by Zoe Fishman
“What do you mean?”
“You never called me back. And I called you twice. What happened to that date we were supposed to go on?” He looked her in the eyes, earnestly.
Wow, thought Sabine, her resolve turning to goo. No, Sabine! Don’t get lost in his raisin jewels and forget about Blondie!
“Oh, uh. . .sorry. I’ve been busy and. . .” Sabine paused mid-sentence. She could either play it cool and lie about her reasons for avoiding him or take a chance and tell him the truth. If she told him the truth, she would be putting herself out there. She thought about what Charlie had spoken about in class on Saturday and went for it.
“Actually no, wait. That’s not true. I haven’t been that busy. I’m confused.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
Sabine took a deep breath before continuing. “That whole ‘no sex’ thing the last time we hung out. It really messed with my head.”
“I thought I explained myself about the sex. You told me you understood, but I guess that’s not the case.”
“I know you said you didn’t want to have it because you liked me, but it ended up making me feel like you didn’t want me.”
They sat in silence for a minute, listening to the birds chirp excitedly about spring’s imminent arrival.
“And then something else happened,” offered Sabine.
“What?” asked Zach, a look of concern clouding his raisin jewels. “Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” answered Sabine, resisting the urge to pat his hand. Any physical contact at this point was a bad idea. “I saw you with another chick,” she blurted out.
“You did?! When? Where?”
“Walking down the street together last Saturday morning, when I was coming home from yoga,” said Sabine. “I only saw the back of you, but I dunno. . .it looked suspicious.”
Zach put his head in his hands and exhaled. “Yeah, that was me.”
“Had she stayed over the night before?” she asked, her voice shaky with sadness. She had so wished that Zach would either deny it had been him or tell her that it was his cousin. His response to her question indicated that that, unfortunately, was not the case. “I mean, we don’t even know each other, so I realize that it’s silly of me to feel any sort of rightful claim on your love life whatsoever. But it made me sad, seeing you like that. And then angry. So when you called, I figured I would get out now, before I got hurt. It seemed easier to ignore you.”
“Let me explain,” said Zach. “That was not a morning-after situation, that I swear to. Okay?”
“Okay,” answered Sabine.
“But I was with my ex-girlfriend and we were going to brunch,” he continued.
“Please don’t tell me you’re ‘on a break,’” she whimpered. She needed another one of those like she needed a hole in her head.
“I’m not. We are broken up. It’s over and it has been for a few months now.”
“Then why are you going to brunch together?” Sabine was a firm believer in the fact that old lovers could not, in fact, be friends. It was impossible, in her book. Someone always had an agenda.
“She’s having a tough time with it,” he explained. “And I don’t mean to sound like some narcissistic asshole. I don’t think it’s about me at all, really, I just think she has trouble being single.”
“Oh, she’s one of those?”
“One of what?” asked Zach, annoyed by Sabine’s assumption.
“Sorry, I don’t mean anything by it. I just mean that I know women like that. Women who have trouble being alone. I’m not. . .I’m not one of those women.”
“I know,” said Zach. “That’s one of the reasons I dig you so much.”
Sabine turned to him and smiled. “You dig me?”
“I do.”
“Is she going to be a part of your life indefinitely?” asked Sabine.
“No,” answered Zach firmly. “You’re the first girl I’ve really liked since we broke up, hence my wanting to wait to sleep with you. Even though I want to. . .badly. It’s all I can think about most days.” Sabine blushed. That’s more like it. “I asked her to brunch so I could tell her about you.”
“You did?”
“Yep. She didn’t take the news so well.”
“I’m sorry this is so complicated for you,” said Sabine, giving into her impulse and grabbing his hand.
“Hey, life is complicated,” said Zach, squeezing her hand in return. “I promise that’s the whole truth and nothing but.”
“Your story wasn’t the one I was expecting to hear, but it makes me feel exponentially better. Thanks for being so honest with me.”
“You’re welcome. Sorry I stalked you.”
Sabine laughed. “That’s okay. Sorry I ignored you.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” asked Zach, moving closer. “You’re cold as ice!”
“Hardly.” Sabine moved in closer to him, and suddenly they were kissing. A long, beautiful, soft, sweet but not too sweet, just the right kind of kiss.
“You look beautiful,” said Zach. “I missed your face.”
“Yeah, right. Aren’t the bags under my eyes gorgeous?”
“No bags,” said Zach, touching her cheek. “How was class on Saturday, by the way?”
“It was great. The women in my class are really excellent people. They make me proud of my gender.”
“Wow, that’s a really cool thing to say,” said Zach. “I can’t remember the last time I was proud of my gender.” He paused to think. “Oh, maybe Obama. He makes me proud to be a black man.”
“But you’re not a black man!” shrieked Sabine.
“I’m not?!” asked Zach, feigning surprise. He laughed.
“Listen, I’m working on the copy for the studio website, so I better get going.” A huge part of her wanted to just stay right there, on her stoop snuggling with Zach, but she had to get her work done.
“Studio website?” asked Zach.
“Yeah, one of the women in our class is a web designer, so she’s designing a site for them. She asked me to write the copy.”
“Very cool. Okay.” He stood up and grabbed Sabine’s hands, pulling her up to face him. “Can I see you soon?”
“Yes,” answered Sabine.
“When?”
“Well, I want to turn the copy in tomorrow. What about tomorrow night?”
“Works for me,” said Zach, pulling her toward him for a hug. “Maybe I’ll cook you dinner.”
“That sounds nice,” Sabine murmured into his neck. God, he smelled good.
She loosened her grasp and tilted her chin to kiss him good-bye. “See you soon.”
“Yeah,” said Zach. “Soon. I’ll call you tomorrow. I don’t want you disappearing again.”
Sabine smiled and waved good-bye. No need to worry about that, she thought, as she closed the front door behind her. Safely in her apartment, she retrieved her phone from her bag and scrolled through to the M’s.
“Hello?” her mother answered.
“Hi, Mama,” Sabine replied.
“Sabine!” she shrieked. “Where have you been? I thought you were dead.”
“Mom, it’s only been two days since we last spoke,” explained Sabine, already exasperated.
“Two days is a long time,” her mother replied. “I thought to myself: well, she’s either dead in a ditch somewhere or she’s in love. Obviously, you’re alive, so I take it you worked things out with the subway Romeo?”
Sabine laughed. “Mom, if you thought I was dead, why didn’t you call the police?”
“How do you know I didn’t? Okay, okay, I didn’t really think you were dead. But I was worried. Don’t do that to your mama, okay? I’m old and feeble. I need a check-in.”
“Mom, you’re more sprightly than a four-year-old. Feeble, my ass.”
“Well, you do have a point,” her mother admitted. “Did I tell you that I started Rollerblading?”
“You did not! Mom! Jesus! I hope you’re wearing a helmet for
God’s sake.”
“I am, don’t get your panties in a wad,” she replied. She lowered her voice. “Honey, my new boyfriend is forty-four! I’m officially a cougar!”
Sabine laughed. “Wow, Mom! That is pretty impressive. Is he your Rollerblading inspiration?”
“You got it. Let me tell you, the sex—”
“Mom! That’s okay, I got it,” replied Sabine, cutting her off mid-sentence. It was bad enough to admit that your mother’s sex life was more active than your own. Details were unnecessary.
“Fine, be a prude, Sabine. Listen, you never answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Don’t be coy, missy. How’s the Subway Crush? Is he worthy of the most beautiful, funniest, smartest, most sophisticated woman in the world?”
“And who is that?” asked Sabine, grinning into the phone.
“You, my bean,” she replied. “You know I worship you.”
“Thanks, Mom. And yes, he seems worthy. I took some time to think about things and ignored him for a bit. When I came home from work tonight, he was sitting on my stoop. We had a good talk and. . .I think things are going to be okay between us.”
“Oh good! You sound so much better than you did on Saturday. Talk about a sourpuss. Does he still have a job? Is he good in bed?”
“Jesus, Mom, relax with all the questions! He’s a really great guy.”
“Oh honey, sorry for all of my nosiness. You know I can’t help it, it’s in my blood.”
“I am good, Mom.” She briefly considered telling her mother more, but decided against it. She wanted to keep the details to herself. For a while at least.
“Good, honey. You sound happy. I like when you sound happy. What else is going on? How’s the writing?”
“I’m actually working on a project right now.” Being able to say that was such a gift, as opposed to her usual noncommittal, vague response. It made her just as happy as talking about Zach.
“That’s terrific!” exclaimed her mother. “Tell me about it.”
“You know that yoga class I’ve been taking?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, one of my classmates is a graphic designer. She’s designing the website for the studio, and she asked me to handle the copy.”
“Bean, that’s great news! Are you enjoying it?”
“I really am. I’m about three quarters of the way through at this point,” she explained. “I just have to work out some kinks about some hair product descriptions.”
“Hair products? I thought this was a yoga website.”
“It is, but one of the owners creates her own hair products. We’re linking to her line.”
“I don’t understand all of this web jargon, but it sounds like a great opportunity. I’m so proud of you, Sabine. You’re really in charge. Work, writing, a man, a nice dose of self-respect. . .you’re juggling all the good stuff.”
“Thanks,” said Sabine, surprising herself by tearing up at her praise.
“I have to go now. Got a dinner cruise date with Ron.”
“Ron? He sounds like a porn star.”
“Maybe he is! Wouldn’t that just float your boat!?”
“Moooooom! Gross.”
“I love you so much, Bean. You’re my hero.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you, too. Have fun!” Sabine hung up the phone and gazed out the window, watching the sun set over the city, turning the sky into cotton candy as it inched its way down.
Chapter Forty
Naomi
Naomi stood at the bottom of the stairs of her brownstone. The journey to the inside of her apartment seemed impossibly arduous. She sat and rubbed her puffy eyes. She had been crying since 1:42 PM, when her doctor had told her that it was “probable MS.” Probable because of the three lesions in your brain and the large one at the base of your cervical spine. Probable because their location is concurrent with early MS. Probable because we can’t tell you it’s definite until you have a second episode.
“And when will that happen?” she had asked. “This elusive second episode?”
“We have no idea.”
“NO IDEA?”
“It could be three weeks; it could be five years; it could very well never happen at all. We just don’t know.”
Even with all of the MS research she had done on her own, Naomi was still stunned by the unjust unpredictability of this crazy disease. You’re a planner? Too bad. You want a real answer? Too bad. Your real answer is delivered only via an episode that renders you immobile for—hopefully, if you’re lucky—a few days or weeks, or, like her mother’s friend Elizabeth, takes your sight in one eye for a month. You may get your mobility or your eyesight back, but there is no assurance of that. Nobody knows.
“The good news is, if you do have it, it’s early. And the medicine available today can really alter its course,” explained her doctor. Naomi could barely see his face through her tears.
“What kind of medicine?”
“There are a few kinds. Blah blah blah blah. Needles. Every day blah blah blah or once a week blah blah blah. There are side effects but they’re manageable.” How is a disease manageable if you have to stick yourself with a needle every day? That’s manageable? What’s unmanageable? Imminent death? That’s the quantifier?
Before the appointment was over, Naomi had scheduled a spinal tap for the following week. This was another way to maybe determine MS before another episode walloped her (or didn’t). Again, here, the vagueness was infuriating. Around eighty percent of people who had MS had a positive tap. But wait, don’t get too excited if yours is negative! Twenty percent of MS patients have a negative tap. What was the point really?
I guess, in a perverted way, I hope I get a positive tap. At least then I would know, or sort of know, and the idea of medication wouldn’t seem so ludicrous. Okay doctor, whatever you say. Oh, that’s $6,000 a year for meds? With no formal diagnosis? Sure, here’s my check. Naomi wondered if she was so antimedicine because living in denial of the MS was a hell of a lot more pleasant than facing it every day with a big fat shot in the ass.
Naomi heard the window being raised upstairs. She’d been spotted.
“Mom, whatcha doin’?” called Noah from above. He lifted the screen and stuck his little head out. Naomi could hear Gene reprimanding him. She composed herself as best she could. She had to tell her little man today. “Baby, get your body back in that window!” she yelled. “Right now!” She heard the screen slam shut.
“Sorry, Naomi!” yelled Gene.
Turning to make her way in, she heard galloping down the stairs inside and smiled. Nothing was better than Noah’s excitement to see her every time she walked through the door.
“Mooooooooom!” he yelled, scrambling down the stairs to hug her. He smelled like peanut butter and orange juice.
“Hi, baby,” said Naomi, nuzzling his neck. “Careful of your cast!”
“How was the doctor?”
“Hey, Naomi,” greeted Gene, coming down the stairs after him in his jacket. “You okay?”
No. “Oh yeah, fine. Listen, thanks for picking Noah up today.”
“No problem. Anytime.” He locked eyes with Naomi, not buying her story. Anyone could see that she had been crying. “You give me a call if you want to.” She supposed she had to tell him, but not anytime soon.
“I will, Gene. Thanks.”
“Bye, Noah. See you Sunday.”
“Bye, Dad!” They hugged and Gene waved once more before walking away. “What happened at the doctor, Mom?” Noah asked again.
“Well. . .some stuff is going on with me.” Although she was trying with every ounce of her strength not to cry, a tear slid down her cheek.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” He put his warm hand on hers.
She took a deep breath. “I might be sick. The kind of sick that doesn’t go away, like a cold. You always have it, but some times are much worse than others.”
“Oh.” Noah’s brown eyes swam with concern. “Like
Morgan’s mom? She has cancer.”
“Sort of like that. But this sickness isn’t life-threatening. It’s more like a huge inconvenience. And sometimes I might not be able to walk or see or talk as well. It’s a disease that affects the nervous system.”
“Oh, so your spinal cord?” Suddenly my kid is Jonas Salk?
“Yes, exactly. It’s called multiple sclerosis. And, excuse me, how’d you get so smart?”
“Mom, I’m not a babyyyyyy.”
She pulled him close, careful not to jiggle his cast. “Anyway, we’re not sure if I have it yet. I have to get a spinal tap next week.”
“That doesn’t sound fun.”
“It won’t be.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Not so bad, I don’t think.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Noah’s hand still clasping hers. The sun filtered through the budding leaves on the trees and above them two birds sang to each other. Mr. Smithers walked his fourteen-year-old lab, Mikey, past them.
“Hey, Noah,” he grumbled. “Gonna be baseball season soon, huh?”
“Yeah,” answered Noah noncommittally. Mr. Smithers continued on his way, unphased by Noah’s lack of enthusiasm.
“So,” said Naomi.
“So,” repeated Noah. “I don’t think you’re sick, Mom. You don’t look sick.”
“I know, and we’re not sure yet if I really am. But the fact is that I might be. I wasn’t going to tell you until I knew for sure, but I thought I should go ahead and let you know. You’re a big boy.”
“Yes, I am,” answered Noah solemnly. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Noah.”
He hugged her fiercely with his free arm, surprising her with his strength.
Chapter Forty-One
Final Class
Mornin’, sunshine!” cooed Julian as he strolled into the studio. Charlie looked up from her mat. She had come in early to do some stretching before class. She couldn’t believe that this was it. How could six weeks have passed so quickly, yet so much have changed? It boggled her mind.
“Hey, hot stuff,” she replied. “How are you on this beautiful Saturday?”