“Wouldn’t miss it,” I assured him. “Martucci’s coming, too…and Brie…and a few other friends who’ve been helping me with the list. Your mom said for me to invite as many people as I wanted, so I invited.”
He laughed then and said, “Sounds good. She keeps calling it a little get-together, but it gets bigger every time I turn around. Pretty soon we’re going to have to rent the Convention Center.”
After Troy left, I handed Martucci his box of cars back. “Okay, I’m facing Bigwood on my own,” I said. “You’d better be right about this.”
“When are you going to accept the fact that I’m always right?”
TWO HOURS AND three bourbons later, I tottered back into the office. Most everyone had left for the weekend. I stopped by Susan’s office, getting there as she was about to switch off her lights and leave. “I was worried I was going to miss you!” she exclaimed. “Sooooooo? How’d it go?”
“Let’s just say that I astounded even myself.”
I must have slurred, because she smiled. “He talked you into the third drink, huh?”
“Yes, not that it matters. I already had him eating out of my hand by that point.”
“I’ll bet you did. Is the job yours?”
“He says he’s restructuring, so the job as it was doesn’t exist anymore, but he’s definitely promoting me. He loved the race idea…although”—I reminded myself to give Martucci a piece of my mind later—“it took him a while to get what I was talking about. He said he wished he had a visual.” Fifth-grade science project indeed.
“Well, congratulations! I’d offer to take you out for a celebratory drink, but I’ve got to pick the kids up—I’m already running late. You rode the bus in today, didn’t you? You want a ride home?”
“No, thanks.”
“You sure? We could do dinner at my house if you don’t mind Burger King—I promised the boys.”
“I’m sure. All I want to do is go home and veg out. This past week has been insane, and Bob and Charlotte are going to be at my place at nine o’clock tomorrow to go over a few last-minute things before we see Deedee.”
“That’s right. Oh, June, it’s so incredible that things are working out this way.”
“It’s not a done deal yet,” I reminded her. “Deedee still has to say yes.”
“She will.”
After promising Susan that I’d call if I needed anything, I went straight to Martucci’s office. I was barely in the door when he said, “Hmm, I forgot to warn you that he’d try to talk you into a third drink.”
Okay, I hadn’t even spoken yet, so I figured I must really reek of alcohol. “Aren’t you going to ask how it went?”
“With that kittenish smile you’re giving me? I’m afraid you’re about to tell me he made you my boss.”
“We’ll have to see. He’s moving things around, but I’m definitely management.”
“And you came to say you owe it all to me.”
“I did want to say thanks. I’d give you another hug, but you know how I am once I have a few drinks. I might go after the rattail again.”
With that, he shot me a grin and turned slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. It was neatly trimmed. Not a hairy tadpole in sight.
“It’s gone!” I cried. “I knew there was something different about you. What made you do it?”
“Just decided it was time.”
I didn’t mention that he was about twenty years off. “Well, it suits you.”
“Glad you think so.”
I needed to make a dash for it if I was going to make the five-fifteen bus, but I knew I hadn’t thanked Martucci for everything yet. I at least owed him that. “By the way,” I said, feeling shy suddenly. “Thanks for the other night. You could have so easily taken advantage. You were serious, weren’t you? I mean, that nothing happened?”
He tipped back in his chair. “Doll, if you ever got a piece of me, I don’t care how much you had to drink—you wouldn’t forget it.”
Chapter 24
I listened to the message Troy left on my machine five times before I so much as kicked off my shoes.
The first time around, I’d heard enough to conclude he was canceling. And when he told me at the office that he’d tried to explain why he’d left Las Vegas so abruptly, I assumed it’d be a cheesy excuse along the lines of “Something suddenly came up.”
The last thing I expected was what he actually said.
I hit “play” again.
“Hi, June, this is Troy. I’ve been trying to call, but you’re not an easy woman to get on the phone. I hate to leave this in a message, but here goes. I know we talked about my coming to your meeting Friday to help with your race, and I’d understand if you don’t want me to. I still plan to be there. Three o’clock. It’s in my book. Give me a call if you don’t want me to show, okay?
“And, shoot, how do I say this? You’re probably wondering why I took off so fast Saturday night. I wanted to make sure you know that it’s nothing you said or did. It’s just that…and this is going to sound crazy…but all of a sudden it seemed so wrong that we were sitting there, listening to music, having fun, and making plans, and, with you about to adopt a baby, life was marching forward. I don’t know why, but it pissed me off. It’s not rational, but that’s what it was. I guess my mom cries to deal with stuff. I punch holes through doors and drive too fast and say shitty things to nice girls. So I’m sorry about that. Anyway, I guess I’m more messed up about my sister’s accident than I thought I was. I wish I met you because, I don’t know, we bumped grocery carts or something. I know I’m rambling, but I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t let you know that I think you’re great, and if circumstances were—”
Beep.
My machine cut him off, and even though I hadn’t correctly filled in the blanks of his message before, I felt I could reliably do so at this point: that if circumstances were different, we could have something together. But they aren’t. So we can’t.
I felt strangely at peace with it.
It wasn’t as if he’d dumped me at the altar. We hadn’t—as Troy had once stopped short of saying—so much as kissed/dated/screwed.
So perhaps the real question, I pondered as I finally got around to changing into sweats and slippers and making myself a cup of tea, was not so much why I didn’t feel emotionally wrenched, but why I’d had my hopes up in the first place.
Sure, he was cute, but plenty of guys are cute. Heck, now that Martucci lost that disgusting rattail, one could say that even he…Nah. I erased the thought. Martucci would never be cute. Bunnies are cute. He’d be more likely compared with a creature that might eat bunnies. Anyway, the point was that a pretty face could take a guy only so far in my affections. It had to have been more than that with Troy.
When I’d run into him at the cemetery those many months ago, I’d been wallowing in depression. Doing the list had given me purpose. In a convoluted way, I had him to thank for it, even if he had no idea he’d been the impetus. It was that look he’d given me when I’d told him I was going to complete the list for his sister. In a glance, he erased my mundane past. The reflection I saw of myself in Troy’s eyes was like staring in a funhouse mirror that made me appear braver and bolder than I was. Even if I knew it wasn’t real, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from it.
As of tomorrow, however, I wasn’t going to need the illusion anymore. I was going to make something happen that just a few months ago would have seemed inconceivable. I was going to change the lives of so many people at once. My brother and Charlotte would get the baby they’d always dreamed of. A baby would have a good home. Deedee would be able to go on with her studies and attend college. And Troy, Kitty, and the entire Jones family would know that the item on the list that most spoke to them about their beloved Marissa—Change someone’s life—had been completed with such grace.
The paperwork for the adoption sat on my coffee table. My brother and Charlotte would arrive in the morning. We’d head over to Deedee’s—I’d
already called to mention I needed to go over a few things.
I absently stirred sugar into my tea. The baby was going to be a girl. Maybe they’d name her June.
KNOCKING ON THE DOOR to Deedee’s house, I tried not to let myself think about how much I had riding on this moment. Next to me, I could smell the newness of Charlotte’s dress and hear my brother hum under his breath to calm himself.
I’d mentally rehearsed my lines on the drive over. I’d tell Deedee how important it was for her baby to have everything, and while I had thought I was the one who could provide it, I’d been wrong. The baby deserved two parents. I’d remind Deedee of how she didn’t want her baby to go to strangers, and she wouldn’t have to. This was my family. I could vouch for the sort of parents they’d be. Loving. Attentive. Eager.
A man answered the door, introducing himself as Javier, Deedee’s mother’s fiancé. Even in the blazing July heat he wore a skullcap, but he had a wide smile and bug eyes that gave him such a jolliness, I found myself smiling back at him. “The girls will be here in a minute,” he said. “Have a seat.”
I made introductions, and when Maria and Deedee showed up, I made them again. Deedee sat next to her mother and Javier on the couch. Her usual oversize jersey was replaced with a tank top, which showed off her belly to full effect. Charlotte took the easy chair, and kitchen chairs were brought in to accommodate Bob and me.
“You have a lovely home,” Charlotte said to Maria.
Javier translated, and Maria said, “Gracias.”
Small talk wasn’t going to be simple with Charlotte and me unable to speak Spanish—although Bob was fluent—so I figured I’d get to the point.
“Before we sign the adoption contract,” I said, “there are things we need to discuss.”
Javier started talking to Maria in Spanish—I assumed to translate, but he kept going on and on. She said something back. They seemed to be in the midst of a full-on debate. Bob could understand what they were saying, however, which was why I was frightened when he buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “Oh Christ. This is bad.”
“What’s going on?” I whispered. Javier and Maria kept talking as if we weren’t there. Deedee stared at the carpet.
Bob wiped his hands down his face and breathed out a sigh. “I need to get Charlotte out of here,” he said, so quietly that I wasn’t sure I’d even heard him correctly. Then he spoke aloud in Spanish. Javier and Maria stopped their conversation, looking up as guiltily as if they’d been caught French-kissing on the couch. Bob grabbed Charlotte’s hand—her confusion evident—and said, “We’ll wait outside.”
I really started to worry when he kissed the side of my head before leaving. Whatever they were discussing, it had to be bad.
When the door banged behind them, I finally asked, “What’s going on?”
Javier cleared his throat before speaking. “We want to thank you for coming here today,” he said, his voice stiff and rehearsed. “We’re grateful that you were willing to adopt Deedee’s baby, but we want to tell you that that won’t be necessary.”
Not necessary? I tried without success to catch Deedee’s eyes.
He continued, “Maria has agreed to be my wife. We’ll be starting a life together, and a family. We’ve talked about it, and we want to start that family by raising Deedee’s baby as our own.”
My speech about the importance of two parents and family dried on my tongue. I felt myself shriveling as well, as if my physical size were trying to match the insignificance I felt inside.
They were keeping the baby.
I wasn’t needed.
Bob and Charlotte weren’t needed.
“Deedee,” I managed to say, “is this what you want?”
She nodded, still not lifting her eyes.
“She’ll be able to stay in school,” Javier said. “We’ll need help at home, but it will be as a big sister. Not as a mother.”
So much for changing someone’s life. I hadn’t made a difference at all. Despite my efforts, Deedee’s life was progressing exactly as it would have had she never met me.
My brother and his wife, however, were worse off because of my meddling. I’d marched them to the top of the mountain and shown them what they could have: a new life, a baby in their arms. The family they’d been dreaming of. Then I’d unceremoniously marched them back down, empty-handed.
Yet a tiny flame of hope flickered. Deedee would at least need me for the labor room. Her mom could hardly handle the job, being blind and speaking only Spanish. “I’ll see you Wednesday night for the childbirth class. Right?”
“I’m dropping out of the class,” Deedee mumbled, the first words she’d spoken since I’d arrived. “Since I’m not giving the baby away, I can’t go no more.” Then she corrected herself like the A student I knew her to be: “Anymore.”
“But you still need to know what to do during labor.”
She cleared her throat. “Rose at Big Sisters found me another class. It’s bilingual, so my mom can go with me. It’s on Saturdays, though, so…”
I finished for her, “So you can’t do anything with me anymore.”
The last drops of hope drained away. It was over.
We fell silent. It wasn’t one of those comfortable silences that people talk about—it commanded our attention like a precocious child. At last, I stood to leave. What else was there to say? Deedee’s baby deserved two parents and a family, and that’s exactly what it was going to get. After offering limp congratulations, I headed for the door.
“Don’t hate me.” Deedee uttered the words so softly, I barely heard her. I made my way out to the blazing July afternoon, where I could see Bob and Charlotte wilting in their car.
I climbed into the backseat. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“You made it clear there were no guarantees,” Bob said. “We took a shot. It didn’t work out.”
Charlotte, her voice trembling, added, “I’ve heard about situations like this. How the birth mother changes her mind. It happens all the time.”
Instead of comforting me, her words sent my emotions plummeting. Thanks to me, she’d witnessed firsthand how very wrong things could go.
They left for San Diego as soon as they dropped me back at my apartment. I headed straight for my couch and sat there, stunned.
Why had I been foolish enough to believe that I could do the list? While I was at it, why didn’t I try out for the Olympic figure-skating team? Or attempt to climb Mt. Everest in my flip-flops? Disappointing as it was, it was time to face the truth: Completing Marissa’s list was beyond my grasp. I couldn’t do the one task that really counted. I still hadn’t even found Buddy Fitch. So I’d gone without a bra for a day. Thrown away a scale. Big deal. I’d thought I could step into another woman’s dreams and somehow be infused with her lust for life. All that happened was that I’d fallen short, as always.
The phone rang on and off all Saturday and into Sunday, and I let the machine pick up. I’d call them back eventually. In the meantime, it was all I could stomach to hear messages from Susan and my mom and Susan again and Susan four more times, sounding grotesquely chipper and eager to talk to me so they could hear the good news.
ON MONDAY, I could tell word of what had happened had made its way through the office quickly, and at first people stopped by to offer their support. Upon seeing how badly I didn’t want to talk about it, they rallied around by leaving me the hell alone. Now those are friends. Susan even called Sebastian for me and let him know he could call off any last-ditch efforts to find Buddy Fitch.
I threw myself into work, the easiest way to push out the thoughts churning in my head. And there was plenty to do. Even though Bigwood said I wasn’t getting Lizbeth’s old job, he certainly had been saving plenty of her aborted projects to dump on me. Still, even he must have sensed something was awry, because even though I’d become the walking dead, he never once asked what was different about me.
As Troy had put it, time kept marching forward, no
matter how much I wanted to curl into a ball and hide. I managed to keep myself more or less distracted all the way to the dreaded Tuesday evening when—with Marissa’s birthday party due to start in a half hour—Susan and Brie came to find me in my cubicle.
“We’re heading out now. You want to carpool with us?” Brie asked.
“There are a few things I need to do first. I’m taking the bus.”
Susan looked at me skeptically. “You’re not going to blow it off, are you? I’m prepared to drag you to the party if need be. Those people are counting on you. Nobody’s going to care that you didn’t finish the list.”
“I promise, I’ll be there. The 440 bus heads straight down Wilshire. It won’t take me any time at all. In the meantime, you guys go represent.”
“Represent,” Brie muttered. “Will you people never quit stealing our slang?”
Turning to leave, Susan said, “We’ll save you a seat.”
“Near the back, please,” I replied, my voice pleading.
I’d go to the party all right, but I was aiming for fashionably late and as low-profile as possible. If I didn’t have a chance to talk to anyone, maybe they’d assume I’d finished the list. The thought of lying also occurred to me—and if it hadn’t been for a vague unease about being struck down by lightning, that’s exactly what I would have done.
Besides, it wasn’t over yet. Earlier in the day, I had remembered one of Martucci’s ideas. He’d said that if the adoption fell through, I could try to change people’s lives by handing out lottery tickets. If one hit, then I’d certainly changed a life.
It was pitiful, but I was going to do it anyway.
After I was sure the others had left, I snuck down to the liquor store and bought a hundred Lotto scratchers. One by one, I stopped people on the street and asked them to scratch off the ticket on the spot—and if you ever want to know about the lack of trust in our society these days, try offering something for free.
The Next Thing on My List Page 25