The Transformation of Things (19 page)

Will walked toward me and pulled me into a hug, and then he whispered into my ear. “Marry me, Jen.”

“What?” It was something I thought he might ask me, someday. Someday on a beach, on a hillside, over a romantic dinner at Il Romano. Not then, not like that.

“You heard me. I want you to marry me.”

“Will, I don’t know.” I pulled back. “I might die,” I said.

“No,” he said. “You won’t. I won’t let you. It’s all going to turn out to be nothing.” And it sounded like he actually believed it, that he was big enough, important enough, to be able to pull this off.

“Even if it is nothing this time, it might not be next time. I’m damaged goods,” I said.

“Jen,” he said. “I love you, no matter what.” He paused. “I
want to be with you.” He held me with his eyes, oceanic in depth and color. “Forever.”

“Forever,” I promised back, leaning into him, thinking that forever was not such a long time for a girl who might be dying.

The lump did turn out to be nothing.
Just a scare,
Dr. Horowitz called two days later to report.
But it’s good to keep on top of it. Be cautious.
He recommended I start getting yearly mammograms and breast MRIs even though I was only twenty-seven at the time.
Early detection is so important.

When I told Will, he wanted to celebrate, and he poured us both a glass of wine. “You can take it back now,” I whispered to him, three glasses later, as I lay against him on the couch. “I’m not dying.”
Yet,
I silently added.
Not yet.

As an answer, he kissed me; his lips pressed so hard against mine that it felt like he wanted something from me, needed something. His hands rushed across my body, barely skimming my breasts before he was lifting my skirt up, on top of me, inside me.

Afterward I lay there and I wondered if Will had proposed because he really wanted to marry me, or if, in some way, he only wanted to save me, wanted to save me in a way that he hadn’t been able to save his parents. And I wondered if I only said yes because I wanted him to, wanted to be saved, because before Will, no one had bothered to try saving me.

The phone rang, startling me out of my half sleep. I saw Lisa’s name on the caller ID and picked it up. “Are you running today?” she asked.

I glanced at the clock and saw it was already after nine.
“Shit,” I said. “I overslept.” Then I realized it was Wednesday. “Don’t you have tennis?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I just felt like running today.” She paused. “But don’t worry about it. We’ll go another time. I should’ve called you first.”

“You’re at the park?” I pictured her standing outside, shivering, waiting for me.

“I just thought you went every day.”

“I do,” I said, thinking of her on that cold, cold doctor’s table and feeling terrible that she was waiting out in that freezing parking lot, all alone. “I can be there in twenty minutes,” I said. “If you want to wait.”

“There’s a Starbucks across the street. I’ll go over and get some coffee,” she said.

Lisa was still sitting inside the Starbucks, nursing her cup of coffee, when I arrived, so I went inside to join her. I’d left the house so quickly that I hadn’t had time for my coffee, and now I needed it. My head was hurting, and everything felt a little blurry still.

“You okay?” Lisa said. “You seem a little out of it. Are you sick?”

Sick.
I shook my head. But maybe I was, on the verge of some kind of flu, or, a possibility that sunk in my chest, something worse. Maybe that’s why I’d been feeling so strange lately. “I don’t think I slept very well,” I said, explaining the feeling away to both her and myself. “I had a weird dream.”

She sighed. “I haven’t been sleeping very well either lately. Must be something going around.”

I offered a meek smile and blew on my coffee, wishing it would cool quickly because I was sorely in need of the caffeine. I thought of her, lying on that doctor’s table, and I
leaned over and grabbed her hand. “Bethany’s pregnant. She called me last night to tell me,” she blurted out quickly.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, that’s nice.” I pictured her pushing
two
little angels in a fancy double stroller.

“Yeah, just what the world needs, one more little Bethany.” Her voice cracked, and she sounded as if she was about to cry.

“Lisa, what is it?” I whispered.

And then she did start to cry, softly. I watched tears roll down her face. She pulled her hand away from mine and wiped her cheeks hard, faster than the tears were coming. “Something awful happened,” she said, and I nodded for her to continue, even though I could smell that cold alcohol smell, feel that cold table against my back. That feeling, the smell of sickness, made me feel like I was going to throw up.

“My baby died,” she said. “My baby died.” She said it louder, as if that would make her believe it, make it feel more real. “I didn’t want her at first,” she said, “and I didn’t always remember to take the vitamins. And then she died, and it was all my fault.”

“Oh, Lisa,” I said. “What happened?” But before she said a word, I knew, the blond-haired doctor’s voice, the horrible aching in her stomach. And yet deep down, I shook with a sense of relief, which made me feel guiltier than I ever had before. Lisa wasn’t sick. She was going to be okay.

“Barry and I had a deal,” she whispered. “We had a freaking deal. I was going to go back to work when the twins are in first grade. One more year.” She paused. “I couldn’t start all over again, couldn’t go through it all again. So when I found out, I wished that it wasn’t true. And then it happened—I had a miscarriage. What kind of a person wishes her own baby away?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I told her. I remembered Kelly telling
me Dr. Horowitz told her that once, after she’d had a miscarriage herself, that miscarriages were surprisingly common, that they were nature’s way of preventing deformities.

“It was,” she said, with absolute certainty. “I wanted it to happen. I made it happen.”

“You didn’t make it happen,” I whispered, and leaned across the table and hugged her tightly. Ginger and roses and coffee, and wet tears on my shoulder.

“I haven’t told anyone else,” she said, pulling out of the hug.

“Not even Barry?” She shook her head, and it made sense, the sadness, the isolation I’d felt in my dreams.

“Barry.” She laughed, but the laugh caught in her throat, and when I looked at her there were tears streaming silently down her face. “Oh God, Jen, you should’ve heard Bethany going on and on about her perfect pregnancy. I just couldn’t do it again, couldn’t go back there today.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry,” I told her, handing her a napkin to wipe away her tears. “I wish I could say something to make you feel better.”

She reached across the table for my hand again and held on to me, as if I was her only lifeline.

Will was already home for lunch, waiting in the kitchen when I got back, spooning yogurt out of a container slowly. When I saw him sitting there, I felt this urge to hold on to him tightly and not let go, so I went to him and hugged him. “Sorry I’m late,” I whispered. “I was with Lisa, and we lost track of time.”

“Lisa?” He pulled back and wrinkled his nose. “I thought you weren’t friends with them anymore.”

“I’m not friends with
them.”
I shrugged. “Just Lisa.” He stared at me, narrowing his eyes, waiting for an explanation. “She apologized.” I paused. “She could use a friend.”

I grabbed a yogurt and sat down next to him. Even sitting, I felt the room spinning too fast all around me, and I thought about how Lisa asked me if I was sick. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again the moment had passed, the room was still. I turned to Will. “How’s your day going?” I asked.

He sighed. “Amber Tannenbaum. Short appointment.”

“Yeah, what happened?”

“Oh, she pretty much told me I’d ruined your life and then slammed the door in my face.”

“Oh, Will,” I said, reaching out for his hand, but he shook me off. “She’s a bitch. Everybody thinks she’s a bitch.”

“Even Lisa?”

“Especially Lisa.”

He sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this, Jen.”

“What?”

“This job. This life. I don’t know.”
You,
I silently added for him, because I wondered if I was a part of it, the things he couldn’t take anymore.

“Okay,” I said softly. “Then what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” He stood up and ran his hand through his hair. “Dammit, Jen. This is not a career for me. This is not a life. I’m just trying to tell you how I feel.” He paused. “Unlike you. You never tell me anything.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” I asked, knowing that nothing I was going to say was going to calm him down, was going to make him feel better about Amber.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling …” I paused, trying to figure out exactly what I was feeling in that moment, and something about my dream and my coffee with Lisa had driven deep into my core. I felt tired and listless and strange, not at all like my normal self, except, I realized, I wasn’t even sure who that was anymore.
“Sad,” I finally said, settling on this one emotion, though it seemed absolutely inadequate to really encompass all of my feelings.

“You’re unhappy,” he said matter-of-factly, repeating what he thought I just said. But when he said it that way it didn’t seem right at all. “I should’ve seen it. Fucking Amber could see it,” he said, his voice calm and even despite the fact that I could tell by the way his face was getting red that he wanted to explode. “Do you want a divorce, because if you do, just say it.”

My head was throbbing, and I closed my eyes to try to make it stop. I thought about the cold stirrups against Lisa’s feet at the doctor’s office, the feeling of drowning in my head and in hers, and then I couldn’t feel anything past that. I wondered if it was possible to feel a loss for something you never had, for something that was never really yours at all.

“I have to go,” Will said, picking up his coat. “I wouldn’t want to be late for an appointment.”

“Will, wait,” I called after him. But he didn’t stop, and I heard the front door slam with a sickening thud.

I thought about the Will in my dreams, the one who’d been unhappy, sick, as a judge, the one who’d been jealous of Janice for being able to just walk away, and I wondered if he felt that way now, too. If, back in the car, he was popping Tums or throwing up his lunch.
Oh, Will.
I felt an ache for him in my chest. Where did it all go wrong? I wondered, and I wished he was still standing there so I could comfort him, so I could wrap my arms around him and tell him that nothing else mattered. A divorce was the last thing I wanted.

I dialed Will’s cell, ready to let it all come tumbling out, that I wanted him to be here with me, that I wanted him to be happy. But after five rings, I got his voice mail, so I hung up.

My head was throbbing; it actually felt as if it might explode. I felt too tired to stand, to think anymore, so I decided I would take a short nap. I went upstairs and lay down on the bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed, not even bothering to take off my sneakers, and I closed my eyes. I wanted to dream about something nice, something happy, so I thought about Kat, about the glow on her face, brighter than a new suntan, when she’d returned from her night away with Danny.

I was standing in the
City Style
offices, twirling a strand of blond hair between my fingers, tapping an unlit cigarette on my desk. The computer screen stared at me, blank, the blinking cursor taunting me. Think, think, think. I tapped the cigarette.

I heard a rap on the door, and I jumped. Hank peeked his head in. “See ya tomorrow, sunshine.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved while mentally giving him the finger.

I heard Grant in his office, heard the timbre of his voice, deep and smooth as he talked to someone on the phone, though I couldn’t exactly make out the words. We were the only two people left. It was seven o’clock. It was dark. The rest of the office lights were off except for ours. Don’t go in there, I thought. Do not go in there.

I heard him hang up the phone, and I stood up. You’re just going to say hi, just going to be friendly.

I stood in the doorway of his office until he noticed. I wondered if he could hear it, the way my heart was thudding in my chest, loud and furious. “Katrin,” he said.

I nodded. “You’re working late,” I said.

“Again,” he said.

“Again,” I echoed.

“Have you had dinner yet? I was thinking about ordering Chinese, if you want some.” He stood up and walked closer. I watched him, as if in slow motion. Come closer, I thought. No don’t. Yes, I want you to kiss me. No I don’t.

Then he was standing next to me, his mouth close enough to my ear to whisper, “Why did you really come in here?” He didn’t wait for an answer to lean in, to kiss my earlobe lightly.

The kiss, the precision of it, electrified me. “Grant,” I whispered.

“Sssh.” He put a finger to my lips, and then he moved his finger and leaned in to kiss me.

“Jen. Jen. Wake up.” I opened my eyes expecting Grant, but the easy familiarity of Will surprised me. He sat at the edge of the bed, his hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right? You look upset.”

“I don’t know,” I said, disoriented. “What time is it?”

“Three-thirty,” he said. “I just stopped home for a few minutes.” He paused. “I’m sorry about earlier. About what I said. I shouldn’t have let Amber get to me like that.” I closed my eyes, and I saw Grant’s face, Grant leaning in for a kiss.
Seriously, Kat. Seriously? What happened to Danny, to your weekend, to your marriage, to your girls? You can’t just throw all that away.
I didn’t want to just throw it all away.