“What’s that?”
Lillith swallowed hard. “Just a poster reproduction of The Scream.”
She was instantly filled with disappointment. “Reproduction” hadn’t rolled off the tongue half as easily as she had expected.
Susannah walked further into the cubicle, now standing in front of the poster, as though it were naked and had forgotten to shave its legs.
“Lillith, you can’t put this up here,” she whispered.
Lillith said nothing.
“It looks nuts,” Susannah continued. Her narrowed eyes settled on Lillith’s. “You aren’t nuts, are you?”
Lillith looked back at the computer, mumbling something that resembled no.
“Are you depressed?” Susannah whispered.
Lillith shook her head, her fingers now typing out an e-mail comprised of haphazard letters that didn’t make sense in any language.
“I’m happy,” she finally said, continuing the aimless typing.
“Why don’t you put up Einstein if you’re happy?”
A lump formed in Lillith’s throat as she watched Susannah slide a finger under each corner of the poster and peel it away from the wall, an act interspersed with grumblings of “unhealthy”. Lillith felt like every drop of blood coursing through her veins had suddenly found its way to her cheeks that were ready to burst.
Susannah took a deep breath and stared down at her shoe. “You can always find another job. Like me.”
Lillith could feel the blood drain her face and stopped typing. She wanted Susannah to repeat it. She wanted to catch the tone of her voice, or the speed with which the words came out. Had this announcement been filled with regret? With sadness? Lillith pulled the poster out of Susannah’s hand and put it back in the plastic bag.
“When are you leaving?” she heard herself ask.
“Next Friday,” Susannah replied. “They wanted me to start as soon as possible, and Louise was good about it, thank God.”
So she had already made the big announcement to the boss. Lillith wondered who else had learned of the news before her.
“I haven’t told anyone else,” Susannah added a little too quickly, and Lillith resented herself for being so transparent and Susannah for embarrassing her. It wasn’t her intent, Lillith could see that. Susannah’s eyes filled with concern and her lips were being restrained from opening into a smile that this new turn in her life merited. Guilt. For a frightening moment, Lillith’s resentment was replaced with hate.
“Have you ever thought of quitting?”
Lillith shook her head. This wasn’t entirely true, as she had thought about it, but in the way others thought of winning the lottery. Their imaginations could sustain holding the big cheque and smiling for the camera, but lacked the experience to entertain the possibilities that could follow. This had been her only real job after graduating with a degree in art history, an illogical sequence of events Lillith found herself justifying to concerned relatives at every holiday and the monthly visits to her mother in between. The truth was, Lillith had difficulty seeing herself anywhere else. Art galleries and studios that had been idolized in her youth felt alien to her now. This was a realization that was hard for Lillith to acknowledge, and she summed it up to the poor air circulation in the office.
“How long have you been here again?”
Lillith could feel a tightening in her chest. Maybe there really was something wrong with the air. “Eight years.”
Susannah let out a low whistle. “And you never thought of leaving?”
Lillith had never thought that Susannah would leave, but she knew this wasn’t the kind of thing she could express out loud. It made perfect sense, of course. Susannah was a project manager, the equivalent of the glass ceiling in companies like these. Lillith was a secretary; administrative assistant, as Louise liked to call her, but this title made Lillith squirm. It was too long, trapping Lillith in a hell hole of underachieving verbiage.
“I’m happy for you.”
Lillith wondered how convincing she sounded. Had the words bumped up against her anger and hurt? Should she have sounded more excited?
“I’ll miss you,” said Susannah.
Lillith sat paralyzed, her skin soaking up those words the way her mother played piano: pulling the sounds from the keys.
Finally, she turned to Susannah and said, “Me too.”
“But we’ll keep in touch, right?” Susannah smiled a smile that people gave to add weight to words that would otherwise take flight and settle in the clouds, forgotten.
Lillith nodded with as much vigor as she could. She understood her part and played it well. Susannah’s smile grew wider in appreciation, as her eyes began to shift, seemingly searching for a proper thing to say that would push this moment into history while remaining wary of the future. Suddenly her nervousness was replaced with something Lillith couldn’t quite identify. It couldn’t be the suggestion of lunch, as Lillith had already guessed that their daily lunches were a thing of the past, replaced with errands and preparations for a new life. Susannah tucked her hair behind her ears.
“Want to go out tomorrow night?”
“Go out?” Lillith was scared to repeat the words in case she had gotten them wrong, but Susannah was nodding her head with an eagerness and ease that betrayed the fact that they had never stepped outside of the range of a work-related event: a sixty minute birthday lunch, an hour and a half if they went to Chinatown.
“My friends and I are going to Brutopia,” Susannah said.
A late night, a Saturday. Lillith quickly painted a picture in her head of what that would entail. A nap of some kind was obvious, preferably in the late afternoon, but early enough to still have a decent supper and properly digest. Her black pants and shiny blouse would have to be cleaned and ironed. She’d have to verify the 211 bus schedule to get downtown, and make sure she had enough money for a couple of cokes, and maybe a green apple Smirnoff.
Lillith took a deep breath and forced a smile.
The next afternoon, Lillith sat at the computer, stumped. Saturday had been almost as easy as the word sounded, with the highlight of crossing paths with Him on the Friday night train still lingering. She had first run into Him smoking a joint with some teenagers in the tunnel of the Pointe Claire station a month ago. She didn’t like working late, and had been nervous about walking by the gregarious group until she saw Him. He must have been in his late twenties, and Lillith felt strangely safer. How she knew it was a joint they were passing around she wasn’t sure. It just was.
The first time she had run into him on the five o’clock train after that incident, she had tried making eye contact to see if he would recognize her, but looked away instantly. Last night, he was sorting things in a briefcase before slamming it shut. She imagined what he was keeping from the world in those leather interior pockets. Money, fake passports, her voice.
She transferred the weight of her head from her left hand to the right, her elbow knocking over her empty dinner plate. She bent over to pick up the crumbs and fork and on her way to the kitchen, quickly glanced at her General Electric answering machine that stood by the fridge. The red light on the machine was at its usual position: a standstill, frozen. The plans with Susannah were still on. She looked up at the clock. Only seven-thirty. Plenty of time, considering she had ironed her pants and blouse that morning.
Lillith sat at the computer again, inspiration hampered by the pit in her stomach that had been growing since yesterday. She scanned some of the other craigslist “Missed Connection” ads for ideas, but it wasn’t helping. They were all short. Poorly written, really, with minimal description. Who could be the “hot girl at Fairview?” she wondered. She got up and studied herself in the mirror behind her bedroom door. Not exactly a disappointment. Her still-wet shoulder-length brown hair looked close to the promises that had been written on the shampoo bottle; the trace of lip gloss that had withstood dinner was almost shining, and her skin appeared to be doing a decent job of warding
off the impending gloom of age. Lillith allowed herself to smile, confident that everything staring back at her would hold up under the forgiving light of the night. She sat back at the computer and began to type.
Saw you at the Starbucks on St. Jean’s Saturday afternoon. You had a brown leather satchel and a Canadiens baseball cap on your head. You looked lonely. Give me a call.
She looked over what she had written, deciding to cut “on your head”. Better. This was how it was done.
You were standing in the reference room at the Pointe-Claire Library on Sunday afternoon, with two back issues of The New Yorker under your arm. We smiled at each other as we sat on opposite sides of the same table.
Lillith wasn’t prepared to equate her inspiration with what Joyce or Twain had experienced, but she hadn’t posted anything in a week. She posted both ads and opened a new one.
You were on the five o’clock train on Friday. Your briefcase is black and your stop is Cedar Park. It got my attention. I’m—
Lillith’s heart beat faster and she shut her computer.
Lillith wondered if the shampoo was still honoring its promises, or whether it had bailed after seeing all the shiny people teeming on Crescent Street that night. She was more unsure than ever of the mascara she had dabbed on at the last minute before leaving, even though she had checked it several times in the bathroom at Chapters before making her way over to Brutopia.
She squeezed her way through gorgeous faces and cell phones to find herself in front of the stairs leading up to the bar. Susannah was nowhere in sight and Lillith grew nervous. She glanced at her watch, worried it had failed her, and that she’d be forced to walk into the bar by herself to seek out her colleague. Or should she call her friend? Lillith decided that an evening at a bar—on a Saturday, no less—definitely pushed her and Susannah into the friend quadrant, and she got distracted by what could only be described as a strange joy that came from this realization.
She was relieved to see she was five minutes early, making waiting outside perfectly appropriate. She began pacing up and down the street, all the while searching for Susannah’s large curls and green glasses in the sea of faces. She wondered who or what else might be there, brushing her shoulder, barely missing her foot. After a while she stared at the sidewalk, taking in the painted toes, silver sandals and smooth legs swarming her. For comfort, she thought of soft colours, like the pale peach bodies of Jean-Auguste Ingres. Then she thought of home. The Pointe Claire Shopping Centre and its white-haired patrons roaming the corridors like restless dandelions, the small mounds of snow that accumulated beside the parking lot in winter, the way plants blew on her balcony in summer, her living room with Chinese lanterns, the bamboo placemats on her table, the poster tucked between some books.
Lillith looked up and down the street one last time. The curls and glasses would be easier to spot in the now-thinning crowd. She was ready to check her watch again but couldn’t bring herself to look down, ripping it off her arm instead with a force she hadn’t known. She walked over to a garbage can standing before an all-night pizza place, and stared into the dark hole before letting the leather band escape from her fingers. She looked up and studied the street once more. Even with numb legs, Lillith could feel the earth move beneath her feet, the time pass, but she felt no comfort.
THE END
About the Author
Alexa Nazzaro
Alexa Nazzaro wrote her first novel, Kimberly and the Seventh Grade Disaster, when she was thirteen years old. Good thing it never saw the light of day. In the years since, she continued writing stories, earned a degree in Creative Writing from Concordia University, read a lot of books (some over and over, like Catcher in the Rye), watched a lot of movies, got married and became a stepmom. The Pool Theory, a young adult novel on teen pregnancy, is her first book that strangers are allowed to read.
http://www.thepooltheory.com
http://www.alexanazzaro.com
More Than Life Itself
A Picking up the Pieces Anthology
By
Jessica Prince
Gavin and Stacia’s proposal takes place between books one and two in the Picking up the Pieces series
Copyright 2013 © Jessica Prince
All rights reserved.
Edited by Becky Johnson at Hot Tree Edits
This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance between persons living and dead, establishments, events or location is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
GAVIN
“Okay, now that we’re all here, can you please explain why you conned us into coming to Trevor’s disgusting pit of an apartment?” Emmy asked as she scrubbed one of the dining chairs with a Clorox wipe before sitting in it.
“Hey, it’s not a disgusting pit; it’s a bachelor pad. It’s supposed to look like this,” Trevor threw back at Emmy with a disgruntled look.
“There’s spaghetti sauce on the wall!” Savannah shouted. “Wait…” she walked over to the wall where the stain in question was and bent down to examine it further before turning back to Trevor. “Please tell me that’s actually spaghetti sauce.”
Trevor looked around at all of us before turning his eyes back on Savannah and giving a slight shrug. “Uh… I think so?”
Savannah threw her hands up in surrender. “That’s it, I’m out,” she called as she headed for the door. “The last thing I need is to get head lice by hanging around in this pig sty.”
I bolted for the door to head her off. “Come on, guys. I called y’all for a reason. I seriously need your help.”
I looked around the room where all of my friends were gathered and felt sweat break out on my forehead.
“Gavin, honey, you look like you’re about to pass out. Why don’t you sit down?” Lizzy wrapped her arm around my waist and ushered me toward a vacant dining chair.
Emmy did a quick scrub down of that chair as well before I was planted in it.
“So what’s the emergency?” Luke asked from where he was standing behind Emmy’s seat, his hands planted firmly on her shoulders. Ever since those two had gotten back together they couldn’t be in the same room without touching. At least they weren’t sucking face this time and actually seemed to be paying attention.
I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the small, black velvet box I’d been carrying around all week. I slapped it on the table in front of everyone and scanned the room to take in their wide-eyes expressions. “I’m gonna propose to Stacia tonight,” I declared. I prayed my voice sounded more confident than I actually felt.
To tell you the truth, I’d felt like I was gonna hurl ever since I made the decision to propose to my long time girlfriend and love of my life.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t want to marry her. It was just that, even though I was pretty sure I knew what she was going to say, I was still terrified that she might say no.
A collective squeal sounded through the room from Emmy, Savannah and Lizzy while Jeremy, Brett, Luke and Trevor all gave me chin lifts and grunts of approval.
Lizzy snatched the ring box off the table and held it in front of her so that the women could all get a good look at it.
As soon as she opened it, all three of them fell completely silent and their mouths dropped open in awe… Or at least, I hoped it was awe.
Dear Jesus, please let it be awe.
After several seconds of silence, I finally found the nerve to speak up. “So… uh. What do you think?”
<
br /> Three pairs of eyes shot up to meet mine, and the look in them was enough to cause my balls to shrink up into my belly.
“Is this a joke?” Lizzy asked as she put the ring box back on the table with an expression on her face similar to one you’d make it you walked into a bathroom shortly after Trevor vacated it.
I ran my hand across my forehead to brush off the perspiration that was quickly building up. “Well, no. I’m proposing tonight. That’s why I called all of you here.”
Brett reached across the table and turned the box so he and the guys could see it.
“Cool!” Trevor shouted. “It looks like a gold nugget. That ring kicks ass, Gavin!”
I glanced over and saw Lizzy giving Trevor the stink eye.
“It doesn’t kick ass, you douche,” Savannah replied before turning back to me. “Gavin, sweetie, what were you thinking when you bought that ring? Were you mad at Stacia or something?”
My chest started to feel tight and the air in the room got thicker.
“What’s wrong with it?” Luke asked seriously. “I think it’s kind of nice.”
It was Emmy’s turn to give the stink eye. “Hand to God, Luke. You ever propose to me with something that looks like that…” she said that like it was a cuss word, “… and you’re never getting laid again, as long as you live.”
Luke let out a snort and rolled his eyes. “Please, like you can resist all of this.”
Stories for Amanda Page 28