by Kelly Rimmer
“That’s the funny thing about life, isn’t it?” Paul stops to pick up a rock from the sand, then he skips it out into the water. “I was scared you’d say no and I’d make an idiot of myself by asking, so I put zero effort into it, which probably only increased the chances of you saying no. Sometimes, the very things we do to protect ourselves from failure are the same things which make failure more likely.”
“That’s insightful, Paul. I’m impressed.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think this year,” he says as he resumes his path along the beach.
“That’s pretty obvious. But why did you tell me that?”
“I read a book about relationships a few months ago. The premise was basically that we understand a person by the parts of them we can see. So, most relationships aren’t actually between two people, but rather between two masks. But for authentic connection, you need to look behind the masks. The longer you think you’ve known someone, the harder that is to do, because your preconceived ideas about a person become a part of the mask you see.”
He shrugs. “I figured after everything you and I have been through already in the last few years, the only way we’re going to re-form a relationship is to change the way we see each other. I can’t fix what’s happened between us in the past, but I can ask you questions to redefine how I see you, and I can let you peek behind the mask to understand me. What better place to start than by showing you what was really going on for me at one of the most important moments of our shared history?”
His tone barely modulates as he talks, and he’s looking out toward the water again, his expression neutral. If someone listened only to his voice and not the words, they might assume he was talking about something exceedingly dry...economics or programming or politics. Paul’s speech often defaults to this same flat effect, but it is more than unusual for him to show such insight into something as abstract as forming genuine relationships.
“Profound,” I whisper, almost to myself. It’s almost like Paul has taken all of that astounding intellectual curiosity and focus, and applied it to learning how to connect with people.
“It’s not my material,” he assures me with a quiet smile. “Don’t give me the credit. I can lend you the book if you like, I’ve still got it at home.”
“I wasn’t talking about the analogy. I was talking about the way you applied it to our situation.”
“Anyway, enough of all that,” Paul says, for the first time looking almost self-conscious. “It’s only a matter of time before we stop having deep and meaningful moments and start having furious ones if we don’t change the subject. How are your brothers?”
I laugh weakly. “It’s weird with all of them now, except Noah.”
Paul climbs over a section of rock, then extends his hand to me and helps me do the same. When we’re on the gritty sand again, I say quietly, “They worry about me, but when they try to express that, they end up smothering me.”
Five of my brothers are scattered in other cities all over the country, so the only one I regularly see in person is the youngest of my brothers, Noah. He lives in Brooklyn with his partner Emma, and the three of us catch up for a meal every few weeks. But since I left Paul, I feel like the rest of my family has kicked into some overdriven support mode.
“Until last year, I hardly ever spoke to them. Remember? Maybe I’d text each brother every now and again or occasionally have a video chat with them to see their various kids, but now, my phone runs hot with some contact from my family every day,” I say. “Even Todd, who had never sent me an email in his life before this year, has started regularly emailing me links to self-help sites and articles like ‘Should you reconcile with an ex?’ and ‘Ten ways to get over a breakup’ or ‘Navigating online dating in your thirties.’”
“Can you forward some of those to me? They sound like really helpful articles,” Paul says dryly.
I chuckle. “I mean, what is Todd even doing on those sites? Is he sitting around between earthmoving jobs reading Cosmopolitan? And Zach calls me every Tuesday night at 6:00 p.m., so I know he’s set a reminder in his phone, and I don’t know why he bothers because I teach Tuesday nights at six so he only ever gets my voice mail. Will has visited New York ‘for business’ six times this year, and each time he stays with me in my teeny tiny loft and we make awkward small talk until he packs his bag and goes home again. Jane recently told me she’s getting annoyed with him for leaving her alone with the kids so often. She’s convinced he comes for meetings he could have easily done via video conference because he just wants an excuse to check in on me.”
“And let me guess, Chad is full of helpful advice?”
“At Christmas, he pulled me aside so he could mansplain nutrition and health to me because apparently I’m too skinny now.”
“I’m guessing that went down well.”
“He hasn’t eaten a vegetable in two decades and the farthest he’s walked since he left college is to his car, so no, it didn’t go down well,” I mutter.
“I’m guessing Owen and Janine would be offering you lots of helpful tips, too.”
I laugh softly. “Oh yeah. He got a job at a new church, did you hear?”
“No, I haven’t kept abreast of Parker family gossip.” Paul winces.
“Owen’s pastoring in Iowa now. He calls me every few weeks, even though the calls are brief and consist mostly of him booming questions at me, and he doesn’t really give me the time to answer before he leaps off the phone. Whenever I talk to Janine, she makes judgy comments about loyalty and ‘fixing what’s broken instead of throwing it away.’”
“Ouch.”
“Only Noah and Emma actually listen to me. I guess I’m just lucky that the easiest of all of my brothers happens to be the one who lives closest to me.”
“And your parents?” Paul asks.
“Dad keeps trying to convince me to move back to Chicago...”
“Will you?”
“Definitely not.” I shudder. “Not while Mom lives there.”
Paul laughs.
“Instead of property, maybe we should have divvied up family in the divorce,” I say. “I’d happily swap a few of my brothers for Jake.”
“Your family is a lot,” Paul says, with surprising diplomacy.
“I know they all mean well. But Mom in particular just does not understand why I left—” I trail off, realizing that once again, I’ve flipped the conversation right back to the divorce, and Paul and I sigh simultaneously.
“It’s hard to avoid, isn’t it?” he remarks.
“It takes real effort,” I agree.
“Worth it, though, don’t you think?”
I glance at him. It’s still early, and the sunlight is still golden, illuminating his face against the backdrop of the sea. There are new lines in his face this year, but they only add a depth of maturity. When he turns to smile at me suddenly, I forcibly extinguish the butterflies in my stomach and make myself return a friendly smile.
“You know what, Paul?” I say faintly. “It really is.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Paul
AS I FOLLOW Isabel into the house, the first thing I do is check the time on the clock on the wall over the sofa. It’s 9:03 a.m., and I know Jess will be in the office. She doesn’t usually come into the office on Saturday, but when there’s a retreat scheduled, she makes a point of being there.
Even after working together on our software for twelve years, Jess still doesn’t know a variable from an operator. She’s no more a programmer than I am a people person. But she comes in anyway and she makes an awful lot of walks to the printer on those weekends, strolling casually past the huge glass wall that separates the development team from the corporate teams.
If she sees my team getting weary, she’ll order a round of coffees. When the big screen above our team bull pen shows we’re making progress on a t
ough set of tasks, she’ll fly into the room in a flurry of excited pride to lift morale. When it’s time for meals, she’s handing out the napkins and packing up the trash afterward. If snacks run low, she personally collects the order and makes the trip to the bodega.
Jess is the CEO—but more than that—she’s a leader in the truest sense of the word. She’s a notorious hard-ass and as ruthless a businessperson as you can imagine. Jessica Cohen also taught me everything I know about leading by example.
Twelve months ago, I’d have been at work for seventy-two hours straight this weekend, sleeping at the armchair in my office, personally supervising every line of code. I’d have fretted like a parent with a sick infant. I’d have felt every failure personally. I’d have felt every success in my soul.
Now?
Things have changed. It’s not that I don’t care...it’s just that I can’t quite make myself care enough, and I don’t actually know what that means. Marcus was right yesterday when he said I wasn’t bringing my A-game. I’m not even playing at the JV level at the moment, and that’s why the company is in a tough spot. I need to get my shit together, and fast.
But “getting my shit together” is actually what this weekend is all about. And right now, I do need to call Jess, even if I’m not yet calling to check in on the retreat.
“I need to make some calls,” I say. Isabel is at the sink, pouring herself a glass of water. She smiles and nods. “The Wi-Fi password is KatherineMinola. No space, but both words are capitalized.”
“Katherine Minola...?” she repeats, then she scowls. “As in, Katherine Minola, the shrew from The Taming of the Shrew?”
I wince and wonder if I should have waited until she’d put the glass down before I told her that.
“Sorry. It seemed funny at the time. I can change it if you want. Actually, I’ll change it to EdwardHyde, from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, because that seems more fitting now.”
Isabel chuckles softly and waves me toward the stairs. “Go make your calls, Dr. Jekyll. I’ll catch you later.”
I climb the stairs and scoop my phone off the dresser. It’s still powered down after my calls yesterday, so I fire it up as I step out onto the balcony off the master bedroom. At the last minute, I pull closed the sliding glass door behind me. I don’t think Isabel would eavesdrop, but I’m also not sure she realizes the role Jess played in us both arriving here yesterday. I need to think about whether or not I should tell her.
It’s a magnificent day out, and I drop onto the sun chair and close my eyes for a moment, taking it all in. There’s a lot going on today, and I’m actually feeling a little overwhelmed. The salt air. The sunshine. Isabel. I can still smell her on my skin from last night. I never want to shower again, because that’s the very best kind of sensory overload.
Even if the flash of pleasure I feel just thinking about Isabel’s scent on my skin makes me wary.
Today is either a very good day indeed or a deceptively peaceful day that’s going to turn to shit at any second. I’ve been so angry and unhappy this year. I can’t even bring myself to enjoy the pleasant aspects of this moment because I’m already thinking about what might come next. That’s the kind of fast-forward living I try to avoid at all costs these days.
I slide my phone from my pocket. Jess is number two on my speed dial—right under Isabel, who is still at number one, even though I haven’t actually called her in months. I should probably delete her entry. My wedding band glints in the sun beside my hovering finger. Staring down at the phone, my inability to accept the change in my life is mocking me, all at once.
Change is hard for me, even at the best of times, but I’m certainly capable of it. I’ve more than proven that to myself this year, having adopted this entirely new way of relating to the people in my life.
Embracing change that feels wrong is a whole other story, though. I know Isabel and I are done, but I still can’t quite convince myself to cut these last symbols of our relationship from my life. I abandon my plans to delete Isabel’s speed dial entry yet again, and instead, stab at the phone to call Jess.
“I was just going to call you! Where the fuck are you? I specifically reminded you to be at the retreat!”
She’s trying to sound hard-assed, and generally that’s her default state, so she’s pretty well practiced at it and the sentence should be more convincing than it is. Now that I’m aware of her ruse, the sharp edge to her tone is feeble, and the whole announcement winds up sounding like a somewhat hopeful question.
“I can’t believe I let you manipulate me into coming down here. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to take some time out this weekend,” I say quietly. “I have to admit, Jess—now that I’ve calmed down, I’m almost impressed.”
“I just planted a seed,” she says, her tone softening just a little. “The soil must have been pretty fucking fertile for it to have taken.”
“And you tricked Isabel into her visit, too?”
She hesitates, and for a moment, I think she’s going to play dumb—but then there’s a grin in her voice as she says, “Tricked is a strong word, Paul.”
“What is this, Jess?”
“Just a pathetic attempt to get two people I care deeply about back on speaking terms, so we can all hang out every now and again. You see, Paul, I’m a selfish cow and I really miss the days when I didn’t have to get UN negotiators in to formalize a peace agreement between two of my closest friends just to throw a New Year’s party,” she says flatly, then she adds hopefully, “Is it working?”
I rub my eyes wearily. “We haven’t killed each other. At least not yet. We’ve talked a little bit.” We’ve talked a lot, actually, at least by the standard set by our last year of marriage. That thought startles me, and I pause to ponder it some more.
We really had fallen into a pattern of spending most of our time together in silence—but it wasn’t a warm, companionable silence. We just existed side by side, each of us living a different life. I was so focused on work that last year we were together, but what was Isabel focused on during those long months? Why didn’t I notice, or think to ask her at the time? Maybe I didn’t even realize how far apart we’d drifted. Maybe I’m only just realizing it now.
What is Isabel doing inside right now? I actually want to go back in there and spend some more time with her. And that’s curious. Especially given that if you’d asked me yesterday morning whether I wanted to spend a day with Isabel, I’d probably have pulled a muscle from laughing too hard.
“I’ll call this project a success, then, since all I was hoping for was for you two to actually communicate,” Jess says quietly.
“Is that really all you were hoping for?”
“I mean, you two sorting your shit out and getting back together would be a bonus, too.” She snorts. “But it was hard enough to get you two to have a conversation. Anything more would require magic way above my pay grade.”
Hearing Jess joke about me and Isabel leaves me feeling a little uneasy. I think about that breakfast and the almost-argument we got into over something so small, and about how the tension between us simmers right there at the surface and it just takes a scratch of the veneer we’ve painted over it for the pain and anger to bubble out.
No, Isabel and I will never be a couple again. We could never find a way back to where we once were. A friendship is a hard enough ask given the depths we’ve descended to in the recent past.
“Paul,” Jess says suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“Let me just say this, and I’ll leave you to deal with this weekend how you see fit. I see you every day, I see her several times a week. Time isn’t helping you, and it’s sure as shit not helping Izzy. It’s been...what? Ten months since she left? Well, you’re both still fucking miserable. I know you’re thinking that something magical is going to happen next Wednesday when the divorce is finalized and you’re finally going to feel better
...but think back to your wedding day. Did you feel any different after you signed that certificate? Did you love her any more after the ceremony than you did before it?”
I don’t answer that question. I don’t need to.
Jess waits just a moment. “All I’m saying, Paul, is that you both seem to think that this milestone is going to magically heal something, and I know you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
“I appreciate your concern for me. And for Izzy. But you should probably... I don’t know. Mind your own fucking business every now and again.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Jess says.
I move to farewell her with a casual “I’ll talk to you later,” but before I can hang up, she laughs.
“Aren’t you even going to ask me how Audrey is handling the retreat?”
“I don’t need to ask. You sent me here, so you must have figured out even before I did that the team will be better off without me this weekend.”
“Touché.” Jess chuckles.
I stand, open the door and step back into the bedroom. The walls immediately feel like they’re closing in on me, so I toss the phone onto the nightstand and head back down to the living room. Isabel is sitting on the sofa now, staring thoughtfully into what’s left of her glass of water.
“Didn’t the password work?” I prompt her.
She glances up and offers me a tentative smile, and the transformation on her face is breathtaking. Her eyes brighten and the tiredness lifts, and that makes me smile, too. For a minute we just stand there. Apparently, neither one of us is sure what to do next.
I want to spend more time with her.
I don’t know if I have a right to ask for that, or how to ask for it, or even if it’s a good idea to ask for it, or even—
“Remember when we used to rent those bikes?” she blurts.
I look at her in surprise. “That is a fucking fantastic idea,” I say.