The Life List (The List Trilogy)

by Chrissy Anderson

  “There is. Go take a nap and a shower, and I’ll meet ya back down here at four o’clock.”

  “What about the Macy’s appointment?”

  “You don’t want to do it anymore…then don’t do it anymore. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As serious as your love is for that boy.”

  Not knowing what to expect, at four o’clock on the dot, I show up in the lobby. Slutty Co-worker yells to me from a town car outside.

  “Chrissy! Over here!”

  “Fancy. Where we headed?”

  “Driver, World Financial Center please.” Then turning to me like a five-year-old on Christmas morning, “I did some detective work, and it looks like Leo leaves work at around four-thirty and occasionally stops off at a bar across the street from his office. Let’s see if he’s thirsty today.”

  “You did some detective work?”

  “Hey, you’re not the only crafty bitch in town who knows how to hack into voicemail. I have my ways.”

  I’m quiet on the drive. It’s been eight months since I’ve seen Leo, and I don’t really know what good can come out of watching him drink beer at a bar. But my reservations do nothing to turn the car around. I have to see what a successful Leo looks like.

  Sixty minutes and three overpriced New York drinks later…

  “Are you sure that’s the place?”

  We’re sitting at a restaurant across the street from Leo’s supposed hang out, and it’s beginning to look like either Slutty Co-worker took us to the wrong place or Leo has better things to do today.

  “Yes, calm down. You’re getting on my nerves! Have another drink, for Godsakes!”

  “Jesus, let’s just go, this is stupid.”

  “Omigod, there he is.” Clapping her hands she sings, “Told you so! Told you so!” over and over again.

  Walking across the windy street with his black hair smartly slicked back, wearing a crisp white collared shirt, black slacks, shiny black shoes, and a black trench coat, is my Leo. He looks everything and nothing like the rock yard worker I met just over two years ago. Wow, he really did it.

  “I gotta get outta here.”

  “What?! Why?!”

  “This is pathetic. I went from being a twenty-eight-year-old adulterer who stalks twenty-two-year-old college kids to a thirty-year-old divorcee who stalks out of state twenty-four year old investment bankers. Call the driver.”

  “Well, technically, you’re not divorced yet.”

  “Exactly. Another reason why this is so pathetic! Call the driver now!”

  “Just go talk to him.”

  “And say what?! Hi, Leo, I’m still the pathetic loser who can’t seem to shit or get off the pot or should I lie to him AGAIN and pretend I’ve made all these wonderful changes in my life, only to woo him back AGAIN, fall madly in love with him AGAIN, and get dumped when he finds out the truth about me…AGAIN?!”

  “You’re killing me, girl. I’ve never met anyone better at screwing up a good thing.”

  “Me neither. Now give me my money and call the driver.”

  “What money?”

  “You bet me your last buck that he’s just as unhappy as me. Look at him.”

  Slutty co-worker confirms my worst fear by handing me all of the money in her wallet as I broodingly watch Leo laugh with the banker boy sitting next to him while he cheers on some stupid sport. I clumsily move to the other side of the table to collect my winnings so I won’t have to see Leo’s beautiful happy face anymore, and that’s when he notices me. Not only did my version of musical chairs disrupt the five angry New Yorkers sitting around me, it also got the attention of Leo who was fifty feet away across the street.

  “Uh-oh. Looks like he’s leaving, hunny.”

  “I can’t care anymore.”

  “But you dooooooo, that’s what makes everything you say and do so weird!”

  “Where’s the damn driver, already?”

  Admitting her defeat, Slutty Co-worker takes a deep breath and shakes her head at me.

  “Just pulled up.”

  “Good. I wanna go back to the hotel, take a bath, and forget this ever happened.”

  What that really means is I’m gonna go back to the hotel, raid the mini-bar, and pass out. I slap twenty of my new bucks on the table, quickly gather my belongings, and yet again, annoy everyone around me as I bash their tables with my big fat handbag on the way to the door.

  “Chrissy, wait!”

  I’m one foot inside of the car when I hear it. I cup my hands over my mouth and snap my wide eyes toward Slutty Co-worker in a way that suggests that if I don’t move an inch or say a word I can be invisible. It didn’t work.

  “Chrissy, over here!”

  I slowly peak my head up over the roof of the car, pause for a moment, and then slide back down. “How in theeeeeee hell did he notice us?”

  “Uh gee…the restaurant’s a wall of windows, hunny! Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you decided to knock down four tables on the way out the door and cause a big fucking scene!”

  I take another peak over the roof, and Leo puts his hands in the air like he’s asking “What the hell are you doing here?” He’s trying to make his way over to me, but he’s at the mercy of the crosswalk, the outrageous New York traffic, and the hordes of people who evidently have more important places to go than him.

  “What are you gonna do, sweetie?”

  I raise my hand up to wave at Leo, but it looks more like I’m taking an oath on the bible. His crosswalk turns green and, for a moment, I watch his trench coat flap in the wind as he maneuvers through the crowds of people to make his way towards me. By the time he gets there, I’m gone.

  Duck, Duck, Duck… Goose.

  March, 2000

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “When was it?”

  “Couple of weeks ago.”

  “And you haven’t heard from him?”

  “Oh no, I heard from him.”

  “Omigod! What did he say?”

  “He emailed me and asked me why I ran away. Oh, and he also wanted to know what my situation was.”

  “Situation?”

  “Yeah, like if I was alone or still married.”

  “Oh boy, what’d you do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You did nothing?!”

  “What the hell was I gonna do, email him back and tell him I was stalking him and yes, I’m still married?”

  “She’s got a good point.”

  “Yeah, she does.”

  Since our trip to Arizona, Nicole, Courtney, Kelly, and I made a promise to resume our monthly lunches and we’ve been diligent about keeping that promise…at least three of us have, anyway.

  “You know what, you guys, let’s change the subject.”

  “All righty, have you signed the divorce papers yet?”

  “Not the subject I was hoping for, Nicole, but yeah, I signed them.”

  “Good girl. Did you send them back?”

  “Not yet but…”

  In unison Courtney and Nicole blurt out, “Oh…my…God!”

  “I know, already! But here’s the thing. I actually signed them in

  December, before we even went to Arizona but then all that stuff happened with Kurt, my mail piled up at home, and I’m still trying to get caught up with it. I promise, the minute I find them, I’ll put ‘em in the mail.”

  “You’re a train wreck you know that, Chrissy?”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, like…where the hell is Kelly?”

  “You haven’t heard from her either?”

  “No, I was hoping you guys have.”

  “I talked to her about two weeks ago, she said she was going back and forth between doctors to try and get to the bottom of her abdominal pain.”

  “Should we be worried?”

  “You can be worried, Chrissy, God knows it’s what you do best. Nicole and I will keep pressing her for more inform
ation, and we’ll let you know when you can relax.”

  This lunch, like the three others before it, was quite boring. Without Kelly to talk to about Hollywood gossip and the losers from our old high school days in Freakmont, I’m stuck listening to stories about triage, code reds, and hypoglycemia. Bleckh!

  After lunch that day, I went straight back to my cottage to look for the divorce papers. Not just because it was time to shit or get off the pot, but because I was tired of asking myself what I would’ve done on that New York curb if I had sent the damn things in already. Like if I could’ve told Leo I was divorced, would I be in his arms right now? I want to free myself up so that if I’m ever lucky enough to stalk/run into him again, I can say I’m officially single. After turning my cottage upside down, I finally locate the papers underneath ten unread copies of Cosmopolitan magazine, all with headlines like:

  “What to do if you’re thirty and single”

  “No man? No sweat. Here’s ten ways to pleasure yourself”

  “Maybe you’re the reason you’re not in a good relationship”

  Huge note to self…cancel your subscription to Cosmopolitan magazine. With a martini in hand, I settle onto my bed and carefully re-read the divorce papers, my fingers gliding over every one of my perfectly crafted signatures. At the time I signed them, I took extra care in writing my name, thinking it would be the last time I’d be Chrissy Gibbons. Little did I know it’d take another five months before I sent them off. I gently placed the papers back in the large envelope they arrived in and ceremoniously deposited them in the mailbox by taking a giant sip of my martini, as they slid down the shoot. The divorce should be final sometime in the fall, my favorite time of the year. The leaves on the trees will be falling as quickly as the likelihood of a thirty-one-year-old divorcee finding a man as perfect for her as the one she left on the dirty streets of New York. Now that would make a great article in Cosmo.

  The month of March trickles away like the Northern California rain that always belongs to it. My week-days are filled with work and exercise and my weekends are filled with…just exercise. I took a lot of time off from yoga while I was helping to rehabilitate Kurt, but I’m more than making up for it now. I found a hole-in-the-wall place near my cottage in Lafayette to start practicing because the drive to the city to do it with Slutty Co-worker was stressing me out to the point that it made yoga completely un-enjoyable. Those assholes coming out of the Bay Bridge toll booth DO NOT know how merge! I don’t have to worry about it anymore though because just fifteen minutes from my cottage is an old, dilapidated yoga studio where almost seven days a week, I contort my body into positions that I dream of showing to Leo. It’s the only hour of my day that I feel focused and, sometimes, my mind even drifts off to a place where I’m happy and I feel at peace.

  Work has become even more hum-drum than ever. I drift from meeting to meeting without a care for whatever it is I’m supposed to care about, and whenever I’m not pretending to be a corporate cheerleader, I lock myself in my office and search the internet for ways to make money doing the things I like to do. But those soul-searching intervals only end up pissing me off because…I don’t know what the hell I like to do! And it seems like no matter what I do to fill up my nights, they always end up with me in front of my computer where I read Leo’s email over and over again.

  Chrissy, I’m not sure why I’m writing to you. I guess my mind is getting the best of me. Why did you bail on me after I saw you in New York? If I don’t hear back from you, I’ll assume it’s because your situation prevents you from doing so. By the way…what is your situation? Leo

  For weeks I’ve tinkered with all kinds of responses. They range from the sexpot kind where I ignore the entire content of his email and talk dirty to him to the idiot kind of response where I play dumb and pretend I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. New York? Bail on you? I have no idea what you’re talking about. After spending an hour on tonight’s response, I decide that this is the email I’m gonna send. I carefully type his email address, close my eyes, and hit send as I enjoy the rush of my Leo drug as it sails through my body. Moments later, as I’m pouring myself a third glass of wine, I wonder if my chutzpah to send the email came from the first two glasses. Crap, I should know by now that email and alcohol don’t mix! I race to my computer, re-open the email and read it again.

  Leo, Whatever situation I’m in, it could never prevent me from responding to your email. I’m only sorry it took me this long. I bailed on you in New York because I’m scared. Scared of what, I still don’t know. Chrissy

  Shake it off, Chrissy, it’s a good email, and it’s vague. I’m sure nothing will come of it anyway, so calm down. And then the phone rings.

  I look up towards the Heavens. “Grandpa, are you really giving me another chance?” Okay Chrissy…whatever you do, tell him the truth about where the divorce stands. It’s his choice how he deals with it.

  Only the truth will set you free, baby!

  “Hello?”

  “Chrissy, it’s me.” My heart sinks.

  “Oh…hey Nicole. Let me guess, Kelly’s not coming to lunch again tomorrow.”

  “She’s not.”

  “What’s her excuse this time? Bad haircut…baby sick again?”

  “I just got off the phone with Craig.”

  Nic’s voice…it’s scared or something. My voice is scared right back.

  “Why were you talking to Craig?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  “Nicole?”

  “She’s got cancer…Kelly’s got cancer.”

  For the first time in my entire life, I’m speechless.

  “Are you okay, Chrissy?”

  “Tell me this isn’t real.”

  Silence.

  “She’ll be okay though, right? We can beat it, can’t we?”

  “Not this one. It’s pancreatic.”

  “Is that bad? I mean, how much worse is it than all the other cancers?”

  “Way worse.”

  “Nic, you gotta tell me something good. This is…this can’t…”

  “Do you know anything about pancreatic cancer?”

  “Well no, but she’s so young. She’s strong and otherwise really healthy.”

  There’s a long pause. Too long.

  “She’ll be okay, won’t she?”

  “No, I’m telling you, she won’t.”

  “Stop it! How do you even know that?”

  “Chrissy, no one survives this kind of cancer.”

  “So what the hell are you saying?!”

  “I’m saying Kelly’s gonna die.”

  I slide down the wall in my kitchen and not in the normal dramatic Chrissy sort of way either. My body took me there all on its own.

  “Are you still there?”

  “I don’t understand how you can just say that. You’re talking about Kelly!”

  “Maybe it’s the doctor in me. Maybe it’s that I want you to start processing the reality of the situation as soon as possible. Maybe I’m in shock, too. Courtney and I are on our way over to your place now. We thought we should be together right now.”

  “How long will…OH MY GOD NICOLE, THE BABY! WHAT ABOUT HER BABY?!”

  I sit on the floor and try to process what Nicole just told me, my head wobbling from side to side like I’m a hundred year old with a completely degenerated nervous system. But we’re only thirty. Not Kelly. Not us. What will Craig do? No, no, no, no…this isn’t happening. I have to talk to her! She’ll tell me it’s not as bad as Nicole said it was. She’ll make me feel better. I grab for the phone and punch in Kelly’s number, but the machine picks up. I call again and again and again…every single time the machine picks up. I hear Nicole’s car pull up, so on my last attempt, I leave a message.

  Kel, it’s me. I need to… I don’t understand…I don’t know how to do this. I have to talk to you. Please call me. Don’t be mad at me for saying this… I love you.

  I open the door, and the three
of us hug without saying a word. I can’t remember the last time any of us were this quiet this long. After we help each other wipe away the tears, we stagger over to the couch.

  “Do you guys want tea? I might have some.”

  “I don’t drink tea.”

  “Me either.”

  “I don’t either. What the fuck was I thinking?”

  “You’re not. None of us are.”

  “Please, someone tell me how this happened.”

  “How do we really know how anyone gets cancer?”

  “I need some answers, guys. She’s only thirty! She hardly drinks alcohol, exercises regularly, doesn’t smoke. Why her? Courtney?”

  “It’s random, Chrissy. Could’ve just as easily happened to one of us.”

  I remember that stupid toast I made at dinner last year, the one where I joked about the chances of one of them getting a horrible disease, because I had already suffered enough as the divorced one. I’m such an asshole.

  “Yeah, it’s like sometimes I think God’s up there playing duck, duck, goose with us.”

  “God? There’s no God, Nicole! What kind of a God would take a young mother away from her baby!? I have to talk to her!”

  “Not a good idea, Chrissy. Right now, we have to respect her wishes.”

  “She has wishes?”

  “Craig said she wants to be left alone. She doesn’t want any of us making a fuss about this. You know how Kelly is, so don’t even think about picking up the phone and leaving her some gushy message. Got it?”

  I’m so much more than an asshole.

  “Craig says they’re working on an aggressive treatment plan. She starts radiation and chemo next week.”

  “That’s positive news, right? I mean, her doctors wouldn’t do all that stuff if there wasn’t hope…right?”

  “In her case, I think it’s just a plan.” Nicole’s no use. I turn to Courtney.

  “Can’t they just cut the cancer out of her?”

  “They could do something called the Whipple procedure. But according to Craig, the tumor’s pretty large so they’d have to shrink it before they consider surgery. That’s why they’re getting started so fast with the chemo and stuff.”