Hope in a Jar

by Beth Harbison

  “Is it still there?”

  Tim nodded. “Saved.”

  “Thanks.” Still holding the yellow slip, she went into her office, closed the door, and sat down at her desk—where Tim had left a stack of apparently less interesting messages for her—to check voice mail.

  Allie’s was the first one on there. “Hi, Olivia, this is Allie. Allison Denty. From the reunion. Which you probably figured out. Duh.” She talked fast, like she did when she was nervous. “Anyway, I’m calling in the middle of the night with the hope that you’ll get this message first thing in the morning. Call me back. I have . . . well, there’s just a situation I wanted to talk to you about. So, call me. Thanks. Bye. Oh! My number is 301–555–1593. Thanks.” She hung up.

  That was an upset call. Not a cold. Not drunk, though there might have been some alcohol giving her speech that lazy slip from consonant to consonant.

  Olivia hesitated. She didn’t want to get caught up in any drama. God knows she’d had more than enough of it in her lifetime.

  She’d had more than enough of it this month.

  Then again, Allie hadn’t exactly been calling obsessively these past twenty years, so if something had happened that she thought she needed to talk to Olivia about, Olivia should probably take it seriously. She wasn’t completely cold to her past friendship with Allie.

  She dialed the number and waited for it to ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Allie?”

  “Olivia?”

  “Yes. I got your message.” Olivia started dividing her messages into piles, according to their level of importance. Three of them were from Vickie Freedman, wanting to come to town for lunch, and clearly angling for some sort of celebrity encounter that she thought Olivia could provide. “What’s up?”

  “Well . . . I . . . I probably shouldn’t have bothered you. I know it was sort of alarmist and shrill, and in the middle of the night like that, it probably sounded like something was really wrong.”

  Olivia was relieved. “So it’s not?”

  “No.” The way she said it sounded like a question. “I was just wondering . . . I had an incident with a lip plumper. It over-plumped my lips. So I was just wondering if that was a problem with all of them or what.”

  “I don’t know, Allie, I’ve never heard that one. Most people think they don’t work at all. But you don’t need that anyway. Just get a great, neutral pencil, like MAC’s Spice, and—”

  “Olivia.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.” Allie was really sounding fretful now. “I didn’t call about that. I called because something awful has happened and I didn’t know who else to call, and by the time the sun came up I realized that it was completely inappropriate to bother you.”

  But Olivia had been glad Allie had called. Hearing her regret it now was a little . . . disappointing. “It’s not inappropriate, Allie. What the hell is going on?”

  Allie sniffled. “Oh, my God, he’s going to marry her!”

  Olivia was taken aback. “What?”

  “Noah. Vickie.” Allie sniffed again. “See? It’s not really even my business, so I shouldn’t be dragging you into it.”

  “Wait a minute.” The brief conversation replayed in Olivia’s head. “He’s going to marry her?” She couldn’t believe it. “Vickie?”

  The messages from Vickie suddenly seemed to glow, like they were on fire or something.

  She was everywhere.

  “He can’t. I mean, yes, that’s what he said, but he can’t. Seriously, I have such a bad feeling about her and it’s not just some carryover grudge from adolescence.”

  “Is that what Noah said?”

  “Word for word.”

  Olivia could imagine him saying it. “That must have stung.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t care if he thinks I’m a big, immature baby. Which he does, by the way. He said that, too. This time I’m not being selfish. I just don’t want him to ruin his life.”

  “No, neither do I.”

  Allie drew in a quick breath. “Then talk to him. You might be the only one he’d take seriously. Certainly the only one out of the two of us.”

  She was right, but it was only because Noah and Olivia had the slightly stiff friendship that distance and time carved out. They didn’t talk every day or every week. They didn’t have the shorthand he and Allie seemed to have, the inside jokes, the familiarity and ease of communication that would let him say this is just a carryover grudge from your adolescence without fear of crossing a line.

  So, to that extent, Allie was right. And Olivia was glad, because she cared about Noah as much as Allie did, and if he would take what she said with a little more consideration then maybe this could work.

  “Did he say why?” It was a funny question, she thought later. Usually when someone says they’re getting married it’s a pretty sure bet that they’re in love, but when talking about Vickie Freedman and Noah it wasn’t even one of her first thoughts.

  “Um, not really.” Allie sniffled. “He didn’t give any grand speeches about love, though the truth is, I think I was so whiny and hysterical about it all that it came off sounding like I thought it was all about me. Which I totally don’t think, but all I could ramble on and on about was how big a bitch she was to me, because—am I right?—that’s all I really know. But from that, I know she’s a deeply mean person.” She took a breath. “And I don’t think that kind of fundamental personality really changes with time, do you?”

  Anyone else might have been left breathless by Allie’s rapid-fire delivery, but Olivia had grown up with it and the instinct to pull out the salient facts was still strong. “I don’t know.” But she was inclined to agree. “So basically instead of getting his side of things, you just got his defense of Vickie.”

  “Exactly. And I know it’s my fault, but . . . that’s where we are. I don’t know what the hell this is about.”

  “Maybe I should call him.”

  “I think you should.” Allie sounded relieved.

  “But I don’t want him to feel ganged up on by the two of us.”

  “Don’t tell him you talked to me. There’s no way he’d leap to that conclusion. Just call and act like you’re seeing what’s up, how it’s going”—Allie took a shuddering breath—“how he’s going to blow his entire future. That kind of thing.”

  Olivia considered. She had a lot of things to do—her desk was evidence of that—but if there was something she could do to help Noah, she could certainly fit it in. And though she and Allie hadn’t always agreed on everything, obviously, they did agree on this point. And Olivia believed, absolutely, that Allie’s concern was for Noah and not for herself. If her only reference point was her experience, Olivia could see why, but she could also see why Noah didn’t get it.

  It wasn’t anybody’s fault.

  Maybe Olivia could help, maybe she couldn’t, but she had to try. She really did, she had to try.

  “I’ll give him a call, Allie.”

  “Soon?” She tried to disguise it but there was no mistaking the frantic edge to her voice.

  “Today. Now. Don’t worry.”

  “Will you call me back and let me know what he says?”

  “Sure. As soon as I know anything.”

  “Thank you.” Allie let out a long breath. “Really, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Maybe between the two of us we can save Noah from making a terrible mistake.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Olivia said, and set down the phone.

  The days before the hard deadline for production were always busy so Olivia wasn’t able to call Noah until that evening and when she finally got through to him he was with Vickie and he couldn’t talk.

  So it wasn’t until the next afternoon that she finally got to talk to Noah.

  And his mood was not great.

  “Allie called you?”

  “She was concerned,” Olivia said. There was no point in denying it—he knew. “And honestly, Noah, so am I. This seems awfull
y fast.”

  “Yes.”

  That was it? Yes? “So you can see where your friends might be worried.”

  “Okay, well, thanks, but I didn’t realize I needed to run it by everyone first.”

  Olivia was surprised by his tone. “You don’t. Of course. But your friends—”

  He let out a short, tight breath. “Look, I’m in the middle of a crunch here. Can I give you a call later?”

  “Yes. Call me back whenever you can. And Noah?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry if I’m butting in where I don’t belong. It’s just that I care about you. Allie does, too.”

  He made a scoffing sound, then said, “Got to go.”

  Olivia called Allie back and it was obvious that Allie had been getting antsy waiting for the call. Olivia hated feeling like a gossip but in this case she and Allie were the closest people Noah had and it was clear that something about his engagement was making him less than thrilled. As his friends, they needed to at least be on the same page as far as supporting him went.

  Olivia told Allie about the conversation, such as it was. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she concluded. “But maybe the problem is that from the moment we found out he was seeing Vickie, we’ve done little more than tell him what a bitch she is.”

  “You didn’t do that,” Allie said. “I did. He’s mad at me.”

  “I haven’t been warm about her, either.”

  “Maybe, but if that’s what he’s pissed about, why wait until now to express it?” Allie asked. “Two weeks ago he was still acting normal.”

  “This is the first I’ve talked to him since the reunion.” Tim came in and handed Olivia a handful of yellow message slips. “So maybe he’s been mad at me ever since then and I just didn’t know it.”

  Allie made a dismissive noise. “This isn’t like him. Noah doesn’t get mad.”

  Olivia put the messages into piles according to importance, keeping an eye out for something from Noah. “Maybe he was just busy. I might have misinterpreted his tone.”

  “I’ve left him three messages and he hasn’t called me back.”

  “Like I said, maybe he’s busy.”

  “No, he always calls me back. This is weird.”

  “Allie.” Olivia set the papers down and tapped a newly manicured finger on her desktop. She shouldn’t say this. She should just mind her own business and keep out of it. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Noah has feelings for you that are more than platonic?”

  “No!” Allie’s answer was immediate and explosive. “That’s crazy.”

  “I don’t think it is.”

  “It is, Olivia, believe me. He had his chance but never took it, and if I had a chance, I didn’t take it, either.”

  “Recently?”

  “On and off for years. You know, he’d be dating someone or I’d be dating someone but then there would be those times when neither of us were dating anyone and he could have made a move but he never did.”

  “Did you?”

  There was a long silence. “No. Even if I’d been desperate to, I couldn’t have. It’s really hard for me to be forward about that kind of thing.”

  Because she’d never had to be.

  “I think it’s hard for Noah, too. Especially where you’re concerned.”

  “I just don’t believe that.”

  What should she do? Tell Allie about ancient history, or keep the confidence she’d kept for all these years? “Think about it. If he had wanted to make a move, how would he have done it? When you’re friends with someone for a long time you develop a rapport that’s hard to break. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with them?”

  Allie gasped. “Did he tell you that?”

  Not in ages. “No, he didn’t. But then, he wouldn’t, would he? But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  Fifteen

  Raise your hand if you’re sure.

  —ad for Sure antiperspirant

  In her first week of dieting—or lifestyle change as she was supposed to think of it, although who was she kidding? As soon as she reached her goal she was going to go out for a huge, fattening dinner—Allie lost four pounds.

  She’d seen people on Oprah before who had lost more than that in their first week, spectacular stories of eight pounds in one week, but as soon as she expressed disappointment at the meeting everyone told her she was crazy and that four pounds was a great achievement.

  It would have been nice to have lost all twenty-seven (as they’d determined her final goal to be) but clearly not realistic.

  Week two, with more realistic expectations, she’d lost two. Week three it had been two and a half. This week she was down half a pound, but with a total of nine pounds off—nearly two bags of flour in weight—she was satisfied.

  That, in and of itself, was a real difference for her.

  It was progress. She hadn’t made progress in anything in a very, very long time.

  “You’ve done a wonderful job,” Arlene told her after the weigh-in.

  “Thanks,” Allie said, putting her watch back on. “It’s funny how good it feels to lose even a little bit.”

  “It’s as addictive as Twinkies after a while,” Arlene said, then smiled. “Or whatever your particular weakness is. Mine was Twinkies. And Ho Hos.”

  “Pizza.” Allie wasn’t over that yet. “And bread. All kinds of bread. Especially those Parker House dinner rolls when they’re hot with butter melting into them.”

  “Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels,” Arlene parroted, then winked. “I know what you mean about the rolls, though.”

  Allie finished putting her earrings on and went in to the meeting. Even after this short time, she had come to feel like the other people here were family, so when Marianne got up to speak to the group, Allie was really pulling for her and hoping she had lost this week after two weeks of gaining.

  “I lost two point three pounds this week,” Marianne said, and everyone clapped.

  Her apple cheeks went red but she smiled. Marianne was pretty, but she had told Allie she had a hundred and twenty pounds to lose and there was no convincing her that she was.

  “I had an important revelation this week.” Marianne went on, clasping and unclasping her hands in front of her. “I started to gain weight after my father died ten years ago. You may remember me telling you that my mother died when I was little. Well, Dad was a mother and a father to me, and even though he didn’t always have the answers, especially during those stormy adolescent years, he never stopped trying.” Tears started to roll down Marianne’s cheeks and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry.”

  “It’s okay,” Heather, the group leader, said, urging Marianne on. “We want to hear what you have to say. Don’t let a few tears get in the way of that.”

  “Thanks, Heather. Well, anyway, it’s pretty simple. Dad always used to tell me how pretty I was, especially when he was at a loss dealing with my youthful insecurities and so forth, and I think when he died I felt like he should take that with him. I think, on some deep level, I got fat on purpose. Like it was a tribute to him.” She wiped her tears again and sniffled. “But it’s not a tribute. I’m killing myself and he’d hate that and now I’m more motivated than ever to get healthy.” She gave another embarrassed smile. “I just wanted to share.”

  “That’s an incredible story,” Heather said. “You are truly an inspiration.”

  Gilda raised her hand and spoke. “Marianne, maybe you could think of your good health as a tribute to your father. Because you’re living on for him and I know he’d want you to live a long and healthy life.”

  Again the group clapped, and for the rest of the meeting they kept going back to Marianne’s turnaround.

  On her way home, Allie asked herself if she had been overeating for some reason, too.

  At first she scoffed the idea away. She’d put on weight because she loved to eat. She didn’t buy that
Dr. Phil crap about eating in order to make up for something lacking. Allie ate because she loved to eat and she always had. In her teens she could get away with it because her metabolism was so good but now she couldn’t.

  It was that simple. Not easy but simple.

  She was addicted.

  Now she just needed to get addicted to healthier stuff.

  The doorbell buzzed shortly after seven P.M.

  Allie paused the DVR and went to the door in her tattered robe and with her hair in a towel, expecting to see Sing Yee, for Café Hong Kong, there to deliver her steamed veggies on steamed brown rice. She secretly hoped he’d accidentally bring someone’s General Tso.

  But it wasn’t Sing.

  “Noah!” Her breath caught in her chest. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.” He brushed in past her, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week. “Now.”

  “Okay.” She glanced out in the hall to see if Yee was coming, but it was empty. She closed the door. “Let me change my clothes, and I’ll be—”

  “Why did you call Olivia?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Why did you call Olivia about Vickie and me?”

  “I’m sorry, was it supposed to be a secret?”

  His face was pale and drawn. There were dark circles under his eyes. “Why can’t you just, for once, mind your own fucking business?”

  She was defensive immediately, because inside she was hurt. “Because when my best friend won’t talk to me, won’t return my calls, that is my business!”

  “Best friend?” He shook his head. His hair was rumpled. Yet somehow he looked . . . good. “Are we friends, Allie? I can’t keep up. Are we friends this week or not?”

  She felt as if he’d slapped her. What was going on? “We’re always friends.”

  He shook his head. “Then why didn’t you talk to me about this, if you have such a huge problem with it? Why the hell did you call Olivia?”

  She gaped at him, pulling her robe tightly shut. The towel on her head suddenly felt heavy and stupid-looking. “Because, as I just said, you wouldn’t call me back. You could have been dead, for all I knew, or pinned under something really heavy in your apartment.”