Love Love

by Sung J. Woo

  11

  Judy was crouched down, deciding between spending the extra twenty cents on a can of Goya black beans versus its Wegmans counterpart, when she saw her. But was it actually Alice?

  A can in each hand, Judy jumped up to her feet too quickly and rammed her head against the red coupon holder jutting out from the shelf above. She was about to whack the stupid thing but then saw that the coupon it had just spit out was for any Goya canned product. Maybe this was her lucky day. She snatched the coupon, and with a whirl and blink of its red LED light, a brand-new one eerily slid into place.

  Judy still had another dozen things to get from her shopping list, for a Tex-Mex fish taco and steak dinner she planned to make for her and Roger tomorrow night, but that could wait. She rolled her cart slowly out of the ethnic foods aisle, passing by the yellow jars of Old El Paso salsa and blue cans of La Choy lo mein, navigating past the throng of postwork shoppers.

  Alice wasn’t by the juices and milks, and though there was a lithe blond woman considering a wedge of Swiss cheese in the dairy section, she had two kids with her and didn’t stand like Alice. Her ex-sister-in-law had the posture of a dancer, straight-backed and graceful, that made her easy to pick out. Judy had always liked her, quite a bit, in fact, and initially, when Kevin had told her that they were splitting up, Judy felt as distressed about her brother’s loss of a wife as her own loss of a friend.

  But were they friends? They had gone out clothes shopping on occasion, but most of the time, Judy had seen her with Kevin at family functions. Alice hadn’t reached out to her since the divorce, and vice-versa for Judy, so maybe they had been more like family and less like friends, and for that reason, there was no reason to see each other.

  Judy was about to turn her cart around when she caught a glimmer of gliding Alice, floating into and out of her vision at the end of the aisle. It was her. She remembered Kevin mentioning Alice had moved to Holmdel, which was about ten miles away from here. Judy abandoned her cart and sped after her, not wanting to lose her again, and she almost ran into her. Alice was inches away, reaching for the back of the milk shelf. Judy passed her and found what she was looking for, the spinning tree of bread loaves for cover.

  The first thing Judy noticed was Alice’s glossy black belt, how it wouldn’t circumnavigate half of the female thighs in this supermarket, let alone their midsections. Alice had found her milk, and now she was onto orange juice, and as she leaned over and reached down, a perfect circle of her butt pressed against her black skirt, and her calves were toned and shaped like those out of a pantyhose catalog. Four men walked by her, and it was almost funny how their heads all swiveled like robots.

  She should hate Alice, and maybe if she hadn’t known her, she would. But last Christmas, the first one without her mother or her husband, when Judy saw her father and Soo saunter into Kevin’s house, it was Alice who had saved the evening. She maneuvered Judy past Bill and the surprised faces of a bunch of Kevin’s other friends and brought her to the deck, to the December evening air, so Judy could vent.

  “I saw it, too,” Alice said.

  Soo, beaming with an irrepressible supply of yuletide joy, had been wearing a brooch on her sweater, a brooch that Judy had given her mother the year she died. It was a Christmas wreath made with tiny emeralds, accented with a ruby-encrusted red bow, which Judy had bought with money she didn’t have. It would take her half a year to pay off the credit card debt from that present, but she knew it was the last gift she would be able to give her mother, and she’d wanted to make it count. Except it was now pinned on her stepmother’s chest, glittering green like some gaudy lucky charm.

  “That fucker,” Judy seethed, “you know what he did? I bet you a thousand dollars he gave it to Soo as a present, a fucking regifter!”

  Alice was freezing out here, hugging herself tight. Judy knew this was not what she’d wanted to do, stand listening to an angry tirade from her sister-in-law, but Alice pulled up two lawn chairs and gestured for her to sit.

  “It’s Christmas Day,” Alice said. She cupped her hands and blew into them, the white steam of air escaping between her fingers. “The last thing your mother would’ve wanted would be for there to be a fight, right?”

  Alice was correct, but this was not what Judy wanted to hear right now. She needed someone who’d agree with her and not make her feel small by lecturing on the obvious, which was what she wished to tell Alice, but she knew she couldn’t. For almost twenty years she’d known her brother’s wife, knew her almost as long as he’d known her himself, and yet she had no idea who she really was. There was personal information, of course, that Judy had come to know through overheard conversations and related anecdotes. That she was born in Boston, raised in Buffalo, went to college in upstate New York, and met Kevin at a doctor’s office. That she liked ballroom dancing and ate kimchi more than her Korean husband. And yet none of these little factoids of her life and personality added up to anything, because this woman sitting out here with her, braving bitter pockets of winter wind, was still just a familiar stranger.

  “Alice,” Judy said, choosing to stand instead of sit. She grabbed the hollow metal of the patio chair, so cold that it numbed her hands, “who are you?”

  Alice coughed up a nervous chortle of laughter. “That’s an interesting question.”

  Somewhere in the distance, an animal howled. Kevin’s house was in the middle of nowhere in Warren County, so a coyote wasn’t out of the question.

  “Never mind,” Judy said. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  Judy turned away and headed for the door, but Alice’s voice stopped her.

  “Happier,” she said. “That’s who I used to be.”

  For the next hour, they huddled together and talked. At some point Kevin came out, wanting to know why they were turning into icicles out here, and they both shooed him back into the house. In those sixty-odd minutes, Judy learned more about Alice than she had in all the years she’d known her. The reason why Alice looked like a dancer was because she used to be one; she’d been a theater major in college, and for a while, she had the dream of becoming a professional, but it didn’t take her long to see that there were people who were just naturals, who’d always be so much better than she could ever hope to be. Still, an instructor had taken an interest in her and had told Alice she would work with her privately, but Alice refused.

  “If I need someone’s help, it’s not worth doing.”

  Alice had spoken with such finality and determination that it verged on fury.

  Judy had recalled that Christmas many times whenever she thought of Alice, because it was the first and only time they’d connected as real people, but now Judy saw it for what it had been. Alice hadn’t shared a part of herself to get closer to Judy; rather, it was because she’d felt sorry for her and wanted to cheer her up. And maybe it went even further than that. Because a couple of months afterward, she and Kevin split up, which meant Alice had probably known it would be the last time she’d have to see Judy. The conversation had been a going-away present.

  Judy sat down on an empty pallet next to the cartons of eggs. Leaning against the tower of squeaky Styrofoam containers, puffs of refrigerated air soothing her back, she knew her thoughts were silly fabrications in her head. What was real was that she missed seeing Alice on New Year’s and Easter and Mother’s Day, on their birthdays and the barbeque on the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving and Christmas. They’d pass the time talking about some vapid TV show or the latest popcorn flick, never talking about anything of consequence, but when you stacked up these incidental layers of small talk, they added up to a level of comfort impossible to duplicate in any other relationship. For all those previous years, she’d taken Alice’s presence for granted, never knowing how easily she could disappear from her life. If Judy had known their ties were so tenuous, she would’ve tried harder—or maybe not. It was always easy to believe in hindsight.

  Judy got up and dusted herself off, and when she scanned th
e dairy section, where Alice had been picking between tiny tubs of foil-topped yogurt, she was gone. Had Kevin also felt this way when Brian ceased to exist at the Lee family gatherings? Did he miss her ex-husband as much as Judy missed Alice? Her brother often played the role of a dumb jock, claiming he led an unexamined life and was quite happy to do so, but in reality, she knew he actually spent time thinking about these things, and probably more now than ever with his recent discoveries about his origins. She felt guilty that she hadn’t called him since Friday. This was an extraordinary time for him; she needed to be a supportive sister.

  Judy grabbed her cart and started to back away when a hand on her shoulder halted her.

  “What the hell, Judy? What is this, some sort of a tag team?”

  Judy didn’t know what to say. Standing in front of her was Alice, who was not only beautiful from her butt down but also from the neck up. She had a face incapable of expressing displeasure, all watery blue eyes and chubby pink cheeks. That was always the funny thing about her, those squeezable, rosy cheeks of hers, in stark contrast to her slim body.

  “Did you say tag team?” Judy asked.

  Alice said nothing, just looked at her with what Judy supposed was her serious, penetrating glare: angled eyebrows, locked jaw, arms at her side. She waited until her eyes returned to their familiar fluidity, and when they did, Judy stepped forward and hugged her hard.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Judy said, “but I’ve missed you.”

  She hardly hugged back, but that’s what Judy expected. Alice had never been a touchy-feely woman, and there was no reason to think she would’ve changed. But at least she was smiling when they broke their embrace.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Judy,” she said. “Don’t mind me. I had a strange day.”

  It felt comfortable to walk around the store with her, as if they shopped together every week. At the bakery, after sampling a toothpicked cube of cheesecake, Alice told her about her encounter with Kevin in the morning.

  “Okay, so that’s what you meant by tag team,” Judy said.

  Alice nodded. “I actually saw you when you were standing by the shoe polish, but when you kept following me . . .”

  “I was following you, wasn’t I? Like a spy.”

  They laughed, and as they continued to push their carts through the brightly lit aisles of the supermarket, Judy resisted from asking Alice about their divorce. She’d heard the breakup only from Kevin’s point of view, that they argued all the time, that they grew apart, that they’d reached a point in their relationship where separation seemed more natural than being together. But there had to be some other reason, didn’t there? Two people who loved each other didn’t just drift away from one another. Gusts of severance blew from many different directions, but there was always a source of the wind. For Brian, it had been Judy’s sadness and anger, but who the hell did he think he married in the first place? What had given him the right to love her in the beginning and tire of her at the end, when she’d always been the same person?

  “Judy?”

  “Sorry,” she said. This was becoming a bad habit of hers, zoning out. “I was just thinking about Brian.”

  “Oh.” They’d somehow veered back to the bread section. Alice picked up a twin pack of English muffins and Judy got a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread.

  She wished Alice would ask her about what happened between her and Brian so they could share in their mutual failures and maybe even learn something, but her ex-sister-in-law said nothing.

  “Well, I guess I’m done shopping,” Alice said.

  Judy considered following Alice to the checkout lanes, but what was the point? Whatever this had been, whatever they had between them, it was over.

  “I’ve got a few more things on my list,” Judy said.

  “Then I guess this is good-bye.”

  There were no hugs this time, just two friendly waves an arm’s length away.

  “Take care of yourself,” Alice said.

  “You too.”

  Alice rolled away with her cart, but she stopped and rolled back. “I’ll be moving away again. In a month.”

  “Where to?”

  “Boston.”

  So Alice was about to embark on a new life in a new town, perhaps with a new man, though Judy didn’t get that vibe from her. As someone who knew loneliness more intimately than she’d like, Judy could see the same invisible cloak draped over Alice. Judy wanted to ask her why she was moving to Boston, but then she caught the flitter of discomfort in Alice’s eyes.

  Judy wanted to say something else, a few generic words of good luck, but the moment passed in silence and Alice leaned against the cart and pushed away. Judy watched her as she merged into the crowd of shoppers, disappearing from view.

  12

  The two suitcases on the bed had been a gift from Alice’s parents. They were strong and light with smooth zippers and reinforced corners, but the black suitcases were also open cavities waiting to be filled up with a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries and whatever else he’d need. After stacking four shirts and two pairs of pants, Kevin took a break.

  He’d never been fond of packing, because the truth was, he never wanted to leave home. Out there, life was mysterious and uncertain. Hotels were basically the same no matter where he went, so they were all unfamiliar in their familiar ways, but that didn’t allay his anxiety. He wouldn’t consider himself agoraphobic, but perhaps that was in his future. If so, fine by him. He liked his house, his dog, and life would proceed even if he never again stepped a foot outside his front door.

  There had been a few times, though, when he hadn’t minded leaving, when in fact he’d been thrilled to toss in socks and T-shirts and little bottles of toiletries into a duffel bag. He’d been with Alice for barely two weeks when he suggested they go away for the weekend.

  They were sitting at the breakfast nook of his old apartment in Montclair. She was wearing a Penn State shirt of his, nursing her morning coffee.

  “Where to?”

  He’d known he was pushing, that she had every right to say that they were rushing. In fact, that’s what he’d been expecting, so when she saw how she’d stumped him, she laughed.

  “You thought I’d say no.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s figure out where we can go.”

  After leafing through Kevin’s collection of brochures and local magazines, they had it: Stokes Forest. It was an hour north, Route 15 up to Sussex County, where there were fifteen cabins in the state park. Only one was available on short notice, so Kevin made the reservation, and they were off.

  It was Mother’s Day weekend, almost twenty years ago. Alice tapped her feet to the Beatles on the car radio, “Here Comes the Sun.” They got lost twice, but even that was pleasant, Alice thumbing through his ratty collection of maps, pointing out he had one for every New Jersey county except Sussex. This was the magic of a burgeoning relationship: Nothing could derail it. If they’d gotten into an accident, Kevin was certain they would’ve walked away from the wreck and laughed it off.

  Their cabin was number 15, the most secluded of the lot, located underneath a giant silver maple whose thousands of leaves swayed like small hands conducting the wind. Consisting of a single large room, there were two sets of bunk beds inside the log cabin, the mattresses utilitarian slabs of vinyl-covered foam. They piled two of them together, which made it slightly less uncomfortable to sleep on, though they weren’t doing much of that anyway. After making love that night, they walked out naked into their backyard hand in hand, letting the night’s easy breeze dry their sweaty bodies. Alice stood like a living work of art, her breasts luminous moons, her hair strands of gold. Kevin supposed he didn’t look half bad himself. After all, they were both in their twenties, their muscles and bones working in youthful concert, and it seemed logical to kiss and fall gently onto the ground and do what came naturally to them.

  His knees sank into the soft, cool earth. The light
from the cabin’s window illuminated Alice’s hair tangling in the blades of grass, and as they moved in rhythm, they fell deeper into their natural surroundings. They held each other and rolled over until she was on top, and now it was his turn to disappear into the greenery, to feel the night’s dampness spread on his back, to smell the freshness of the forest intermingle with the human scent of this woman.

  Next morning, they hiked down a nearby canyon. The stream was fast and clean with tiny waterfalls foaming up the water as they followed the path.

  “We had sex,” Alice said, “outside.”

  “I can’t believe it, either,” Kevin said. “I’ve never done it outside of a bed, to tell you the truth.”

  “Not even a car?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll have to fix that.”

  Alice jumped over a wet patch of earth and landed on the ball of her left foot, a set of movements that was as efficient as it was elegant. Her balance was impeccable, innate, and the same could be said of her temperament. There was an inner calm about her, a place he couldn’t touch, at least not yet. It made him hungry for her, to know her, to be with her.

  “Is this something we should expect, that we’ll keep doing crazy things when we’re together?” she asked.

  Hearing her say that word, together, made him want to jump, so he did. He leaped where she’d leaped, over the wetness and onto the exact same spot, except he weighed another fifty pounds and the ground reacted differently. Something woody cracked underneath, and Kevin lost his footing and his right ankle turned a funny way. Luckily, he was able to avoid wiping out altogether by shifting his weight to his other foot and grabbing onto Alice’s outstretched arms.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “I might be.”

  “Lean on me,” Alice said. “We’ll just backtrack and get back to the car.”