Grown-Up Pose

by Sonya Lalli

  She had to hunch over to use it, but it served its purpose. She started at one end of the drive, and it took four long pushes to clear just a few square feet. Her back started to throb, and she stood up straight.

  “Let me do it, OK?” Neil was on the front stoop. He started walking toward her, and she leaned back over, pushing ahead with the shovel.

  “I got it.”

  “I meant to—”

  “I know you meant to.”

  “Anush, quit being a martyr, and let me do it.” He was beside her, reaching for the shovel, and she shrugged him off.

  “Go away!”

  He lunged for the shovel and pulled it out of her hand, raising it out of reach.

  “Stop.”

  He smiled down at her, and she jumped. He just raised it higher.

  “Neil! You’re so”—she jumped again—“annoying!”

  “I know.” He whipped the shovel into the snowbank behind her. “That’s why you love me.”

  He dropped his hands deep into the pockets of the pea coat she had bought him for his last birthday. It was a rich navy blue, threads of coal and burnt almond running through. With his scruff, girly-thick eyelashes, he looked even more handsome than the day she had met him.

  “Jesus,” he said, watching her face. “Are you crying?”

  She wiped her eyes.

  “It’s just the driveway. Don’t—”

  “I think you should move out.”

  His mouth dropped. She didn’t say anything else, stared at the snow freckling between her feet.

  “Quit kidding around, huh? That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny.”

  “What is this, some kind of test?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not happy. Neither are you. I think we should . . . live . . . separately. We should separate.” The idea was created, attached to her mind almost as she said the words. But now it was there—between her heartbeats as he didn’t respond, stared at her in pure exasperation—and it stuck.

  “Look, let’s go inside and talk—”

  “You want to talk? When have you ever wanted to talk about anything remotely serious?”

  “Try me. Let’s talk. What’s this about, then? I’m a slob? I’m lazy? I know, OK? But—”

  “I almost kissed someone tonight.”

  That shut him up. He nodded slowly, his face wound into a tight scowl. He started pacing and then waded into the snowbank to fetch the shovel. A moment later he was back.

  “It was just some guy who works in my building.”

  “Some guy.”

  “It was nothing. Nothing actually happened, OK? I don’t even know him.”

  “You say you almost kissed someone tonight, but nothing happened?” He shook his head and then let out an unfocused, muffled howl. He turned around, whipped the shovel into the opposite snowbank. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, Neil . . .” She paused. “It means, something is wrong. Something is wrong with us.”

  “Don’t you dare say that. Nothing’s wrong—”

  “There is. Why would have I put myself in that situation if things between us weren’t totally messed up? We’re always fighting or snapping at each other—and if we’re not, then we’re just not speaking. Things aren’t like they were before.”

  “What’s changed, then?” His eyes were red, his throat hoarse. “Me? You?”

  She didn’t know how to answer him. Had she changed, or was she just tired of expecting him to? “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, and you’re ready to call it quits?”

  Wasn’t she ready? Wasn’t this the only move that made sense?

  “Fine. Fine!” He stomped away from her, leaving a track through the snow. “I’ll play along. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. How ’bout that? And I’ll see you in the morning after you’ve changed your goddamn mind.”

  He slammed the door, and she wondered if it woke up Kanika. She found the shovel and continued to plow, inch by inch, through the snow. The idea of their separation started to ferment, thicken from an idea into a way forward, a way to be happy again.

  Morning came. She didn’t change her mind, and three weeks later he moved out.

  chapter nine

  RYAN: Anu, I’ve left you a thousand messages. Please pick up? Please, let’s talk about this.

  RYAN: You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not what it looks like, honest. Just answer me, would you? I need to talk to you.

  Anu woke up in her own bed with her temples throbbing. She pawed at the nightstand for her phone and a glass of water, but neither were there. The room spun as she sat up, and it took her a minute to notice that Imogen was in the bed next to her.

  Both of them had their clothes on from the evening before, and Imogen was still wearing her shoes, too. Her mouth hung open, and she’d managed to get makeup all over Anu’s white pillowcase. When Anu tried to gently prod her awake, she just groaned and rolled away.

  Massaging her forehead, Anu tried to assemble the pieces of the evening before. After the taxi back to Ryan’s house, she distinctly remembered rummaging around for all her clothes, bags, and books, anything she’d left there in the past few months, while Imogen used a designated-driver app to find someone to drive them, in Anu’s car, back to her house.

  There, it got blurry. Cheap wine drunk straight from the bottle. Laughing or crying—or was it both?

  Jewel playing in the background. Was Imogen old enough to know Jewel?

  Anu slipped out of bed and took a shower, and by the time she returned to the bedroom, Imogen was awake.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not sure,” Anu said honestly. In fact, she felt so hungover, she didn’t think she was capable of feeling anything.

  Imogen nodded and then played on her phone as Anu towel-dried her hair. It was both odd and comforting to see a virtual stranger in her bed. The oddest part was, Imogen didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

  Anu made them both breakfast, fried eggs and tomatoes and toast, and while they ate, they made a plan to go out again the following weekend, once Kanika was back with Neil. After, she insisted on calling Imogen a cab.

  “Anusha,” Imogen said, leaning against the door as they waited, “I get it.”

  “What do you get?” Anusha asked, even though she knew what she was talking about.

  “How you’re feeling.” The weight and tilt of her words sent a shiver down Anu’s spine. She didn’t know if Imogen was talking about some guy who’d hurt her or something else. “But fuck it, right?”

  Anu nodded, searching Imogen’s face, wondering what she was trying to say.

  * * *

  • • •

  Anu didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself until later that evening—after she’d cleaned the house, bought groceries for the week, and picked up Kanika. After she spent the afternoon taking her daughter to dance class, for a haircut, and then out to their favorite sushi restaurant on Granville.

  After putting Kanika to bed, she sighed as she sank guiltily into the couch; it was the first time ever that she wasn’t looking forward to the week ahead with her daughter.

  This one, she wished she had for herself.

  She’d been putting it off, but after making herself a cup of tea, she texted Jenny, who was in the middle of a Tinder date.

  Less than twenty minutes later, Jenny was knocking at her door.

  In the basement, well beyond Kanika’s earshot should she wake up, Anu cried her eyes out—and Jenny, usually about as sympathetic as a lamppost, let her.

  “Don’t say it,” Anu said, reaching for the tissues.

  “Don’t say what?”

  “Anything.”

  “I haven’t said a word.”

 
“Fine. Say it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Anu nodded.

  “He’s a jerk! He’s a monumental jerk, Anu. A real phony suave motherfucker, and I have no idea how you never saw it.”

  “You and Monica both—”

  “Despised him.”

  “Despised,” Anu repeated, still processing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I tried. And we thought you’d figure it out. We wanted you to figure it out.”

  Anu tried to imagine what would have happened if she hadn’t gone out the evening before, had instead stayed home at Ryan’s house while he “worked late” with Tammy.

  Would she have figured it out? Anu was not sure she would have.

  Anu sat up. Instead of blowing her nose, she threw the tissue at Jenny’s head. “You should have told me.”

  “Well, back then, you should have told me.”

  Jenny grew quiet, and Anu knew she was thinking about Blair. Monica and Anu had never warned her that his odd, often sketchy behavior could have been a sign that he was hiding something, like a wife, although Jenny didn’t actually blame them for that. Anu and Monica had been young, too, even more inexperienced than she was. They had been oblivious to the red flags.

  Evidently, Anu was still oblivious.

  “I wish I had been with you last night.” Jenny shook back her hair. “I would have made you punch him. And if you didn’t, I would have.”

  “What would that have accomplished?”

  “It would have made you feel better, for one.” Jenny shrugged. “So has he called you?”

  Anu nodded and handed Jenny her cell phone. Ryan had left several messages, and Anu had ignored all of them. Each plea that it “wasn’t what it looked like” and that they were “just colleagues.” But her favorite line, which had come only the hour before, was “Whatever happened last night, can’t you just forgive me?”

  After listening to all of Ryan’s voice mails, and commenting with Jenny-like sarcasm on every single line, she threw Anu’s phone decidedly on the couch. “It’s over. You shouldn’t call him back.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Then congratulations, Anu. You’re officially single again.”

  Single.

  Anu’s heart fell, and perhaps noticing that her friend was on the brink of tears, Jenny closed her mouth on whatever she had been about to say next. She scooted in closer on the couch and let her head fall on Anu’s shoulder.

  Anu had never really been single. In high school, sure, but that didn’t count. None of her friends had had boyfriends back then; they were too busy at band or choir practice, studying for university entrance exams, at drama club, or at one another’s houses watching The OC or Friends. And those first six months after Neil had moved out, before she gave in to Ryan’s advances, had been a whirlwind. It was all temporary-custody agreements and meetings with lawyers, accountants, and their mortgage broker; it was spending every waking moment fully dedicated to Kanika, ensuring she didn’t suffer. It was ignoring her mother’s nagging voice saying that their breakup was a giant mistake.

  She glanced around the basement. It was unfinished, and the far half of the room was cluttered with boxes, recycling, and clothes that she and Neil had meant to start sorting through right before the separation. The other side, where she and Jenny were sitting now, was furnished with the IKEA furniture she and Neil had bought together right after the wedding, which had fit perfectly in their old apartment. Now it all lived in the room where they’d imagined Kanika would one day hang out with her friends, maybe her younger siblings. Where she’d drink her first can of beer, maybe have her first kiss. Even though that scenario was more than a decade away, Neil had refused to install a door at the top of the stairs.

  “You think I’m going to let some little bugger be alone with my daughter?” he’d asked Anu.

  Wiping her nose, Anu let her body fall closer into Jenny’s. A sadness washed over her entire body.

  “Hey, hey.” Jenny frowned at her and then pinched her nose. “Don’t be a grump, Anu. We can be single together.”

  “I guess we can.”

  “I can finally teach you how to use Tinder.”

  “Tinder? Isn’t that just for sex?”

  “It can be.” Jenny eyed her. “Maybe for you, it should be.” Jenny reached into Anu’s front pocket, and when she started pulling at her phone, Anu swatted her hand away.

  “Come on! It’ll be fun. . . .”

  “Fun for you,” Anu muttered. “I haven’t even been single for a day.”

  Jenny slid down from the couch onto the shag rug that covered the concrete floor. Beneath the coffee table was a loose stack of newspapers, magazines, flyers, and junk mail Anu had never bothered to throw away, and Jenny pulled out a magazine from the top pile.

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  Jenny smoothed down the edges of the page. It was their nursing school alumni annual magazine, and they mindlessly flipped through its glossy pages full of job adverts and information on new treatments and equipment, news about the latest graduating class.

  “Check this out. Have you read it yet?” Jenny said, pointing to the community news section. “Quinn got married. Thanks for the invite, Quinn.”

  Anu stared blankly at the blond wedding Barbie on the page, swooning just next to her Ken. “God, I hated Quinn.”

  “Monica says you actually liked her until you saw her trying to flirt with Neil.” Jenny hesitated. “Have you told her about Ryan, by the way?”

  “Not yet. She’ll feel so bad for me, and I don’t want to ruin her honeymoon.”

  Jenny held her gaze a beat longer and then broke off contact.

  “Have you spoken to her today?”

  Jenny shrugged. “Just in passing . . . anyway. Weren’t you in the magazine once?”

  “I’ve been in it three times.”

  “Three, really?”

  “Engagement, twenty eleven. Wedding, twenty twelve. Kanika’s birth announcement, twenty fourteen. That’s three times.”

  “I’ve never made it in. And think about it. I’ve had a more exciting life than you. No offense—”

  “None taken.”

  “I’ve been to Everest base camp, trekked the Annapurna circuit and the West Coast Trail. I’ve been to every single continent.”

  “You learned how to scuba dive at the Great Barrier Reef.”

  “And I screwed my diving coach, too.”

  Anu snorted. “What was his name? Jimbo?”

  “More like Dumbo.” Jenny shook her head. “That guy had his oxygen cut off one too many times.”

  Anu stared harder at Quinn’s picture, at the woman who was perhaps the most unlikable, irredeemable person she had ever known, on display as if getting married was some sort of achievement. Like she’d won some sort of award.

  She couldn’t quite remember, but Anu wondered how she had felt when she saw her own picture in there. Had she felt proud? What had it achieved, anyway?

  Her and Neil’s marriage had been about consummating a five-year “modern relationship” that Priya said was beginning to look inappropriate, and turning Anu into an honest woman. Their marriage had meant they were finally allowed at twenty-three to spend the night in the same bed, touch each other beneath the duvet without leaving their undergarments on.

  It was impossible to imagine an alternate reality without Kanika; she didn’t want to. But a tiny part of her couldn’t help but wonder what life would have been like if she and Neil hadn’t gotten married so young. What if Priya and Lakshmi had just let them be, and they’d dated and had sex—even tried living together first?

  Would their relationship have run its same course? Or would they still be together?

  “It doesn’t make sense, does it?” Anu said, flipping to the next wedding announcement. “We
celebrate people getting together, not themselves as real people. Their accomplishments, their flaws—”

  “You’re preaching to the choir here.”

  “Where was your announcement for Everest? Why is our marriage, our children the only fucking thing that’s allowed to define us?”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I’ve been saying that stuff for years.” Jenny not so gently swatted her on the arm. “About time you realized it.”

  Anu closed the magazine and then ran her palm along its smooth cover. By its account, Anu had excelled at life; her milestones were achievements worth celebrating.

  A lump formed in her throat. She was, by all accounts, a grown-up.

  She flipped the magazine over. The inside back page was hot pink and blank. She grabbed a pen and starting writing.

  Role model to Kanika

  Family-oriented

  A loyal friend

  “What are you doing?”

  She ignored Jenny, continued pressing the pen to the page.

  Controls urges

  Lives life in moderation

  “Oh, I forgot.” Jenny giggled. “You’re a grown-up.”

  Financially responsible

  Chooses a suitable life partner

  Anu laughed out loud at the last one, gently scribbled it out.

  “I guess you can’t say that one anymore, can you?” Jenny said.

  Anu nodded, setting down the pen. She had pulled the wool over her own eyes when she had agreed to marry Neil at the tender age of twenty-two, when neither of them had done anything in life aside from what their mothers expected of them. She had done it to herself again when she threw herself into a “serious” relationship with the next guy who looked at her. How could she not see it?

  Staring at the list, she wondered what else she was missing. What else she needed to see.