Elena Undone

by Nicole Conn

  Elena stood embarrassed, and Peyton nodded in the affirmative but before Tyler could go on, Elena stuttered, “Uhmm, you’ll never believe this Tyler...,” she indicated Peyton. “I met Peyton at the adoption orientation.”

  “Yeah,” Peyton chimed in. “Small world.”

  “What does that even mean?” Tyler arched an eyebrow, tsked a finger knowingly at them while Elena and Peyton considered one another. “Small world, six degrees of separation. Coincidence. I love how people just try to explain all of this away…with this delusion of accidents.”

  Peyton shook her head, uncertain of how to respond to Tyler’s comments, especially when he seemed to be a gay man yet also seemed to be giving her a very thorough once over.

  “Interesting,” Tyler remarked, then glanced from Peyton to Elena. “Okay, girls. I’m going to start my readings. I’ll check in with you,” he indicated Elena, “later.”

  He dashed away, leaving them standing uncertain of what to do. The silence became deafening.

  “Well...” Elena cleared her throat. “Since this was clearly preordained...want to get a drink?”

  *

  Very few stragglers remained at Tyler’s event. Wave had been talking so long to Tyler that her head was now upon his lap as she lamented her terrible history of love.

  “Do you think I’m a player?”

  “Of course you’re a player,” Tyler laughed. “After all, let’s call a spade a spade.”

  “I suppose,” Wave conceded. “It’s just that I feel like I’m at the races, always picking the wrong horse.”

  “That’s just it. You’re picking—you’re on the prowl. Stop forcing it. Has it ever occurred to you to let love find you?”

  Wave considered a moment. “Feck no!”

  “Feck?”

  “Yeah, you know, fuck, feck—it’s all the same to me. I thought if I waited I’d be an eighty-eight-year-old bag of bones before anyone even took a shine. If I pick, then I only have myself to blame if it—”

  “There’s no blame here, Wave. Love doesn’t work that way.”

  “Okay, do your magic, Doc. I’ll follow all your rules, promise.”

  *

  Peyton and Elena had made their way through several drinks and hours of conversation, sitting isolated from the crowd at a small intimate table, with a waning candle between them in the corner of Tyler’s courtyard.

  “Pe" wblack">yton...you’re so brave. To want to have a baby on your own...and after everything you’ve been through with your mother.” Elena gently touched Peyton’s arm, leaving it there as she continued to speak. “And you never...well, thought about getting married?”

  Peyton moved her arm. “Oh, I was married.”

  “I thought you said you were single…or that’s what I thought I heard you say at the adoption orientation.”

  “I am. Now.”

  “Oh...I’m sorry. How long were you married?”

  “Six years.” Peyton took a sip. “How ’bout you?”

  “Fifteen.” But Elena did not want to focus on her marriage. “Can I ask you what happened?”

  “Oh, I guess all the predictable stuff. My partner couldn’t handle all the time I spent with my ailing mother, slept around, same old, same old.”

  “Your business partner?” Elena was confused, looked at Peyton, who frowned as she looked back.

  “Your uhmm, partner,” Elena said, and as she was saying it, it dawned on her what it meant. “Your partner. You’re uhmm— ”

  “Gay.” They both said it at the same time.

  “Oh, well, I think that is absolutely fine.” Elena’s voice sounded strained and forced. “It’s so not an issue for me,” she gushed and then rambled on. “I voted no on Prop 8—I mean yes, maybe—it was no right? I can’t remember, it was all so confusing. But I know I voted the right way. I mean—you know I voted your way.”

  Peyton watched her struggling, and smiled.

  “I just didn’t want you to think that it was a problem. I mean why would it be? Gosh, do I just keep sounding more and more ridiculous?”

  “No... It’s fine,” Peyton reassured her. “You’re fine.”

  Elena took a quick sip of champagne, set down her glass and then looked at Peyton with the most curious stare until Peyton had to look away and was quickly saved by Wave who walked over with notes in hand.

  “Apparently I was the inspiration for looking for love in all the wrong places...” Then she stopped as she checked out Elena and Peyton, and smiled, clearly intrigued. “Well, I see this was a bust for me...but looks like you two—”

  Elena looked completely confused. Peyton shut Wave down with a chilly, “Wave, this is Elena Winters.”

  Wave shook Elena’s hand.

  “Pleaaliack">sed to meet you.” Elena began to gather her belongings. “I’d love to stay but I...I’ve got to run. My husband has early services tomorrow—”

  Peyton did a double take as Wave practically choked.

  Elena realized she had surprised them and explained, “Barry’s a pastor.”

  Now it was Peyton’s turn to be flabbergasted. Both Wave and Peyton tried to regain their composure as Elena stood.

  “Uh, yeah.” Wave tried to act naturally. “That’s cool.”

  “Well, uhmm.” Peyton felt unusually awkward. “It was great running into to you.”

  “Nice meeting you, Wave. Goodbye Peyton.”

  Elena waved to them both as she left. Wave turned to Peyton with a “what the fuck was that?” expression on her face, and sat beside her. “A pastor’s wife? Blimey.”

  *

  By the time Elena got home, everyone was fast asleep and she had so much energy she didn’t know what to do with herself. She folded all the laundry, undressed, took a long shower, and yet, she was still completely wide-eyed and awake. She was usually so tired at the end of the day and it was almost two a.m.

  She sat at her laptop, finished all the church e-mails she had planned to send out the next day, cleaned up her calendar, reorganized her desk and came upon Peyton’s card. She picked it up, hesitated for several long moments, then began to type.

  *

  “Damn!” Peyton mumbled under her breath as she realized she had been reading the same page for the last half hour. Again, that intrusive thinking. Part of it she was used to. Dr. James always used to say, when the “garbage talk” gets into your head you just have to shut it down. And for the most part, Peyton had finessed the skill of rechanneling silly OCD ruminations. But she had been going back over the conversation with Elena, hoping she hadn’t said anything to offend her, realizing how shocked she had been to hear that Peyton was gay, then mad at herself for caring, trying to toss her own homophobia aside. So what if she had surprised her? It was this kind of thinking that she still hadn’t conquered, and it was as if her OCD took great delight in tormenting her.

  She didn’t know what to think. She had been reading for several hours now. She just couldn’t get to sleep. She had been researching all these incredible women and maybe all that crisp nighttime air had invigorated her. She picked up another book and realized there was a folded piece of paper serving as a bookmark. She opened it up and read Wave’s prescription: You just need to do stuff that makes you feel good. Good. Not bad.

  She grinned, folded up the paper, then hopped out oShehopped f bed and dashed to her laptop. She found the old e-mail from Elena and typed.

  Hi Elena…it was great seeing you at your friend’s event tonight.

  But as she was sitting, mulling over what to say, an e-mail came in from Elena.

  Hi Peyton, ...so great to see you again. Would you like to get together for lunch? I don’t know what your schedule is like, but maybe tomorrow? Elena

  Peyton thought it was pretty uncanny that Elena’s e-mail had come in the same time she was about to send her one. She smiled and was about to write a response when a flicker of anxiety ran over her. She considered the e-mail for the next couple of minutes, and finally wrote:

 
Hi Elena, yes it was great to see you too. Lunch sounds fine. Let me know when and where…Peyton.

  *

  Peyton proceeded to spend the rest of the night hurling her guts out. She had the worst stomach flu she could remember. She was loath to throw up—it was a component of her OCD—even when she drank too much. She never EVER threw up, because she simply willed herself not to. It completely freaked her out. Wave, who easily chucked, always said, “Ahh, much better—you don’t know what you’re missin’!” To which Peyton replied that she’d rather be miserable a whole day than have to go through that kind of bodily anguish.

  “You’re just a big baby,” Wave would say.

  “No, it’s against the natural order of things.”

  “Keeping it in is, sister, make no mistake!”

  They had just had this very conversation in the last few days, although now Peyton was reconsidering her position. Maybe Wave was right, because she felt like she was going to die and the only relief she had was throwing up.

  The phone rang. Peyton couldn’t move. She lay in a fetal position upon her large California King bed. She let the call go to the answering machine.

  “Hi Peyton.” It was Elena’s voice. Peyton moved her head so she could hear a little better. “Oh, you sounded awful on your message. I’m so sorry you don’t feel well. Don’t worry about lunch—maybe another time?” A long pause. “Do you need anything? I’d be happy to drop something by...”

  Wave entered the bedroom bearing a tray with clear broth, ginger ale and aspirin and stood listening along with Peyton.

  “You know, no one likes to be sick on their own. I could bring you something—well anything, actually. You know what I could bring you? Soup! Soup…or...whatever you need. Uhmm, okay...let me know. Goodbye.”

  “Soup?” Wave arched an eyebrow. “Seriously? Oh...now that’s smooth.”

  *

  Elena checked her voice mail and then returned to the kitchen to continue dinner. She wondered if Peyton had even gotten her message, wondered if she were sick with the flu, wondered if she had made up the excuse. No, she wouldn’t do that, right? Why would she do that? Was she just being nice the other night? Simply too busy? All these things kept running through her mind when Tori popped in, a blue silk tie wrapped about her forehead like an old hippie. She dipped a finger into her casserole, smiled yummy.

  “Did you know a snail can sleep for three years?” Tori snatched another bite and Elena pretended to slap her hand. “Yeah, I think Nash may very well be trying to beat that record. God, can you imagine not being able to get out of a sleep—like a coma—like this guy who has one of the longest recorded comas in history for—get this—twenty years! He’s like nineteen, has some random car accident and wakes up when he’s thirty-nine. Can you even, like, get down with how that would feel? Man, just an ordinary Friday you, like, wake up only to discover that you’d literally slept half your life away?”

  Something about Tori’s words struck a nerve. As Elena considered them the phone rang. Tori moved to get the phone because she was always the one to pick it up and suddenly Elena was lunging for it. Tori arched an eyebrow as Elena answered too eagerly.

  “Yes?” Breathless and then Elena’s mouth tightened. “Yes? Oh...hi, Millie.”

  Tori made a face at her. See, that’s what you get for picking up the phone!

  “Hey you know, we’re in the middle of dinner, Millie. May I call you back?”

  Elena hung up, nonchalant, as Tori watched her with the eagle eye. Before Tori could pry, Nash entered all bed head and yawning, in gray sweats and a striped rugby shirt. Elena turned to her son, gently ruffled his hair.

  “Nap much?” Tori teased. Nash ignored her and then Barry joined them through the opposite kitchen door.

  Tori quickly jumped up to pour Barry a glass of iced tea, handed it to him along with a quick hug.

  “Hey peanut, thanks.” He took a sip, set it down, considered Tori a moment. “Tori, you know we love you—but can you tell your folks we plan to take you as a deduction this year on our taxes?”

  “Actually Poppa Bear, you could deduct the cost of babysitting me as a charitable deduction—that’s actually allowed given the fact that Elena spends so much time volunteeroume voluing.”

  “So now you’re reading the tax code?” Barry was floored.

  “Yeah, workin’ on a project for school. Plus it’s a stunning fix for insomnia.”

  Elena smiled, pulled Tori into a big hug. “Please tell me it worked.”

  “Well, I didn’t find it endlessly fascinating, but it had good structure, narrative…I laughed, I cried...”

  *

  Several hours later, Elena gently tapped on Nash’s bedroom door while everyone else was getting ready for bed. She tiptoed in. Nash was sprawled out over the double bed playing on one of his perennial DES games. She pushed aside some of his homework, sat on the side of the bed.

  “Is everything okay at Tori’s? She’s been here even more than usual.”

  “Nope. Not really.” Nash sighed, finishing the last strokes of a virtual golf game. “He’s back out on the road and she’s back into her weirdo mania thing she does—working all night, sleeping during the day. I don’t think Tori’s even seen her mom since last week.”

  “She just seems a little more, I don’t know…overwrought with even more information than she usually has…”

  “You know how she gets.” Nash barely looked up as he continued thumb-thumping on his game. “When she’s depressed, she digs even deeper—and, man, I gotta tell ya, some of the stuff she comes up with—”

  Elena gently took Nash’s game from him. “Well, God bless her…I hope she knows how loved she is here.”

  “Of course she does.” Nash looked skeptically at his mother, as he scrunched up his knees to give her more room on the bed. “Okay…so what’s this really about?”

  “Well…I heard you skipped Bible study yesterday—”

  “Yeah, Mom, I sure did,” Nash responded proudly and then added ruefully, “those people are all a bunch of wingnuts over there. I don’t care what they’re crusading against. And Dad really doesn’t either...he’s just playing to his fawning flock—”

  “Your dad—”

  “Got the role of a lifetime, Mom. Playing pastor was the only gig he could actually book. Come on, Mom. You know it. We both know it, so don’t even…”

  Elena shook her head, pursed her lips. She did not want either of them to speak badly about Nash’s father, but of course she knew it. It was simply a matter of loyalty that kept her silent and the fact that while Nash might understand on some level how his dad had sold out she also knew it was a much more cigh much momplex compromise than Nash was capable of understanding.

  Unfortunately, Nash could not understand how the pressure to keep both herself and Nash well taken care of worked into that compromise. Even when she tried to explain to him that the nature of his father’s work—no matter how Nash might feel about it—was good works that helped many different people, Nash still would reply, skeptically, “Yeah whatever. You can call it whatever you want, or think that because the church does good work, it’s all okay. But on some level, Mom, he’s lying. In my book, that’s wrong.”

  So it was black and white for Nash, and she really couldn’t expect him to understand all the vagaries of gray that might exist in Barry’s situation. Barry really did much of this work with an open heart and for that she respected him. She just wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep Nash pacified, since he had become so keenly aware that Barry’s world, while filled with good deeds, was composed of smoke and mirrors.

  “Shhhh.” Elena shut down this conversation as Tori entered the room. Although Tori shared the general sentiment that the church was full of contradictions, she was also fiercely loyal to Poppa Bear as she had fondly nicknamed him from the very beginning. He was the only father Tori had, in many ways, and whatever concessions he may have made in life did not keep Tori from absolutely adoring him.<
br />
  Tori popped herself up on the bed. “Oh yippee, slumber party.”

  She made herself comfortable, drew one of Nash’s blankets over her knees, then glanced back and forth between the two. “Oops…did I just crash a private party here?”

  Nash scooped her up in a bear hug. “Never crashing, babe. You’re always welcome. Mom and I were finished anyway, weren’t we.” Nash informed his mother more than asked her.

  Elena sighed, picked up one of Nash’s shirts and began to fold it. Nash cocked his head one way, then another, studying his mom with a thoroughness that began to make her feel uncomfortable.

  “Nash!” she finally snapped.

  “Mom...don’t take this the wrong way or anything...but you know you’re still really pretty.”

  “Well, thanks. I think.” Elena shook her head, self-conscious. “What brought that on?”

  “Uhmm…so, well, Tori was telling me women hit their—you know...” But as Elena glanced at her son in surprise he clammed up and then blurted, “Peak?...well when they...well, you know what I mean…”

  Elena was blushing, but turned her body so that he could not really see her. “No. I’m not sure I do.” Elena collected herself and turned back to Nash. “Look son, I know our dear Tori here is a font of never-ending information—”

  “Tell her, Tori,” Nash insisted.

  “Yes, ‘ta c“Yes,ell her Tori.’” Elena turned to Tori with a mock menacing look.

  “Pleading the Fifth?”

  “Mom, don’t freak or anything. It’s just we were wondering what your life would be like if you had married a real actor. You know. Someone like—like well, Daniel Craig or Brad Pitt—or even like a Gerard Butler instead of...well, Dad.”

  Elena, struggling not to laugh, had no intention of continuing this line of discussion, and simply replied, “Well, sweetie, if I hadn’t married your dad I wouldn’t have you.”