee. Psycho! Are you sure you’re a shrink? Better be careful in the shower, TCND!

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | February 08 at 08:20 PM

Thirty-Three

J
oe came into work on Valentine’s Day holding a bag of conversation hearts, those small pastel-colored sugar hearts that have cute little messages stamped on one side. “I love these.” He poured a handful into his palm, shook them around for a minute, and then handed me one.

I took it. Read it. “BE MY ICON. I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He shrugged. Handed me another.

LET’S KISS.

He held out the bag.

I took a handful. Popped one into my mouth. Lined the others up on the desk in front of me. Took one from the lineup and handed it to him.

He took it. Read it. “DREAM ON. Ouch.” He popped it into his mouth. “These are supposed to be conversation
hearts
, not conversation stoppers.” He came over to stand beside me and surveyed my collection. Grabbed WHATEVER and GET REAL and ate them too. “Let’s go somewhere for lunch.”

I was all set to say no, but he kept on talking.

“Because, let’s face it, you and I are about the only two people in the department who don’t have significant others, so we might as well commiserate together.”

I handed him another heart.

WHY NOT.

Joe wanted to go “somewhere new” for lunch. To Noodles and Company down on Academy Boulevard. So we left a little earlier than normal to get there before the noon rush. But something happened when Joe got out of the car. He saw the Cold Stone Creamery right next door.

“We should save room. Get ice cream after lunch.”

“That place is overhyped.”

“Have you ever been before?”

“No.”

He had been reaching for the Noodles and Company door to open it for me, but he changed his mind, put his hand at the small of my back, and propelled me to the next door down.

“We can’t just have ice cream for lunch.”

“Why not? Who will ever know?”

He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Why didn’t that surprise me?

“Okay. So here’s what you do. You pick a flavor of ice cream and then as many things as you want to go with it and they mix it all up for you on that cold stone behind the counter. Get it?”

“Got it.”

“If you want help, they have recipes listed on that wall.” He pointed to the wall beside the counter.

“What do you usually get?”

“As much chocolate as they’ll give me.”

I wasn’t in the mood for chocolate. I wasn’t in the mood for strawberries, cherries, or anything else associated with Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t really in the mood for love. In fact, what I really wanted was to be in a place far, far away. I ordered something specializing in tropical fruits and coconut.

Our creations were pounded and mixed with two metal paddles and then plopped into huge waffle bowls. Joe’s was dipped in chocolate. With sprinkles.

Mine, plain.

We sat down at a small round table pushed against a wall.

“So. Why aren’t you married? Aside from all that stuff you told me the other day.”

My eyes lifted my bowl of ice cream. “Why aren’t you?”

“I was.”

“And it was such a horrible experience you don’t want to do it again?”

“No.”

“You would do it again.”

“Maybe.”

“You haven’t ever done it again, have you? There aren’t any second or third ex-wives, are there?”

“You mean like, am I a serial divorced person? Is there some incurable flaw that keeps me from having deep, meaningful relationships? And is there some hidden idiot inside me that keeps trying?”

“Well…yeah.”

“No. Actually…I keep hoping, but I’ve only been married once. Maybe I’m not a full-fledged idiot; maybe I’m just an optimist. If I were an idiot, I would have gotten married again while I was flying. That’s what caused the problems in the first place. Not being together.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have a problem with divorce?”

“As a child of parents who weren’t married? Am I even allowed to?”

Joe shrugged.

“You couldn’t…there was no way you could work it out?”

“We tried. We saw a counselor. But it seemed pretty clear after a while that the thing we thought we had was just sex. And after we were married, we didn’t even really have that anymore.”

“At least it was something.”

Joe looked at me then. “No. It really wasn’t. It was nothing. Trust me.”

He would know. “So you guys just said, ‘Oops. Big mistake.’ Shook hands and walked away?”

“Pretty much.”

“What happened to marriage being sacred?”

“You mean, like so sacred I should spend the rest of my life monopolizing a person I had no right to marry in the first place? How does that do anyone any good?”

“It just seems that when you say you’re going to do something, like spend the rest of your life with someone, then you should do it.”

“I made a mistake. We both did. We were grown-ups, so we admitted it. We both took equal share of the blame.”

“But the fact remains that you made a promise to God and everyone else that you were going to stay married. And then you didn’t.”

“So God’s supposed to nail my butt to the wall every time I do something wrong. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Am I?”

“Are you? That I should pay for that mistake for the rest of my life?”

“It just seems that it was awfully easy for you to walk away from a marriage. And if it was that easy the first time, why wouldn’t it be even easier the second or third time?”

“Every time I’ve thought about being married to someone else, I’ve talked myself out of it. Done such a good job of it I’ve hardly even dated since the divorce. Because I was so sure of Kate, and it turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life. And that mistake didn’t just impact me. It impacted her too.”

“Doesn’t look like she spent too many sleepless nights over it.”

Joe looked at me. In his eyes was a warning. “Let me tell you about guilt. It’s the idea that the reason we got married was because our relationship was based on all the wrong things in the first place. Would I do the same thing again? Of course not. But the thing is, it’s already done. Could we have made it if we’d worked longer at it? Maybe. Who knows? God does. And thankfully, he isn’t telling. Because that would be more guilt than I could bear.”

“I hear what you’re saying about guilt, but you’re not hearing what I’m saying about staying. Not everything in life is engineered for your personal happiness.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?”

“No, I don’t. Because the last time you were unhappy, when you were inconvenienced, you just left. People need to be able to count on you. Some things need to be forever. Why should I, or anybody else, trust you to stay?”