by Mimi Strong
Dr. Garrett fanned her face with her hands. “I am not good with praise, clearly, but you are welcome. You are very welcome.”
Nora had a big smile on her face as she left the woman's office. She made a note to remember to tell people when she appreciated them.
Nora arrived at work on time, and she got through the workday, successfully avoiding Murray again. She did pop over to Stevey's office to formally apologize for biting him.
“I got a rabies shot immediately,” he said, “but I've been having these strange urges during the full moon.”
“Did you have these urges before I bit you?”
He grinned. “How did you know? It's the strangest thing. I wake up at nine, nine-thirty—that's the middle of the night for me—and I rub mayonnaise all over myself. Oh, wait. Did that make you feel uncomfortable? Me rubbing stuff on myself?”
“Did you take the sensitivity training too?”
“We all did. And by we, I mean the men.”
“Stevey, we all joke around here. It's all good fun, and I do have a sense of humor. You know that, right?”
He frowned and fiddled with some things on his desk. “If I ever make you feel uncomfortable, you'll tell me, right?”
“Yes.”
He pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. “Women, sheesh. So hard to understand.”
“Stevey, women want the same things men want. By pretending we're so mysterious, you're being just a teensy bit sexist.”
“Oh.”
Nora sensed that now she was the one making Stevey uncomfortable. “Thanks for taking over some of my shows. I hear the listeners experienced a softer side of Stevey with you on your own in there.”
His eyes got big. “Oh, Nora, it was so scary. I don't know how you do the show by yourself every day. You've got big balls. Shit. Was that offensive?”
She reached forward and patted him on the shoulder. “You're a good guy. The fact that you even ask that proves it.”
Nora found Kylie by the photocopier and invited her for a drink after work. She made it sound like a spur-of-the-moment thing, but she'd already arranged for Tianne to come and meet them.
Kylie reluctantly agreed.
After work, they met at a pub near Tianne's house, where they started off with a pitcher of white wine sangria and some appetizers that Kylie didn't touch.
Nora said, “Kylie, please slap me across the face if this is none of my business, but would you say you have a complicated relationship with food?”
Kylie grabbed a chicken wing and began to nibble it. “No.”
“There's no judgment here,” Tianne said. She pulled up the sleeve of her beaded tunic. “I was a cutter, once.”
Kylie put down the chicken wing and leaned in to stare at the raised pink lines on Tianne's arms, cruel-looking against her lovely brown skin.
“Sometimes I still miss it,” Tianne said. “You could say I've switched one thing for another, now that I have the blogging and the yoga, both of which give me the same pleasure of a singular focus. The kids are great too, but it's not the same. It's not something you do just for you.”
Kylie didn't say anything.
Nora sipped her sangria, so grateful she had Tianne, not just as a friend for herself, but to offer Kylie. Tianne was the same age as Nora—their birthdays were only days apart—but she seemed to have an old soul by comparison.
“Is there anything you'd like to ask me about my cutting?” Tianne asked.
“I knew some cutters,” Kylie said. “I went to some group counseling in high school. I sorta had anorexia back then for a bit.”
Nora felt relieved—not that Kylie had an eating disorder, but that she was talking about it.
“But I'm fine now,” Kylie said.
“I don't think you are,” Nora said.
Kylie crossed her arms and her tone became defensive. “Okay, I've been a little distracted lately. I was doing some research after you said you were getting your nose done, and I was looking at some pages about liposuction. I don't think I need to lose another five pounds if I could just target some of the fat pockets.”
Tianne lay her hand on Kylie's elbow. “Honey, you don't have any fat pockets. You were in my yoga class, so I saw everything.”
“Lycra holds things in.”
Tianne pulled a card out of her purse. “Here. This is someone I know through the yoga community. She's helped a lot of people.”
“I don't need help. You girls are just being jealous. This happens to me all the time.”
Nora pushed her tongue against the roof of her mouth and fought the urge to argue with Kylie. She wondered if that was how her parents felt about her, when she was being stubborn.
The music in the pub tapered off to silence, then the live band began to play at about ten times the volume.
Tianne shouted across the table, “I hear they do some great covers!”
Kylie loosened her crossed arms and nodded to the beat of the drums, her eyes closed.
Tianne threw her hands in the air and gave Nora a now what gesture. Nora raised her shoulders in bewilderment, then refilled all their glasses from the pitcher.
For the next hour, they listened to music and shouted praise about the band. Some guys came over to offer to buy them drinks in exchange for sharing the table—it was getting crowded in the pub—and Nora was shocked when the guys paid almost as much attention to her as they did to Tianne and Kylie.
The guys were cute, but they were way too young. Still, it was nice to get the attention.
Despite how things had gone with Kylie, Nora enjoyed herself, her drinks, and her new male attention.
On her way home from the pub, Nora considered asking the cab driver to drop her off at Bobby's place. The guys at the bar had been so cute, and young.
Instead, she went home and signed up for an online dating service. Thirsty, she drank two of her dad's beers from the fridge and giggled to herself as she filled out her profile. Under the section for interests, she typed in three things she'd never done before: mime training, bird watching, and wild bull riding. She giggled. Would people get that she was joking? She thought better of it and deleted them, filling in her interests with the same boring things every woman says, about hiking and blah-blah. She laughed and made the last line blah-blah.
She scrolled through the men's profiles until a familiar word popped out at her: amputee. The man attached to the description was thirty-two, and handsome as the devil. She sent him a flirt message, which was basically a wordless email to ask him to check her out.
The dating system asked her for a photo for her profile, so she pulled open some recent digital photos that were on her computer.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. These photos were from before her surgery.
That nose! It was a honker!
She'd gotten used to her new appearance so quickly, that these old photos didn't look like her. There wasn't even an out-of-focus or from-a-distance photo that matched her current looks. She turned on her little web cam. The device had come with her computer, but she'd never had any desire to use it until now, probably because of her nose. She captured a few cute shots. Her makeup was smudged from the long day she'd had, but the pictures were cute enough. She loaded one up, clicked off her lamp, and rested her eyes “for a minute.” She fell asleep on her bed with her clothes and prosthetic still on.
In the morning, Nora felt very foolish. She got in to work at ten, two hours late, and avoided talking to Kylie, who was on the phone with concert promoters all morning, talking REALLY LOUD and laughing merrily.
Some of the petals were falling off Nora's flower arrangement, and she finally got around to opening up the card to see what Murray had to say.
The tiny card and arrangement was not from Murray after all.
It read: I've been thinking about you and missing your voice. Aaron.
She immediately googled him, looking for recent photos. With such a common name, it was hard to track him down, but she did.
> Aaron Edward had come a long way from being the skinny boy at summer camp who could play three chords on a guitar. According to his official bio, he'd written and played guitar on several Grammy-nominated songs. He had spent some time in both Nashville and Los Angeles, but this year had returned to his hometown to set up his own small recording studio. The bio didn't mention doing freelance work for radio stations for a few modest paychecks, and Nora wondered, if he didn't need the money, had Aaron been coming to the station to see her?
One of the interns came by just then with another bouquet and set it on her desk. She opened the card immediately this time.
The card, which had a teddy bear on it, read: I heard what you said, and I'm still waiting for you to meet me by the lake. Aaron (Your Eddie)
She read the card over and over again, all day.
After work, Nora drove by the address of Aaron's new recording studio. It was just outside of the city, past the point where tall, lush trees overtook houses as the main features of the land. She drove slowly, looking at the building set high on the hill. She couldn't tell if it was new construction or had been there for years, as the style was a rustic A-frame made of logs, featuring large expanses of glass picture windows. Land in that area was not inexpensive, nor were houses of that size. The Grammy-nominated musician had done well for himself.
Nora's right leg ached. If it had been Aaron who'd lost a foot in the accident, would she be the one with the deluxe house? Would Aaron be on a career path that involved news and weather updates on the hour, every hour, until the end of time?
That night, Nora dreamed she was trying to escape a building to see Aaron. Every door and window was locked, and she ran up and down corridors, searching for a key. She kept opening doors to a wrecked motorcycle, and her mother, in tears. She woke up soaked in sweat, the sheets tangled around her.
CHAPTER 8
Over the next two weeks, Nora kept expecting to see Aaron in the station, but he never came. There were no more flowers. She didn't dare contact him, but she scoured every page of his official website for news or hints about his whereabouts. He could have been out of town for business, or he could have forgotten about her. It would be better for Nora and her family if the latter were true.
Kylie had been professional but cool toward Nora since the night they'd discussed Kylie's eating habits. She wore layers of clothing and cardigans inside the office, citing the coolness of the air conditioning, but Nora suspected it was to disguise her thin frame. Nora's heart ached to see her friend slipping away.
She also missed Bobby. They'd exchanged a few emails, confirming that whatever they'd had was probably over, and she felt relief. Friends with benefits was not casual enough. One night only with a guy was what Nora preferred, from now on. She stopped shaving her legs, and she tried to stop missing Bobby, though it was difficult when he phoned her for advertising business and treated her like a stranger.
It's still me, she wanted to say, but she knew better than to try and be friends with a guy she'd slept with. There were other people out there, anyway.
She'd been exchanging emails with the handsome man from the dating website, and they had a date for Friday. He had dimples. On Friday morning, she shaved her legs, even as she gave herself a very strict talking-to about not being a slut.
Ten minutes before she went on air for her last segment of the week, Murray finally cornered her for his official apology. He'd been on her periphery for weeks, but she knew that couldn't last forever. She was trapped. She was in the studio, which had only one door, and Murray was between her and it.
Before he could start, she said, “I am so sorry I hit you. That was completely wrong of me, and I assure you it won't happen again. I've got my temper under control now, I promise.”
“This isn't how it's supposed to work,” Murray said grumpily. “I have to apologize to you.”
“Fine. Done. I forgive you Murray, for your sins. Your sins have been absolved. Do I sign a sheet or something for you?”
“I'm glad you slapped me.”
Nora shut her mouth and listened.
“Someone had to do it,” Murray said. “My life has been spiraling out of control for years. Nobody cared. Nobody cared about me, or how much I was suffering.”
Quietly, Nora said, “I didn't know.”
“I never told anyone. I covered up by acting out, but I didn't realize I was only hurting myself, and others, and my relationships.” He took a deep breath and let it out, eyes closed. “I want to mend my bridges. Or build them. Or whatever people who are healthy do.”
He opened his eyes, and Nora felt like they were making eye contact for the very first time. Murray looked older than she remembered, and she thought of how difficult it must be for him to be the boss, managing so many young people, when they all joked with each other and socialized outside of work, but nobody invited Murray.
She felt the shift inside her, the forgiveness, and though it pained her to be manipulated, she wanted to believe he was being sincere, and that people really could be sorry.
With a little smile, Nora said, “I wouldn't know too much about healthy bridges. Seems to me, I burn my fair share of them down.”
After a moment, Murray said, “Friends?”
She stood and stretched her hand out to shake Murray's. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Thanks for the mug, it's my new favorite.”
They both looked at the rainbow-striped mug sitting next to the computer keyboard. Murray looked like he'd just had his day made. No, his week.
The blind date with Mr. Dimples was for coffee, even though Nora was starving for dinner. Coffee was more casual, and if it was a bust, easier to escape from. The dating website had recommended coffee, in a public place, as a first date.
Nora looked around the coffee shop, wondering how many of the other couples there were on first dates. The place was an independent shop, in the part of the city where people walked big, black dogs on rope leashes, and outdoor advertising was covered in graffiti overnight. Nora's station didn't have a high rating in this area, as the people preferred to march to their own, individual drums.
She was early, and took a seat facing the door. Her table was vintage from the '70s, the chair had duct tape on the seat, and neither piece of furniture matched another one in the place. Her date, whose name was Rex, strangely enough, came in the door, and all conversation in the three-quarters-full coffee shop ceased. There he was: an above-knee metal sports prosthetic on the right leg, attached to an athletic body in shorts and a sleeveless shirt—the kind Bobby wore outside of work.
Rex had chin-length, tousled hair, and his dimples deepened when he spotted her and came over to introduce himself. She told him to get himself a beverage, and pointed to her own latte and the pile of crumbs where her biscotti had been.
Rex strode to the counter, oblivious to stares, and ordered “the usual,” returning with a tea that smelled like flowers. The mug had World's Best Grandma written on it.
Up close, in the aura of his charisma, Nora found herself short of words. She made a comment about the mug, and when Rex started at her quizzically, she realized she was holding her hand in front of her face, the way she used to, before the nose job. She dropped her hand and told herself to be confident. Rex was at least an eight, even without one leg, and she had to believe that after thousands of dollars of plastic surgery, she was a seven, or a six at minimum.
They moved on from beverage comparisons to talk of work, and Rex said, “I imagine you're nervous about the restructuring. My friend Ivan said they're trading people back and forth like baseball players.”
“Ivan?”
“Yeah, he's in sports at the other station. Says that with the changes, heads are going to roll.”
Nora stammered that she knew nothing about a restructuring, and asked him to start again, from the top.
As Rex talked about what he'd heard from his friend, it gradually sank in. Her uncle, Don, was cashing in his chips. He'd been keeping salaries d
own in recent years to make the company more attractive to buyers, and now it was being sold.
All around her, people typed on their laptops and drank their coffee and tea out of chipped mugs, Rex kept talking and showing off his dimples, and Nora's whole future dissolved. She wouldn't be inheriting the station. She might not even have a job.
“Are you feeling okay?” Rex asked. “You keep rubbing your nose.”
“This is a lot to take in. I might be losing my job, and I have almost no savings.”
“Still paying off student loans?”
“No. I just spent a fortune on… well, a nose job. I had a little work done. Just got tired of having a face for radio.”
Rex contemplated her nose, leaning forward to take a closer look. “I don't know why you'd do that to yourself.” There was a note of disgust in his voice.
Nora recoiled as though she had just been slapped. Who was this stranger to have an opinion about her face and her life?
He said, “Other people will always be shallow and skin deep, but this… ” He adjusted his prosthetic leg, bringing it out from where it had been tucked under the table. “This has really separated people for me. The ones who are worth knowing and the ones who aren't.”
“Are you saying that, because I had cosmetic surgery to make myself feel better about my appearance, I'm not worth knowing?”
He made a nonchalant gesture. “Come on, you didn't really do it for yourself. Women don't get those big breast implants for themselves either. It's all about attracting a rich man, isn't it?” He shook his head. “It's all about the wallet.”
Nora imagined herself slapping the dimples off Rex's face. Then she imagined the other coffee shop patrons turning on her, the awful woman who attacked a man with a disability. He had a robot leg, for crying out loud. What kind of monster was she?
She took a sip of her latte, which had turned cold and smelled sour. “So, do you have any summer vacation plans?”