by Holly Rayner
"What about you?" Richard asked. "What do you value the most?"
Kathy considered it for a moment. Unsurprisingly, her work was the first thing that came to mind. It was what she spent nearly all her time and energy on, after all. In her off time, she watched documentaries and read articles about world events, which fed into her work. When she went shopping, she was always thinking about what would look good in front of the camera.
Pretty much the only thing she did that didn't have anything to do with her work were the succulents she raised on the terrace of her condo, and she only had to water those once a week. It wasn't just that she valued work more than anything. It was that she didn't even seem to have anything in her life to compete with it. She wasn't unhappy or unfulfilled, but looking at it objectively, it did seem kind of bleak.
Before she could answer, they were interrupted by the waitress. Kathy scrambled for her menu, but she already knew what her only choice was.
"The chicken strips, please," she ordered, trying not to let her disappointment show on her face. At least she still had that leftover coconut curry waiting for her at home. She smiled, remembering Tehar bringing it for her. She'd been surprised enough that he'd remembered her mentioning that place. But he'd even remembered her favorite dish there and her allergy. It was rare to meet someone so considerate.
She realized Richard was talking again and tried to pay attention. He was still talking about how if people branched out and experienced more, their values would change, and Kathy mostly agreed but stayed mildly annoyed by the slightly stuck up, presumptuous way he said everything.
"Not everyone can afford to just drop everything and go to India, Richard." She lost her patience at last, picking at her dry, uninteresting chicken strips. The seafood looked great and the fries were good, but it was clear the strips themselves were just kept in the freezer for picky children.
"Most people can't afford to just quit their jobs and live on their savings, especially not if they have a family to support. And there are people with health issues that make traveling completely impractical."
"What, you're saying someone in a wheelchair can't go to India?" Richard scoffed. The conversation had become slightly more confrontational after Richard's first glass of wine.
"No, I'm saying travel requirements are a lot more complicated and expensive with a wheelchair," Kathy replied, exasperated. "Or a service animal, or complicated medications and routines, or mental health issues that make changing your environment stressful and dangerous. Not to mention the perfectly healthy people who just can't afford it because their job doesn't pay enough and doesn't offer vacation time."
"Obviously it's more difficult for some people," Richard insisted. "But that doesn't mean it's impossible or that they shouldn't strive for it!"
"Right." Kathy rolled her eyes. "Well, you can be the one to tell the waitress when she gets back that instead of saving her tips for bills and groceries, she should be investing in a plane ticket to India."
"Maybe she should!" Richard said, getting a little too loud. "Maybe it would change her life!"
"Yeah, and I'm sure the two kids she needs to put through college one day would really value it," Kathy said with a bark of laughter. "It wouldn't change anything! She'd spend a ton of money to get there and probably have just enough left over to do the most basic bus tour of Mumbai and go home. Then she gets to starve herself for months while she tries to make the money back. That's if she saves enough to go in the first place before her car breaks down or her kid gets sick and all those savings vanish."
"You don't even know she has kids!" Richard said, almost shouting at this point. He suddenly realized how loud he was being and sat back, embarrassed. Kathy, realizing how intense the debate had become, sat back as well, trying to tamp down her contempt.
"Sorry," Richard said after a moment. "Economics and poverty are such prickly subjects. I'm glad we can agree to disagree."
Kathy gave him a flat, unimpressed look over the wine he'd insisted she try. It just tasted just like every other wine to her.
"People are dying, Dick."
"Please don't call me that."
Kathy sighed, rubbed her temples, and shook it off.
"Right, sorry," she said. "Sorry for getting too worked up."
"It's fine," Richard dismissed her apology lightly. "Being passionate is a good thing, right?"
"Right." Kathy wasn't sure passionate was the right word. Richard wasn't a bad guy. He seemed nice enough. He wasn't bad to look at. But she looked at him and felt nothing. She wasn't expecting some big Hollywood style explosion of fireworks. But she didn't even feel excited by the prospect of dating him. And the more he talked, the more she just felt bored.
They turned the conversation back to the relatively safe topic of pop culture for the rest of the meal. The cheesecake with dinner really was good, Kathy had to admit, and the slow spectacular collapse of the sun into the sea, a cacophonous glory of red and gold like a royal murder, was a sight to behold. Richard wasn't even bad company as long as they only talked about innocuous subjects.
I could learn to like him, Kathy told herself. With time. He's far from the worst thing to settle for. He looks good, he makes good money, he's nice enough, even if he's kind of boring. I could do it. He isn't awful, he's just…
She sighed as she accepted it. He just wasn't right for her.
After eating, they walked down to the beach to enjoy the last of the sunset. The sea rushed softly in and out to their left, a low and gentle roar, competing with the more aggressive sound of the cars hurrying past on their right, like two strange animals facing off, while she and Richard wandered between them.
There was a breeze this close to the shore, stiff with the scent of the ocean, brine, and algae. The sand slid unevenly under their feet. Kathy looked out at where the first stars were appearing on the edge of the blue-green horizon, still just illuminated by the last shreds of sunlight, like a candle through a window.
"So," Richard said as a conversation about a recent children's movie remake dwindled into silence, with the tone of someone who's been wondering how to bring something up all night. "Tessa mentioned your situation. With your dad's will?"
"She did?" Kathy cringed. "God, no wonder this has been so awkward. I'm so sorry."
"It's fine," Richard said quickly. "Seriously. I'm not gonna pretend it isn't kind of a weird situation, but it's not like it's unbelievable or anything."
"It feels pretty unbelievable to me," Kathy confessed, scuffing at the sand. She'd taken her shoes off and was carrying them in one hand, her toes buried in the softness of the shore.
"So, what are your plans?" he asked. "If you find someone, I mean. Are you going to keep the kid? I mean, technically, you could give it up for adoption, right?"
"Technically, but I couldn't," Kathy replied. "I'd never be able to live with it, just having a kid for the money and them dumping them that way. Whatever else happens, if I have this kid I'm going to keep it and raise it as well as I can. I owe it that much."
"But beyond that?" Richard raised an eyebrow, the curve of his cheek lit by the rising moon.
"Beyond that, I have no idea," Kathy said with a sigh. "What about you? Any plans to have a family?"
"Well, yeah," Richard said at once. "I'm really looking forward to it, actually. I know I was going on about the whole self-improvement thing earlier, but it's really just about getting ready for that, you know? Being the best me I can be for when that happens. Being married, sharing a home with someone—making lunches and folding laundry, eating dinner with someone every night, watching TV together after the kids are in bed, the yard, the dog, the white picket fence, the whole domestic thing just gets to me, you know? I can't wait for it!"
Kathy would have doubted such enthusiasm was sincere from anyone else, but Richard somehow made it convincing. He even made it seem kind of appealing.
"That does sound kind of nice," she admitted. "I haven't really been thinking about it that
way. I've just sort of been dreading it since I found out about the will."
"Listen," Richard stopped, and the paused on the edge of the water, the surf just brushing against Kathy's toes. "I know we just met and it's a weird situation. But if this is something we both want, I don't see why we couldn't…you know, try to work it out together. Relationships have started weirder ways."
"I don't know." Kathy looked away, uncomfortable. "I don't want to do this with just anyone."
"I'm not saying we should get married right now," Richard reassured her with a laugh, reaching for her hands. "I'm just saying, what if we keep seeing each other knowing from the start we’ll get the outcome that we're both hoping for? Wouldn't it be a relief to know from the get-go that neither of us is looking for a one-night stand or a casual relationship?"
"Yeah, you're right," Kathy gave in with a small nod. "I mean, that was one of the things I was worried about tonight…"
"And just think if it works!" Richard smiled, bright and endearing. "The life we could build together! The house in the suburbs, somewhere with good schools. You can garden during the day, and we'll have dinner together every night—"
"That could be kind of difficult with my work," Kathy said, frowning.
"Well, you'd quit when you got pregnant of course," Richard said at once, quickly and dismissively as though it were irrelevant and already decided. "We'd be on the PTA together and take vacations to Disney World—"
"I'm not going to quit my job." Kathy yanked her hands from his and stepped back.
"What, you're going to be delivering the evening news while you're nine months pregnant?" Richard asked, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. "Breastfeeding while you predict next week’s weather?"
"Maternity leave exists for a reason," Kathy said stiffly. "And I'm not a weather girl."
"Keeping a job as stressful as yours while pregnant or raising a child just isn't practical," Richard insisted.
"Which is why I wanted someone around for help and support!" Kathy squared her shoulders, defensive. "If you think it's so impossible to work and raise a kid, maybe you should quit your job!"
"I make more money than you! It doesn't make any sense for me to be the one who quits his job!"
"My career is an important part of my identity. You said you didn't even care about yours!"
"This is ridiculous—I'm not going to have this argument."
Richard turned around and started stomping back up the beach without her. She followed, too offended to let it go.
"Why? Because your whole idea of 'domestic bliss' is a sexist relic?" she snapped.
"Because we're not married!" Richard shouted, turning back towards her in exasperation. "This whole hypothetical fight is just silly!"
"You're the one who brought up us working towards getting married," Kathy pointed out. "We're going to have this conversation eventually. It's a pretty basic issue of how we see our future together!"
"And how do you see our future, Kathy?" Richard held his arms out, as if inviting her to hit him with her best shot. "How do you think this is going to work? You and me both working exactly the same schedules and the kid living at daycare or with a nanny? Is that what you think your dad wanted?"
"I don't know what he wanted!" Kathy shouted, tears stinging her eyes. "I hadn't talked to the man in years!"
"Then what do you want, Kathy?" Richard demanded.
"I don't know!" Kathy put her face in her hands, overwhelmed. "I don't know. I'm still trying to figure all of this out, okay?"
"It's like I was saying before," Richard said more gently. "You can't have everything. It just doesn't work. One way or another, you're going to have to give something up."
Kathy didn't answer. She just couldn't accept it. She was never going to be able to accept it. There had to be some other way.
Richard let the silence stand for a long moment, then sighed.
"All right, I think we're probably both about done for the night," he said. "You want to go home?"
Kathy took a deep breath and settled her nerves.
"Yeah," she said. "Let's go home."
They drove in silence, speaking only to exchange Kathy's address. Kathy stared pensively out through the window, contemplating her options. The world passed by outside in a dark flicker of lights and buildings.
As they pulled up in front of Kathy's apartment, Richard parked and turned off the car. They lingered for a moment in the total silence that was the sudden absence of the engine's background rumble.
"I'm not giving up," Richard said. "I know this didn't go well, but I still think we could make it work."
"Why do you want it to work?" Kathy asked, not looking at him. "I know you want a family, but I can't imagine you'd have much difficulty finding someone willing to make a family with you. So, why do you want to make it work with me? Is it because I'm being forced into this? Because I can't get cold feet and back out?"
"No," Richard said quickly, and then caught himself. "Maybe. I guess getting there is more important to me than who I get there with. I never said my motives were perfect, okay? But I want this, and you need to do this, so why not work together?"
Kathy shook her head.
"I'll think about it," she said, opening the car door. "Thank you, Richard. I'm sorry for being so…you know."
"It's fine," Richard assured her. "You're under a lot of pressure. If you're interested, maybe we could try again next weekend?"
Kathy got out of the car, pausing at the offer.
"Maybe," she agreed. "I'll text you. Good night, Richard."
He said good night and she closed the door, heading upstairs to her apartment. The condo was empty, and Kathy found herself wishing Tessa was there to commiserate with. Instead, she kicked off her heels, washed off her makeup, and fell into her bed. A moment later, her phone lit up, illuminating the blankets she'd pulled over her head.
You home? I thought I heard your door.
It was a text from Tessa. Though Kathy had just been wishing to talk to her friend, suddenly she was tempted to pretend she wasn't there and go to sleep. She picked up the phone and texted back.
Yeah, she wrote.
Tessa responded almost immediately.
How'd it go?
Kathy contemplated how to answer for a long moment. How to describe the awkward disaster that this evening had been?
Bad.
Oh no. Tessa's reply was instantaneous and accompanied by a worried emoji. Was he a creep?
No, he was fine. Kathy poked limply at the buttons of her phone, slow with exhaustion. Nice, good looking. Wants a family. I can’t believe you told him about my dad's will.
I thought it would help hurry things along! The emoji this time had a sheepish blush.
Kathy rolled onto her back with a huff.
But it sounds like he was perfect! Tessa continued. What happened?
He was great. Just boring. No connection.
Maybe one will happen with time?
That's what he said.
So, he's interested in being your baby daddy? Shocked emoji.
Please don't call it that. Yeah.
So, he literally couldn't get any more perfect basically?
Yeah. And I still don't want to do it. Not with him anyway. He wanted me to quit my job and be a housewife.
Oh. Screw him then. Gun emoji, gun emoji, angry face.
That's about how I reacted, Kathy wrote back. I was not at my best tonight.
Honestly hun, you haven't been at your best for a while. I know you like to pretend your dad dying didn't faze you but…
A pause, followed by a shrug emoji.
Kathy didn't know how to reply. She pulled the blankets over her head again and closed her eyes. She just wanted to sleep and not think about this. A few minutes later her phone chimed with another text.
Get some rest, the message said. We'll talk about it tomorrow.
Kathy was sometimes very grateful to have Tessa for a friend. She wrestled out of her bra wit
hout taking off her dress or leaving the bed, dropped it off the edge, and went to sleep.
Chapter Four
In the dream, she was four or five. She could see her hands, small and chubby, pressed to the flat, scratchy office carpet. It was that particular shade of vomitus seventies orange that she would never understand the appeal of. She could see it so clearly, the abrasive nylon fibers, the indented tracks from the wheels of her father's office chair. He was sitting above her, speaking in a low, genial voice into the microphone about community events and traffic.
She'd loved watching him work back then. He'd been so different when he was in front of a microphone, warm and paternal. He'd had this way of laughing, this fond fatherly chuckle, that made it seem like everything was going to be all right. He was rarely, if ever, that way at home—when he did come home. Those had been the good days when he was working at the local radio station and he was home almost every night.
Kathy had been too young to remember much, but her mother spoke of those days with an equal measure of yearning and bitterness. He'd been home, yes, and for a while that had been great. But soon his restlessness grew to resentment, and they both began to wish he were home a little less. By the time Kathy was six, he'd quit and they'd moved from Colorado to Washington for a field reporting job. A few years after that, he and Kathy's mother had separated for the first time. Kathy and her mother had gone back to the family home in Colorado and he'd bounced around all over the world, returning every few months and only for a few days before vanishing again.
Her mother had said their relationship worked better when they didn't spend too much time together.
But all of that was in the future. Right now, she was a four-year-old in jean overalls with a pink toy mic in her hand and a notepad in her bib pocket that she pretended to take interviews with because she wanted to be just like him.