The Cubicle Next Door (38 page)

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | April 25 at 09:52 PM

Feel what you feel and think what you think.

vPosted by:
philosophie | April 25 at 10:58 PM

Thirty-Nine

A
week later Grandmother dropped a bombshell. It was conveniently timed to coincide with breakfast on Sunday. I hadn’t been to church in two weeks. I’d fallen into the habit of sleeping in late on Sunday. And, consequently, eating late. A brief interlude before returning to bed.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Is Oliver going to come in?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Because he looks like he wants to.” I could see him peering through the window in the back door.

“He’s waiting for me.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out to lunch. To plan our wedding.”

The cereal dribbled from my spoon onto the table. “I’m sorry, your
what?
”

“Wedding.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Well…I might be. I’m 85. Maybe I am.”

“You can’t just wake up, get out of bed, and get married.”

“No. That’s true. You have to get a marriage license.”

“There. See?”

“So we did. Yesterday. It lasts for thirty days.”

“You mean this is premeditated? You’ve been talking about this?”

“Only for a week or so.”

“But what about your shoulder?”

“What does that have to do with getting married?”

“Everything. Who’s going to take care of you? Or are you planning on living here together?”

“I don’t know yet. We’re planning to go to London first. For our honeymoon.”

“You’re going to London on your honeymoon.”

“Yes. Well…not really to London. We’ll fly into London, but then go out into the countryside. Where Oliver grew up.”

“But you’ve never been to London before. You’ve never been outside the country before! And what about your hip?”

She gave me a stern look. “That happened over ten years ago. And that’s why I had it replaced.”

“What about the store?”

“I’m thinking of selling it.”

“Just like that! To whom?”

“I don’t know. I thought I’d advertise in the newspaper. The house is paid off and you can cover the utilities, can’t you? If we don’t come back for a while?”

“Yes. But—how long will you be gone? And what about me?”

“We’re not taking you. It’s a honeymoon…”

“I get that. It just…I mean…what happens to me now?”

She leaned close to kiss me on the cheek. “Anything you want.”

I sat at the table for at least an hour after she left, my cereal growing mushier by the minute. Grandmother and Oliver were getting married.

Married! At her age!

How had this happened? And why hadn’t I seen it coming?

I decided to talk to Adele. I threw on some clothes and walked down to the taffy shop.

She started to smile when she saw me but then stopped. Slipped a furtive glance over my shoulder.

“Grandmother and Oliver are getting married.”

“I know. She told me.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“And it doesn’t bother you? Just a little?”

“Why should it bother me?”

“That she’s leaving. That she’s going on without you. She’s leaving you behind.”

“She’s not leaving me anywhere I don’t want to be.”

What was happening? Why was everybody acting strange? Had I woken up that morning in some sort of parallel universe?

I strode out of the store and hit the pavement at a brisk walk. There had to be someone who would understand.

Betty?

No. She’d be fixated on the honeymoon part of the whole event.

Thelma?

Why
not
Thelma?

I crossed the street and climbed the hill. Arrived at her doorstep out of breath.

“Jackie?” She peered beyond me. “Did you walk here? What’s the matter?”

I held up one hand and placed the other on my chest. I took several deep breaths to stop my heart from racing. Finally had enough breath to speak. “Grandmother is getting married.”

“I know. She told me.”

“Does everybody know?”

“Would you…like to come in?”

“Thanks.” I pushed past her and into her sitting room. Plopped into an overstuffed chair. “What’s going on?”

Thelma sighed. She moved to the edge of the couch and sat down. “Your grandmother found a good, decent man who loves her and they’re getting married. That’s what happened.”

“But…how can she just walk out on all of us?”

“She’s not.”

“She is. She’s getting married and going to England for her honeymoon.”

“And where’s the problem in that?”

“She should be more responsible!”

“She’s one of the most responsible people I know.”

“See? And this is completely out of character!”

“I think it’s completely
in
character.”

“You don’t just get married and leave. Someone could get hurt!”

Thelma looked at me, compassion radiating from her eyes. That wasn’t fair. Tanks are supposed to be impervious to emotion. “Who? Your grandmother?”

“No. Me.” I swiped at a traitorous tear that was sliding down my cheek.

“But that’s just it. Her decision isn’t about you. It’s about her. And Oliver. And what makes them happy. So if you’re feeling unhappy, make some decisions of your own.”

On Monday, I let Joe have a couple minutes to sip his coffee and boot up his computer. Then, when I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer, I scrambled up onto my desk. “Grandmother’s getting married.”

“Really? When?” His head jerked up, his eyes locked on mine.

“I don’t know. They haven’t decided yet.”

“To…Oliver?”

I nodded.

He grinned. “That sly old fox.” He looked away from me toward his computer and clicked his mouse. Then he looked up at me. “You seem…upset. Why aren’t you happy for her?”

“I’m not her responsibility anymore. She can do whatever she wants.”

“Did she say that?”

“No.”

“You used to be her whole life, but now you have your own life. Part of growing up is letting people change.”

“What?”

“In five minutes you can stop feeling sorry for yourself and start being happy for her.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yep. Pretty much.”

I climbed down off my desk and slumped into my chair. Rubbed away hot tears of fury. “Well, why don’t you try having a mother who abandons you at birth, and a father who dies before he even knows about you, and a grandmother who gets married on you, and then we’ll see what you have to say!”

There was a long moment of silence. And then he answered. “It’s not about you, Jackie.”

I couldn’t stop a sob from escaping my throat.

Grandmother and Oliver got married that Friday. A small ceremony at the courthouse. I was her maid of honor. For the second time that year, I found myself wearing a dress. It was getting to be a bad habit.

Joe was Oliver’s best man. They both wore black pin-striped suits.

Thelma, Adele, and Betty were there. All dressed up. They clapped and cheered when Oliver and Grandmother were pronounced husband and wife.

And I did too.

By that point, after two weeks of thinking things through, I could truly wish them well.

Oliver took me aside after the ceremony. “I’m stepping into the role of grandfather for just this one minute. I’ll step right back out if you don’t want me. I thought you understood what I told you that day. About dying alone. I was talking about you and Joe.”

“I know. And I do want you.” I kissed him on the cheek. “It just didn’t work out.”

He grabbed my hand. “Only because you didn’t want it to. Just remember this: Stupidity is only considered a virtue in fools.”

“If I didn’t think you were one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, then you could really start to get on my nerves, Oliver.”

THE CUBICLE NEXT DOOR BLOG

New chapter

Someone else has left my life. For the moment. But this time, it’s a good thing. And I’m happy about it. But this person is the only person who has ever really belonged to me.

Sometimes, it’s just…hard.

Posted on May 18 in
The Cubicle Next Door | Permalink

Comments

I don’t think a person can ever really belong to someone else. They can be a part of you, but you can’t really own them, like you can an Xbox.

Posted by:
NozAll | May 18 at 05:47 PM

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Posted by:
philosophie | May 18 at 06:29 PM

When something is good, you might as well be as happy as you can. Because you never know when things might get bad again.

Posted by:
survivor | May 18 at 07:42 PM

I know it’s probably hard. But you’re also very brave.

Posted by:
theshrink | May 18 at 09:03 PM

When the going gets tough, the tough eat ice cream. Indulge, It’ll make you feel better.

Posted by:
justluvmyjob | May 18 at 11:39 PM

Forty

I
moped around the house over Memorial Day weekend. I cleaned, but I didn’t make enough mess to require the recleaning of anything. The flower beds outside virtually ran themselves. I might have driven up to Mueller for a hike, but the sun was too sunny.

Finally, I walked out of the house and walked over to Joe’s.

Rang the doorbell.

He wasn’t home.

So I sat on his front step and waited.

Two hours later, he drove up. Parked his SUV. Got out.

“Hey. If I’d have known you were sitting here waiting for me, I might have stayed out longer.”

I stood up. “Ha-ha. Where were you?”

He gestured toward the SUV. “Getting my oil changed.”

“And?”

“Running errands. Who are you? Miss Marple?”

I felt my hands dig into my front pockets, lifting my shoulders. “The thing is, you were right.”

“I was what? Could you say that again? A little louder so everyone can hear?”

My shoulders collapsed and I looked him straight in the eye. “You were right. I was feeling sorry for myself.”

He moved past me and sat on a porch step. “Have you heard from your grandmother?”

I sat down beside him. “She called last week. She wanted me to box up some of her clothes and forward them to England. It cost about thirty dollars.”

“Are they having fun?”

I nodded. “Having a fabulous time.”

Joe grinned. “Imagine that.”

We watched a car pass. Listened to some birds sing. Bees buzz. Joe stretched his legs out. Crossed them at the ankles and let his knees drop open. Began to whistle.

I pushed off from the porch and stood up. “Right. Well. Guess I’ll go then.”

“You came by just to tell me I was right?”

“Pretty much.” And to see if there would ever be any hope of kissing you again.

“You might as well stay for lunch.” He extended a hand. “Help me up.”

I put my hand in his and hauled him off the step.

He kept hold of mine and pulled me up the stairs.

We walked together into his house.

He cleared off a corner of his kitchen table, closing half a dozen books and then stacking them into a tower. He topped them with the last three days’ editions of the
Gazette
newspaper, but he left a three-ring binder splayed open, a lined tablet beside it.

“Homework?”

He looked at it and then winked. “I just have to stay one lesson ahead of the cadets, right? Have a seat.”

I did. And watched as he took a loaf of bread, some bologna, and slices of processed cheese from the refrigerator. He set a bottle of mustard and a bottle of pickle relish on the counter beside them. Then he dumped some salad-in-a-bag into a bowl and threw some cherry tomatoes on top.

He began to assemble a sandwich. “My mom used to make me tuna fish and egg salad sandwiches for lunch. Said they were brain food. I hated them—they always got soggy.”

“Lucky you.”

“What did you get? Liverwurst?”

“I wish. Beef tongue salad. Or a Thermos full of oxtail soup.”

“I got SpaghettiOs once in a while. Does anyone even own an ox in America anymore?”

“I had Twinkies. Sometimes.”

“Well, Twinkies are tradable. Do you want mustard?”

“Please.”

“Pickles?”

“Don’t you mean relish?”

“Do you want any or not?”

“No, thanks.”

“Lettuce? Tomatoes?”

“Both.”

He took some chunks of lettuce and a handful of tomatoes and placed them on top of one side of the sandwich. Placed the second slice of bread over them and smashed it down. There were six bumps protruding from the bread when he delivered it to me.

“You could just buy big tomatoes and cut them into slices.”

“I like these. They taste better. Want something to drink?”

“Water. Please.”

He filled two glasses with water and brought them to the table. And then he made his sandwich. Sat down beside me and began to eat.

“Do you know what your grandmother’s going to do with the house?”

“No.”

“Are they planning on coming back?”

“I have no idea.”

“Would you live there by yourself? If they decided to live somewhere else?”

“Sure. I guess. If she didn’t sell it.”

“What if she did?”

I put my sandwich down. “I’m still getting used to the idea that she’s married. It’s going to take me a while to get used to the fact that I might not be living in the house anymore.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine.” I picked the sandwich up again. A tomato bobbled out. I popped it into my mouth and felt a satisfying squirt. “It really is fine.”

He cocked his head and took a long look at me. “Good. I’m glad it is. Fine, I mean.”