Starting from Square Two

by Caren Lissner

  “Fire her? She’ll get promoted for this idea.”

  “It was my idea,” Hallie said.

  “Do you freelance?”

  Suddenly the door opened. It was Erika, with a man on her arm.

  Gert recognized him instantly.

  It was Missy’s ex-husband, Dennis.

  “Uh-oh,” Gert said.

  “What?” Hallie said.

  Missy saw him.

  Dennis didn’t say anything. He just stood there, surprised.

  Missy’s eyes narrowed. She stomped toward him.

  “Oooh! Stop!” squealed a stud by the wall. He climbed up on a chair.

  Chapter

  21

  They were sitting against the walls of the living room, having cleaned up beer, chips, water and wine. Erika had apologized to Gert for having had to slap her boss. Gert had apologized to Erika for Missy’s screaming at Dennis. Erika was in the bathroom cleaning up. Gert and Hallie were dead tired.

  “Dennis took really good care of her,” Hallie said, running the palm of her hand over the rug. Dennis had taken Erika into Hallie’s bedroom and calmed her down. “He seems to really like her.”

  “We all need people like that,” Gert said. “Too bad the studs didn’t work out. I suppose the random pickup on the street has the same success rate as anything else.”

  “Meeting people through friends is the best way,” Hallie said.

  Now Gert felt guilty. “I’m sorry about Brett.”

  “I’m probably better off without him,” Hallie said. “Why do I end up accepting crumbs, anyway? You know, I was thinking about how when we’re young, we look for a guy who’s nice and interesting and treats us well. But then we get so jaded that we start giving up basic things. The kinds of things that Todd says to you, and the way Dennis treated Erika before, that’s the way it should be. Why do we get so desperate that the Holy Grail is some guy who is half-intelligent, has no visible scars, and is known to seduce women, sleep with them and immediately dump them? Are the Brett Stoddards of the world the best there is?”

  “I don’t know,” Gert said. “If you meet someone great, you know you should stay with them. But if you meet someone who’s just semidecent, and you’re twenty-nine years old…”

  “Exactly,” Hallie said. “I used to toss obnoxious men aside without a second thought. Now if I meet one who’s single, I’m expected to look for the bright side.”

  Gert remembered that Chase should be coming in an hour. She looked at the clock.

  “It’s like the Roosevelt Rule,” Hallie said.

  “The Roosevelt Rule?”

  “‘Fear of being alone is worse than being alone itself,’” Hallie said. “When I was nineteen and I didn’t have a boyfriend, I never felt bad about it. Because I figured someday I would. My friends and I had plenty of fun alone. What ruins the fun is the fear that you’ll be that way forever.”

  Gert knew how scared Hallie was. “You know, you might find someone in the blink of an eye,” Gert said. “It could happen tomorrow.” But she didn’t think she sounded convincing. She didn’t like issuing comforting platitudes, but she didn’t want Hallie to give up, either.

  Hallie stood up and went over to her stereo and fondled the copper Empire State Building on top. “I’m in New York City,” she said. “I’m healthy, attractive, and I have a steady job. I should be seeing every play on Broadway. I should be eating at the best restaurants and getting drunk with friends and singing at piano bars. I should be taking road trips across the country and sleeping under the stars. But since those activities are enhanced doubly and triply when you do them with someone you love, I’ve put them on hold and instead spent all my time looking for that person. It’s just too hard to live in the moment when you know how much better the moment would be if you found someone.”

  “I know,” Gert said, standing up. “I know it’s hard.”

  Hallie shook her head. “No more guy talk,” she said. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of everything being about finding someone.” Suddenly she looked as if she was going to cry.

  “Are you okay?” Gert asked.

  Hallie nodded. “It just seems like everyone leaves me.”

  “What?” Gert went over to her.

  “My roommates, my friends when they have boyfriends…”

  Gert walked over and put her hand on her shoulder. “You know,” she said, “two weeks ago, I would have said that you were the least bereaved person in the room.”

  “And now?” Hallie looked at her.

  “Now I think that any time there’s change, there’s loss,” Gert said. “Change means loss, loss means loss, finding can sometimes mean loss. I can’t judge how you feel, because only you know.”

  When Erika came back into the room, they ordered pad Thai and dumplings. They decided to sit in the dark and play “truth” before Chase got there—but not limited to dating this time. Hallie said they should just talk about themselves.

  “Tell us something different,” Hallie said to Gert, sitting on the couch with a small bowl of dumplings in her lap. “Tell us a story. Tell us something that happened when you were little.”

  “Well,” Gert said, “I could tell you about this favorite memory of mine from my childhood, about a restaurant. I’ve told Todd about it.”

  “How come you’ve told Todd and not us?” Hallie asked. “Because we don’t have a penis?”

  Hallie was right, Gert knew. She still had to make more of an effort with female friends. But she still didn’t know if she and Hallie would ever be friends the way they had been in college. They’d both changed too much, and in different ways. Gert still wouldn’t give up on her completely, but she felt like she had reached the end of something.

  “You guys have to come to therapy with me one day,” Erika said. “My therapist suggested I bring my friends sometime anyway. And all we talk about is opening up to people.”

  “That seems a little odd, but I’ll come,” Hallie said. “Will you, Gert?”

  “I’ll take free counseling any day of the week,” Gert said.

  Erika smiled. “You guys can’t come to the next session, though,” she said. “I’m bringing Dennis. We’re going to talk about how to properly get over an ex.”

  Chapter

  22

  The lawn outside the church was frozen. So was Gert. It had snowed a few days earlier, and the ground was hard. No one who had planned Michael’s wedding had expected it to snow in April.

  Gert’s gaze moved all over the lawn. There were people in yellows, whites and blues, like it was Easter.

  Marc’s mother was standing on the steps in front of the church. Her light hair was puffed upon her head, and she was wearing a yellow dress. Gert didn’t know how Mrs. Healy would react to seeing her. To comfort herself, she thought about Todd. Sweet Todd, who was waiting for her at the hotel near Boston Harbor.

  Gert knew it would be insulting for her to bring Todd to Michael’s wedding. But he had insisted on providing moral support, and she was grateful. He’d driven her up to Boston, zipped up her pink dress and told her to have a good time.

  Gert moved toward the church steps. Before she could get to Marc’s parents, she bumped into Marc’s favorite aunt. Aunt Patty had never married, but she loved children, and to her, Gert and Marc were children. “Gertie!” Aunt Patty said, hugging her. “You look beautiful. Oh, you look as beautiful as you did on your own wedding day.” Patty stood back and looked at her. “Honey, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, Aunt Patty,” Gert said. “But I miss Marc a lot.” Already the wedding was making her happy and sad at the same time.

  “We all miss him very much,” Aunt Patty said. “And I missed you at Thanksgiving. Why weren’t you there?” She clasped her hands.

  “I don’t know,” she said. Because no one invited me.

  “Well, I hope you can make it next time,” Aunt Patty said. “Oh, I wish the two of you had had kids. They would have been so cute!” Gert permitted the trespass. �
��Have you met Michael’s fiancée?”

  “Not yet,” Gert said.

  “She’s the sweetest girl. An Irish girl, too.”

  Gert wondered how long people in this country would still worry about where someone’s great-grandparents were from. She remembered that Marc’s mother had been disappointed that Gert was only a quarter Irish. Big deal.

  “Well, I’ll see you inside!” Aunt Patty said. “Honey, call me sometime!”

  Gert watched her go.

  She smoothed her dress and ascended the steps. So many people were talking to Marc’s father that Gert didn’t feel polite standing there waiting for them to disperse, but she thought it was now or never. Mr. Healy noticed Gert. He looked jolly as ever.

  “Gertie!” he said, coming over to her. He gave her a big hug. “It’s my old gal Gertie! I’m so glad you could make it. I’m sorry we missed you on Marc’s birthday.”

  “Better planning next time,” Gert said.

  “Yes,” Mr. Healy said. “My old gal Gertie, how are you? How’s work? How’s Astoria? How are your parents? Is that enough questions? Should I stop now? Should I stop now? Should I stop now?”

  Gert couldn’t help but laugh. Right then she found it hard to believe that Mr. Healy had purposely not called her. But avoiding it had probably just been the easiest thing for him to do. After a tragedy, there was a tendency toward easy things. “Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, good,” Gert said.

  “I think you put an extra one in there, kiddo,” he said. “My gal Gertie, you have to come up and see us next time you’re in Boston. Mary, Gert’s here.”

  Mrs. Healy turned her head. “Oh, Gert,” she said evenly. “Hello.” She looked at her daughter-in-law coolly, then gave her a perfunctory hug.

  “Hi,” Gert said.

  “How are you?” She seemed to be scrutinizing her.

  For a second, Gert saw Marc’s blue eyes in hers. Why don’t you want to talk to me? Gert thought.

  “I’m fine,” Gert said, feeling a lump in her throat. She didn’t know how to break through the ice without fighting at Michael’s wedding. “I mean, I’m as well as can be expected.”

  Marc’s mother smiled at her again, but didn’t say anything. Gert wondered why this woman couldn’t just talk to her. She remembered something, though. Mrs. Healy never liked emotion. Whenever someone’s baby was crying at a family gathering, she had always snapped, “Will someone quiet her down?”

  Everyone suddenly started toward the door of the church, as if hearing a dog whistle. Gert was relieved. She could save confrontations for another time. She had to give herself a break. If these people didn’t want to try, maybe she shouldn’t try anymore, either. But it hurt her. Because she did want to try.

  Walking in, she ended up in line with one of Marc’s sisters-in-law. Christine had always talked to Gert at family gatherings—girl talk—but she hadn’t reached out since the funeral. “Gert!” Christine said. “I’ve been meaning to call you, but I don’t have your number. It was in my old PalmPilot, and I lost it.”

  “It’s listed,” Gert said.

  “Under what?” Christine said.

  “Healy,” Gert said. “Same as yours.”

  “Oh, so you kept Marc’s name!”

  Duh, Gert thought.

  They sat together in the third pew. Gert noticed that Christine, who had just had her second baby, still looked round.

  Everyone got quiet.

  Michael walked down the aisle, looking nervous but handsome. His hair had always been red and wild, but now it had been carefully sheared, the back of his neck shaved and his sideburns short. He looked more like Marc now. Gert’s palms got sweaty.

  When Michael and his fiancée were up front, they looked at each other the whole time. Michael never seemed scared when the priest asked him if he’d love and honor her. Gert bristled when she heard “till death do us part.” No one could have been thinking about that sentence the way she was.

  Gert looked around the room. There were couples of all ages holding hands, and one woman in her fifties was playing with the back of her husband’s hair. Gert fantasized for a half second that Marc was still alive, and that they were there together.

  The newlyweds hugged, and Gert tried to forget everything and just be happy for them.

  At the reception, she was seated at a round table. As other people sat down, she tried to figure out which table this was—potpourri, relatives, rejects, old friends. It turned out to be young people—friends of Michael’s, former classmates, roommates, playmates. One young couple next to Gert said that they were soon to be married, too. The male half kept running his index finger up and down the length of his fiancée’s arm while she talked.

  “So,” the woman asked Gert. “How do you know Michael?”

  Gert was grateful to be acknowledged. “I was married to his brother,” Gert said.

  “You mean…M…”

  “Marc,” Gert said. “You can say his name.”

  The woman smiled. “Well,” she said. “You seem to be doing okay with it.”

  Gert smiled back. “When something like that happens,” she said, “you become an expert in smiling when you feel like shit.”

  A waiter came to fill their glasses and stood between them, saving Gert from saying something worse. She looked away.

  “So, who here knows how Michael met his wife?” someone asked.

  “She was a bartender in the Rathskeller on campus,” Michael’s college roommate answered.

  “Everyone was after her,” a third friend added. “Michael was the shy one. He never hit on her, but on the last day before Christmas break, when everyone was getting ready to go home, he went down there and asked her out.”

  Gert tried to listen, grateful the whole table was conversing and keeping the attention off her. They were all strangers, and she didn’t have anything to add to their discussions about their college antics. She poked at her salad.

  “Did you guys see the yearbook?” someone asked.

  A guy said, “There was a yearbook poll of the strangest place you had sex, and someone said the Rathskeller.”

  “It has to be them.”

  “No it doesn’t.”

  “Yes it does.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Yes. She was the only one with a key.”

  “But Michael’s a good Catholic boy.”

  Gert wished someone was there for her to talk to. Like magic, her cell phone rang.

  “Didn’t the priest say to turn those off?” someone said.

  Gert picked it up. “Hello?”

  “All clear?” Todd asked.

  “At dinner,” Gert said, thrilled to hear his voice.

  “Are you doing okay there? I was worried about you.”

  “Comme ci, comme ca.”

  “What time do you think…?”

  “Around seven.”

  “I’ll keep the hot tub warm for you.”

  Gert smiled. “That sounds so nice.” She watched her chattering tablemates.

  After she hung up, the guy to her right asked her about herself. He was a college friend of Michael’s. He had used the word “dude” a lot but seemed okay. He said he was in his first year of medical school. The stubble and surfer looks were a decoy.

  The music started, and he asked her to dance.

  Good, she thought, getting away from the table. She liked this kid already.

  “You’re a good dancer,” the boy told Gert. He wasn’t actually a boy, but she thought of him that way, even though they were only seven years apart. She tried not to feel old.

  “I met Marc once,” the kid said. “I liked him. He told good jokes.”

  “He did,” Gert said, although “good” was a stretch. They were playing a slow song, and Gert tried to concentrate.

  “I can’t imagine how you get over something like that.”

  “You don’t ever really get over it.” She wondered why this boy found her interesting. She was old, she had been marrie
d. Maybe he was attracted to her, or he had a weird widow fixation that he normally didn’t get to explore. She decided just to be grateful. She had wondered, in the past, whether being a widow would make her seem old to young people.

  A Green Day song came on. Only Michael would have Green Day songs at his wedding.

  As they returned to the table, the boy asked Gert if she lived in Boston, and she said New York. The boy seemed less interested after that, and started paying more attention to the other people. But when someone picked up the pink disposable camera from the table, he threw his arm around her and said, “Cheese.”

  When they were eating the main course, Michael came to the table.

  He said “Hi” to the group, then talked to Gert. He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Hi, Michael,” Gert said, looking up.

  He told her they were going skiing for their honeymoon. He and his wife were big ski buffs.

  “And we’re going to have a ski-riffic time,” Michael added loudly, making the people next to Gert groan.

  “You’re your father’s son.” Gert laughed.

  “I have to take over for Marc on the bad jokes,” Michael said. “We were the bad-joke triplets.”

  “I noticed that you and Lachlan are both starting to look a little like Marc,” Gert said.

  “Lach has to finish his punk phase first,” Michael said. “And since he’s only thirteen, the worst is yet to come.”

  They looked over at Lach, who was dancing up a storm with his grandmother.

  Michael told Gert he would see her later, and then he went to talk to other people. She didn’t know if he really would.

  At the end of the reception, the boy next to Gert gave her his number. Gert felt eons older than him, but he might make a good date for someone else. She’d save the number for Hallie or Chase.

  The sky was getting darker as people began to leave.

  Gert stood motionless by the tables, looking around the lawn. She took everything in like a snapshot, fearing she’d never see any of these people again.

  She watched Mrs. Healy up on the hill, talking to one of her granddaughters. Eddie and Christine were transporting gifts to the hall. Patrick was wrestling on the lawn with his oldest son. Aunt Patty was debating something with the priest.