by Cat Lavoie
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says softly, rubbing her eyes. “For now, I just want to sleep.”
As if on cue, Peanut stops kicking. Steffi heads off to my room while Izzie takes Ollie’s room and I grab a blanket from the hallway closet and crash on the couch.
Just this morning I was worried that the apartment would be too quiet with Ollie gone, but now I can hear Izzie tossing and turning and muttering to herself. A few minutes later, light pours in from under her door and she starts pounding on the keys of her laptop computer. Steffi tosses and turns too but soon the sound of her soft snoring fills the room. I’m glad one of us is getting some sleep.
Chapter Five
“I miss you,” I whine into the phone. It’s one in the morning and I’m sprawled out on the couch, an open bag of potato chips resting on my belly. I try to keep my voice down so I don’t wake my sleeping sisters.
“I know. Me too,” Ethan says. “But we’re having dinner at Mother’s tonight so we can spend some time together.”
Ah, yes. As if I could ever forget about our monthly dinner at Ethan’s parents’ house. It’s as regular as a period and just as fun.
“I guess I should go to bed,” I say, even though I’m not tired. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Looking forward to it. Talk to you soon.”
“All right. Love you.”
I hang up the phone and close my eyes. I want to sleep. I need to sleep. I can’t show up at my future in-laws’ house with bags under my eyes the size of golf balls. But I can’t sleep. There’s too much going on in my head right now.
The last two weeks have been a complete blur. I’ve spent most of my time either avoiding my mother’s calls or actually taking her calls whilst curled up in the fetal position and imagining how painful burning in hell is going to be. Steffi and Izzie have talked to her but, of course, they’ve made no mention of the fact that they’ve both run away from home and that Steffi is carrying around their soccer-enthusiast future grandchild, Peanut. I’m getting way too good at lying to my mother. The words come out with barely any effort. Mom is convinced that ‘something is up’ but I’m quick to reassure her that everything is as it should be and that I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
“You’re hiding something, Roxy. I just know it,” she’d told me earlier in the week. “Don’t think for one second that your father and I won’t drive down this instant...” I’d stopped listening at that point. My mom makes it seem as though driving from Newark to Manhattan is some sort of Iron Man competition.
I don’t remember much from my Catholic school days, but I’m willing to bet that lying to your mother leads to eternal damnation. And lying to your mother about a child conceived out of wedlock? Well, that would just make Sister Mary Margaret’s head explode.
But I must say that—even though I don’t enjoy lying about Peanut—I quite enjoy feeding him. Steffi—who once lived off Diet Coke and cigarettes—has been eating like she’s about to give birth to a football team and I’ve been in a cooking frenzy trying to keep up with her newly-discovered appetite. It takes up a lot of my time but, truth be told, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than in the kitchen. My kitchen. When Ollie and I moved in, I spent a lot of time making it perfect. Even though I can’t build anything to save my life, I bought one of those shelving units from IKEA—you know the ones that come packed flat in a box with vague little drawings instead of instructions? It took me all day (and a few splinters and lots of cursing) but I was able to assemble it on my own. The back wall of our kitchen is filled with cookbooks from floor to ceiling. To me, there’s nothing better than pulling my hair back in a bun, putting on my favorite apron and creating something from scratch without a recipe. Sometimes it doesn’t work out and the end result is more gore than gourmet, but it’s all worth it for the times when everything goes right and I strike gold. Nothing compares to the high I get when a new dish I create looks and tastes like something that could have a place in one of the cookbooks stacked on my shelves. It never gets old.
My latest culinary adventure involved chicken and apricots and I called it ‘Steffi’s California Chicken’ in her honor. Steffi loved it, even though I’m sure she’d eat anything at this point. I could give her bologna and she’d wolf it down like it was prime rib. And it’s not difficult to please Izzie because even though she’s on forced vacation she’s always typing away on her computer or flipping through one of those thick law books and ends up eating peanut butter sandwiches if I don’t cook.
Still, I think that it’s pretty much a miracle that my sisters and I haven’t killed each other at this point. In fact (and I wouldn’t admit this even under oath) I’m glad they’re here. I don’t know what I would do if they weren’t here to distract me. When I’m at work, Greta keeps me so busy so I don’t have time to focus on the fact that I’ve barely heard from Ollie in the last two weeks. And when I go out to the Quid with my friends, they do their best to keep our rants Ollie-free. But if I came home to an empty apartment, I’d probably dwell on the fact that I’m losing my best friend and start to cry or something. How could it have gone downhill so quickly? We discussed how we’d keep in touch even before he got the promotion. But, as of now, I only know that it’s been raining in London and that his new flat is right next to a market that I would love. He hasn’t told me about his new job even though he couldn’t shut up about it before he left. And Rachel? I have no idea how she’s doing over there, not that I care... unless she’s having a horrible time and the rain is making her hair frizzy.
I get up, dust the potato chip crumbs off my shirt and open my computer. I check my inbox. Nothing. I’m about to send Emma an email reminding her that we need to go shopping for Tali’s birthday gift soon when a message pops up on my screen.
Oliver: What are you doing up at this hour?
I can’t believe it. Instant message. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Why hadn’t we done it before? My fingers shake as I type and I can’t help the huge grin on my face.
Roxy: It’s only 1 in the morning. What time is it where you are?
Oliver: 6. I just got to the office. Couldn’t sleep.
I know all about awkward silences but I didn’t know it could also happen when your computer is talking to someone else’s computer half a world away. I don’t know what to say.
Roxy: How are you?
It’s a simple question but I want it to mean so many things: Is London everything you imagined it was going to be? Do you miss New York? Do you miss me? We’re going to be okay, right?
Oliver: I’m great. Everything is perfect... couldn’t be happier. Over the moon, actually!
Not the answer I was looking for. My fingers hover over the keys while I think of something to say.
Oliver: Aren’t you going to ask me WHY I’m so happy? I’ve got some big news...
When Ollie’s happy he beams, and I can almost feel him grinning on the other side of the ocean.
Roxy: Tell me. What’s your big news?
Oliver: After this project is over, the firm wants to hire me as a regular employee. Can you believe it?
My blood turns ice cold for a moment and I tear my eyes away from the computer. I take a deep breath.
Roxy: So you’d be moving to London. For good?
Oliver: I really love it here, Rox. But you know I’ll come back to visit. You’re in New York. Rachel’s family is in New York. It’ll always be my home.
I desperately want to type something but my hands are glued to my lap. What can I say? How can I be happy for him when he’s just announced that I’ll only see him at Christmas or whenever he gets away? Rachel. She’s my only hope.
Roxy: What does Rachel think about all this?
Hopefully, Rachel will convince him to come back home and take his old job back. She’ll convince her father to give Ollie a raise and to promote him or something.
Oliver: Rachel’s in love with the place too. She has
an agent now and he’s sending her out to audition for a small part on EastEnders. It’s my new favorite show. We’re all keeping our fingers crossed.
Of course we are. Go ahead and break a leg, Rachel. I bet the reason she loves London so much is because it’s far away from me.
Oliver: Speaking of Rachel, there’s something I wanted to tell you. I’ve decided to propose to her. I don’t know when or how yet, but I’ve already bought the ring. I guess it’s just a matter of finding the perfect moment.
Wow. All of this in two weeks? No wonder he didn’t have time to write me a proper email. He was too busy having a fabulous time in London, impressing his bosses, watching British soap operas and shopping for an engagement ring.
Oliver: Are you happy for me, Rox?
Truth is, I am. Despite the fact that he’s knocked the wind out of me with his ‘big news,’ I’m happy for him. Ollie and I have been through so much together and he’s always been there for me, protecting me from bullies who used to steal my lunch money in grade school to helping me make credit card payments when things were tight just barely a month ago. So, yes, I’m happy he’s happy. He deserves it. Maybe he’ll believe me more if I use plenty of exclamation marks.
Roxy: Of course I’m happy for you!!!!!!! It was only a matter of time before the firm saw what a brilliant architect you are and they would have been crazy not to hire you. And I can’t believe you’re getting married too. You don’t always have to copy me, you know?
Oliver: I know, but I learn from the best. Will you be my Best Man?
Roxy: What??
Oliver: My Best Man. I’m sure you’d look good in a suit.
Roxy: Only if you agree to be my Maid of Honor. I’m thinking a lovely shade of sea foam would be perfect for your dress.
Oliver: Deal. You know green is my color.
I laugh and my voice seems to echo all through the silent apartment. There’s no way in hell Rachel Brent is going to let me be Best Man in her wedding. But it’s fun to pretend that things between Ollie and I haven’t already changed, that we’ll always be best friends who joke around and include each other in our lives.
Oliver: I forgot to ask you. How are things back home?
I want to tell him about everything that’s been going on with Steffi and Izzie. I want to clear the air about what happened just before he left, but it all seems so meaningless right now. I don’t want to spoil the moment. I’ve been craving this moment for two weeks.
Roxy: Same old, same old.
Oliver: Listen, I know I’ve been a horrible friend lately and I haven’t been keeping in touch as much as I should. But I promise to make more time for you, OK?
Aw, great. Now he’s going to make me cry.
Roxy: Sure, but you know what they say... long-distance relationships never work out! :)
Ollie: We’ll be the ones who prove them wrong. :)
A few minutes later, Ollie logs off and the conversation window on my screen disappears like a puff of smoke, as if it never happened. I rub my eyes for a minute, feeling suddenly tired, and try to remember every detail.
We’re going to be fine. Things are going to change, we’re both getting married and we’ll be living on two different continents, but we’re going to be fine.
A nice feeling of something that resembles peace starts to settle in the pit of my stomach when I hear someone pound on the door. Looking at my watch, I see that it’s close to two in the morning and the peaceful feeling turns to dread.
Ollie always keeps a baseball bat in the hallway closet for moments like these. I always felt safe knowing he had a plan, but I never thought I’d be the one taking a swing at someone’s head.
Pound, pound, pound.
I stand frozen in the middle of the living room. Izzie stumbles out of Ollie’s room. “What’s going on?”
“Someone’s pounding on the door,” I say.
“Thanks for the update, genius. I could have figured that out on my own.” Izzie’s never been a morning person. She only becomes her delightful self a few hours after waking up. I think I’ll trust her with the bat.
Izzie leans in close to the door. “Who is it?” she asks.
“Isadora?” a familiar voice answers.
“Mother?”
“Isadora Rule, open this door right now.”
Izzie and I look at each other. I sneak a quick peek at my room. The door is closed. Hopefully, Steffi is still sound asleep.
“Open the door,” I tell Izzie with a sigh. I’m actually kind of relieved to have everything out in the open.
“You open it. It’s your apartment.” Izzie walks away from me and sits down on the couch.
I open the door to face my mother standing in the hallway. Dad is leaning against the wall behind her, reading a newspaper. He rolls it up and kisses me on the cheek before they both walk in. “Hello, pumpkin. Sorry to intrude like this. You know how your mother worries.”
I can just imagine my parents waiting downstairs for someone to open the door and sneaking up behind an unsuspecting neighbor. You can’t really ambush someone if you have to wait for them to buzz you up.
“Oh, Roxy,” my mom sighs, looking me up and down. “I bought you a nice pair of pajamas last Christmas. Why are you still wearing that?” She points to my favorite pair of ratty boxer shorts and the ‘Everything is Bigger in Texas’ T-shirt Ethan got me on a business trip. It was two sizes too big when he bought it for me and now it’s so stretched out and worn that it looks more like a tent than a shirt. But it’s comfy and I love it.
You’d think Mom would immediately jump on the fact that I’ve been lying to her for two weeks. But no, she has to take a detour and comment on my bedtime attire. It’s a tough job being a constant source of disappointment. But since Izzie is perfect and Steffi can do no wrong, the job is mine and mine alone.
“Izzie’s over there,” I say, pointing to the couch.
Izzie stands up and faces my parents. I close the door and lean back against it, watching the scene unfold. I’m not used to witnessing something like this. Back when we were kids it was usually the other way around. Izzie was the one who looked on as Steffi and I were being punished. Like the time Izzie ran to Mom when she caught Steffi smoking cigarettes or when she ratted me out when I ate an entire bag of cookies and got sick on the living room rug. I was five. Why do I still remember that?
“How did you know I was here?” Izzie asks, her fists resting on her hips. “Did Gareth call you?”
In the two weeks Izzie’s been here, Gareth hasn’t made any attempts to contact her. So even though she seems annoyed, I’m pretty sure she’s hoping that he did, in fact, call my parents. Or, better yet, that he banged on their door and demanded to see her, thinking she’d gone back to her childhood home.
“Gareth? No, we haven’t talked to him,” Mom says, looking at Dad who is shaking his head.
“We haven’t heard from him in ages,” Dad adds. “Is that the reason you’re here, precious? Did you two have a fight?”
Izzie’s eye twitches for half a second. Gareth probably hasn’t noticed that she’s gone even though he’s the one who kicked her out. How can you be fighting with someone if that someone isn’t even aware that a fight is going on?
“It doesn’t matter. All he’s worried about is being made partner at the firm. Nothing else is important to him. So I moved out,” Izzie says, forgetting to mention her forced vacation and a little issue called Chaser.
“I know that the firm won’t let you come back until you see a therapist, Isadora,” Mom says in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
“How?”
“I called your office and Leigh told me.” Leigh is the receptionist at Davis, Freeman and Crook. Yes, my sister works for a law firm with a partner named Crook. Apparently, he’s the nicest one. Go figure.
“I’m not crazy.” Izzie’s voice cracks a bit and Mom takes her in her arms.
“Of course not. You just need some rest.”
“Why don’t
you go down to San Francisco and see Steffi?” Dad says. “She could take you surfing. I hear it helps with stress.”
I think of my sister sleeping a few feet away. It’s hard to believe that she was once able to balance on a surfboard and now she can’t even see her own feet. It’s also hard to imagine Izzie on a surfboard with her brown Anne Taylor suit, brown heels and brown briefcase.
Mom nods in agreement. “That’s a brilliant plan. It would be good for Steffi as well. She sounded so tired the last few times I spoke to her. Maybe she misses home. Bring her some bagels. You know how she hates the ones in California. Roxy, you have an extra suitcase, right?”
“Mom, I’m not going to California,” Izzie says. “Even though I don’t go to the office I still have a lot of things to do. And I’m kind of ... seeing someone.”
Before my mom has a chance to ask Izzie any more questions, something catches her eye and she turns to my father who is examining a bag on the coffee table. He picks it up and Izzie looks at me, her eyes wide with panic. My heart starts to beat a mile a minute.
My dad isn’t holding up any ordinary bag. It’s made of silver snakeskin leather and has way too many chrome buckles and dangling charms and sparkly things. It looks like it might have cost more than my rent. There’s only one Rule sister who’d walk around with a bag like that and half the people in this room think that she’s still in California. The rest of us are holding our breaths.
Mom speaks first. A single word. “Stefanie.”
“Mom...” I start, not exactly sure what I want to say.
“She’s here, isn’t she? I know she is. I know it. A mother always knows. Where is she?” She spins around and heads for the only bedroom door that’s still closed, but it opens before she can reach it.
We all watch as my sister walks into the living room, her bump leading the way.
“Daddy,” she says, and heads straight into my father’s arms. He hesitates for a few seconds, not sure how to hug her, but eventually he wraps his arms around her and we can all hear my sister sob. “Princess,” Dad says. “Please don’t cry.”