On the Verge

by Ariella Papa

  “Perhaps you can write an exposé on the myth of the New York Kiss.” When Tabitha gets back, we smoke another pack of cigarettes and drink many more cosmopolitans. We do a little dancing, even though it isn’t that kind of place. Our friend the British bartender, Clive, encourages us, shouting, “There you go, sweethearts.” I drink myself into oblivion and forget about the magazine. For a little while.

  Rob is the only one in the elevator when I get in the next day. Hungover, the only thing I had on my mind was getting to my desk as quickly as possible. I am wearing my most comfy pair of pants and pale lipstick that won’t be too harsh against my colorless, dehydrated skin. He raises an eyebrow at me. I lean against the back wall of the elevator and wait for someone else to come running in, screaming, “Hold the elevator.” Someone always does, but not today. “So, um, what’s up?”

  “Not much. How was Jacksonville?”

  “Hot. I’ve been crazy busy since I got back.”

  “So what are you doing in this elevator bank, reorganizing some more people?” He looks at me and somehow manages to make me feel like a shit.

  “I doubt you even cared that much, Eve. I’m sure you were somewhere else during the whole thing. As usual.” The “as usual” kills me. I am too tired to get into it with him. Silence is always a better approach in these situations. After a little while he says, “I miss you.”

  “You miss me? But, you’re ‘crazy busy,’ right? And I guess that’s the reason you didn’t call? No time whatsoever.”

  “Eve, c’mon.”

  “C’mon, what? I thought we were seeing each other.”

  “Eve, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.” I don’t want to hear this. I mean, I want to know what’s up, but I don’t want it to be this. I still feel like he’s into me, though. At least I’ve got that on my side.

  I watch the numbers ascending. We haven’t stopped at a single floor, but it’s taking forever. It would be wonderful to be stuck in the elevator with him, eventually we’d have to start hooking up. There’s got to be cameras in the elevator though, and he’d probably never go for it. Our rescue crew would watch encouragingly, happy that we weren’t freaking out.

  We are two slow floors away from mine. Fuck it! I grab him and sort of push him against the wall. I have to get on my tiptoes and reach up. We wind up bumping chins, but he settles into the kiss quick enough. I look him in the eyes right as we get to my floor. I hold on to him daringly, the doors are about to open, but he doesn’t push me away. If anything, he holds me closer.

  “Let me know if you figure out whether or not it’s a good idea.” I get out of the elevator. I love feeling like I’m in a movie. I stop in the bathroom on the way to my desk to switch lipsticks. The color has definitely returned to my face.

  I feel a little high until I head to the kitchen for my morning coffee. Everyone is gathered around whispering. I am not going to cater to this craziness, I’ve got my own life, my own agenda. I grab for my Prescott cup, but to my surprise, all the cups have been replaced by wretched cups that say Breathe. Wow! These people work fast.

  “What do you think of that, Eve?” says Gary, my new best friend. “They must have put in that order at least three weeks ago. By the way, they’ve canceled today’s meeting. So much for keeping us up to date on what’s going on.” Thankfully, a fellow disgruntled employee is right there to chime in with complaints. It’s a Yoga for Life-er. I’m psyched that they can find a common bond. I sneak away.

  This morning is already turning into too much of an emotional roller coaster. I need someone who can comfort me with their tone. I call my mom. It’s been a while since I spoke to her. She hasn’t been checking up on me that much. Maybe she thinks I’m growing up. I’m not sure if I like that. The phone rings a bunch of times before my dad picks up.

  “Hey, Daddy. What are you doing home today?”

  “Oh, you know, I just thought I’d take the day off.” I hear him exhale cigarette smoke. I think the whole idea of phones makes him uncomfortable.

  “So, is Mom around?” He exhales again.

  “Actually, your mother is lying down.”

  “Why? Is she sick?”

  “Allergies or something. I don’t know.” My father, typically uninvolved.

  “Okay, Daddy, just tell her I called. No big deal. She can call me whenever. And tell her I hope she feels better.”

  “Okay, ’bye.” Weird.

  That afternoon something wonderful happens that, unfortunately, I can only attribute to my relationship with Rob King and the strangeness of the day. Apparently, Prescott gets a new staff member. She’s not his direct assistant, but she’s got something to do with arranging his schedule. She must have got my name off the e-mail that Sherman sent out regarding Rob being out of the office. This new coordinator or whatever dubious title she has, is obviously a dingbat, because she has included me on a list of people I don’t recognize. She wants to arrange a meeting with us and Prescott to discuss our jobs and the future of Prescott Nelson Inc.

  It’s not like Herb is on it and I am just cc’ed as his assistant. No, I am on it with no assistant. This woman must think I am someone who deserves a meeting with Prescott, in May of all times. I call Tabitha. “Why do you torment me with the drink?”

  “You do it to yourself, sweetheart.”

  “Next time I do this to myself, you need to take action. Aren’t you hungover?”

  “Well, I was until I mauled Rob King in the elevator and got an e from one of Prescott’s assistants about meeting the man in May.”

  “You’re doing too many of those tongue twisters you love to do. There are cameras in the elevators, I can’t believe Rob let himself be mauled. Please tell me you are not meeting Prescott. Remember when he smiled at you?”

  “All too well. It was the happiest day of my working life.”

  “I don’t get this meeting, though.”

  “Neither do I. It’s just a mistake. Eventually, they’ll realize how low I am.”

  “Wait, so you’re not going to meet with him?”

  “Not if he wants to meet with a division leader. I can’t just worm my way in.”

  “Why the hell not? You got an invite. Please, Eve, don’t let me get too excited. Every time I talk I feel like I am going to throw up. Respond that you would love to go. C’mon, Eve, you somehow lucked into this. It’s not even something you can be morally opposed to for whatever fucked reason you were opposed to the job at Food and Fun, this is just a fluke.”

  “I don’t appreciate the job comment, Tabitha, especially when I didn’t get it. And for the record, it wasn’t the job I was opposed to, it was asking Rob for help.”

  “Well, Eve, looks like you are going to have deal with it while I go throw up.” She hangs up on me. Nice.

  I read the e-mail over again. It’s funny how human error and simple language can bring a thrill to your life. Of course, I can’t respond right away—that would be a tip-off. Maybe, most people do respond right away because it’s Prescott and he commands respect. Maybe it’s a tip-off if I don’t respond right away. If I was a vice-president I would be in meetings all day, I wouldn’t even check my e-mails, my assistant would. I wouldn’t find out about this e-mail (although it would most likely be on the top of a stack) until tonight and then I would have to take some time to check my schedule and make sure everything was cool.

  I will respond tomorrow. It doesn’t stop me from reading the e-mail over and over again all day and imagining the response and then the meeting and then Prescott asking me to join his secret think tank, because I represent the confused post college Generation X that is so underrepresented at board meetings.

  The next day, without too much analyzing or thought about the proper etiquette, I shoot off an e-mail to Prescott Nelson’s confused coordinator asking her how May 16 would be. It’s a week before my twenty-fourth birthday and I think it’ll be lucky.

  By the end of the day I have an e-mail back (I swear I hadn’t even started to wo
rry) that confirms my appointment for 3:00 p.m.

  I print out the e-mail confirmation and vow to save the e-mail in its own special folder forever. I have proof now and there’s no way they can stop me.

  But, I have this weird nagging feeling all day. Everyone is up-tight and on edge and I hate to think I feel this way, because of this whole “transition.” Tabitha can’t talk to me because the Big C is out sick and Roseanne is right in the middle of an audit, whatever that means. I call Monica, but she has no answering machine. It sucks.

  I break down and try my mom again. My dad answers once again.

  “Dad? You’re home again? What’s going on? How’s Mom?”

  “Eve—” I hear my dad exhaling smoke “—I think you better come home this weekend.”

  March

  My father managed to give me no details about what was going on, just that my mom was okay and they didn’t want or need me to come home before Friday. He put my mom on the phone. She sounded slightly feeble, but did her best to assure me that everything was really fine and they would tell me all about it on Friday. I couldn’t get in touch with my sister all week, which wasn’t very comforting. I imagined her camped out with Chuck somewhere, removed from all forms of civilization.

  I pumped my dad for details in the car on the way home from the bus station. He wasn’t saying a word, he was just chewing a lot of gum. I kept waiting for him to pull out a cigarette, but he didn’t. Although I had never seen it before, I knew as soon as we pulled into the driveway that the van parked in front of the house was Chuck’s.

  “Monica’s home? How long has Monica been home?” I try to ask my dad, but he is already barreling up to the house.

  Chuck is the first person I see when I get in. He gives me this huge hug. Chuck isn’t a small guy, he could have at least waited for me to take my backpack off.

  “How are you doing, Eve? Are you hanging in there?” Chuck looks into my eyes like he’s a counselor. Any minute now, he’s going to pull out his guitar and start singing.

  “So, where’s my mom?” Then, I hear her come in with Monica behind her.

  “Hi, honey.” Mom hugs me. She feels skinnier. She keeps smiling at me. It feels forced. I have a sick feeling in my stomach.

  “What’s going on, Mommy, are you sick?”

  “No, I’m going to be fine, just fine, I made snacks. You like artichoke dip right, Eve?” She scurries into the kitchen. I glare at Monica.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Hi, Eve, how are you?”

  “Cut the shit, Monica, since when?” Chuck starts to say something and Monica puts her hand on his shoulder.

  “Wednesday.” Wednesday? I turn to my father, who is fingering his shirt pocket. He would usually have his cigarettes there, but today he has none.

  “How come I had to wait till Friday, but Monica was here on Wednesday?”

  “Eve, don’t be such a baby,” shitty Monica says.

  “Times like this can be very trying on families, but the important thing is that you stick together,” shitty Chuck says. Thanks for the update. My dad opens a drawer.

  “Dad, don’t do it,” squeals, Monica, “you are doing so well.”

  “What’s going on, Dad? Why aren’t you smoking?”

  “Eve, it’s a good thing. Why don’t you leave him alone?” I haven’t smacked my sister since I was seven years old, but I have a feeling I’m going to any minute. Of course, my mother, who is trying to harness the sun in her smile, comes back with her dip and some bread. Monica and I both reach to grab stuff out of her hands.

  “I’m fine, I got it.” My mom starts chattering away. She asks me about Roseanne.

  “Roseanne’s fine. Maybe I should have brought her, but I thought this was a family meeting.” I stare at Monica and Chuck.

  “Eve, grow up.” I hate my sister. Now is the time to get in touch with my inner child. I clench my fist. My father clears his throat. We quiet down.

  “Mom, can you tell me what’s wrong?” I can tell by Monica’s face that she knows already, which means—worse—Chuck knows already. It’s easy for her to pretend to be mature and supportive when all her questions have been answered.

  “Well, honey, first of all, I’m feeling fine, truly.” She drops her voice an octave. “A while back I found a lump in my breast.”

  “What? When?”

  “Well, it was just before Christmas.”

  “Just before Christmas? That was over two months ago! How come you didn’t say a word to anyone?”

  “Well,” says my mom. Then I realize that she told Monica. I can’t believe this. She told Monica two months ago. That means this stranger hippie jerk knew the status of my mother’s health before I did. That stings. “Eve, we just didn’t want to worry you, you’ve got a lot going on with your job.”

  “Oh, like I don’t,” says Monica, annoyed.

  “Hey, at least someone let you in on this. So you could alert the hippie community and think about all the ways it affects your mental health.”

  “Eve, shut up!”

  “Monica, can you even go to the bathroom without an audience?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Monica stands up, and I stand up, too.

  “This is supposed to be a family thing, yet we have to have an audience. Mom doesn’t even like saying the word ‘breast’ in front of Dad, let alone Art Garfunkel, here.”

  “Eve, you are out of control.” I can tell my mom is trying to talk to us, but I’m too mad to stop yelling at Monica. Finally, Chuck, who gives the impression he is the embodiment of a Tibetan buddhist, yells “Hey!” loud enough to shock everyone, including my dad, who needs a cigarette now more than ever. We all turn to him.

  “Eve, you’ve got a point. I would like to be considered a part of this family, but maybe it’s best if you all deal with this on your own for a while. I’ll be out in the van.”

  I manage a quiet, “Thanks.” My parents go into the details of her lumpectomy and how she is getting chemo treatments now, but it’s going to be a little while before they realize if all the cancer is gone.

  Then it hits me, just how serious it is. It’s the way my father rests his arm lightly around my mother’s shoulder and how she kind of leans into him. They never really show that much affection. They always just seem to exist around each other, instead of for each other. Is she going to be okay? She has to be, she’s my mom.

  “I’m going to be okay, Eve. The doctors caught it just in time. They are very optimistic, but I’m not going to be myself for a while and I thought that now would be a good time to tell you.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay, Eve?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. I’m just worried about you.” She smiles again.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to be fine.” Easier said than believed.

  I’m mad at my dad for not telling me. I try to stay clear of him all weekend, which usually isn’t a problem, because he stays clear of me. But this weekend it seems like he is making the attempt to talk to me. Monica and I scowl at each other the whole time and seem to be in competition for who can be more doting. It’s tough because my parents are enforcing celibacy on Chuck and Monica, so Monica and I have to sleep together in the den. She sticks me with the recliner. We argue over who is making each meal and Chuck steps in to be diplomatic. I should have known he would be like this when Monica told me he was once a social work student.

  Chuck makes all these little schedules for how we should divvy up the responsibilities, right down to cutting carrots. I’d like to tell him to go fuck himself, but my mom seems to think it’s great that we’re all working together. She can see into the kitchen from her chair in the living room and she keeps saying, “My girls.” It would be the perfect picture of familial bliss if I didn’t hate all of them, except of course my mom. Every time I look at her I want to cry.

  Monica takes the week off (yeah, so much to do, Monica, real full life). I take a personal day on Monday. Lorraine, who se
ems to have more and more work piling up, sounds annoyed about my timing. She takes two days when her dog vomits on her rug.

  On Monday, Monica goes for a long drive with Chuck. My mom and I finally have a chance to chill and we play cards and watch soaps. But once we’re alone, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells, like I don’t really want to look at her. Her wrists seem really tiny to me. I can’t believe they’ve always been that small.

  Monday night Rob calls me at home. He called me in the city and Roseanne told him what was going on. Monica hovers around me in the kitchen as I’m talking to him. I’m so glad we aren’t talking to each other, because I know it’s killing her now.

  “Are you doing okay, Ms. Vitali?” he asks after I explain the situation.

  “I don’t know, this is all too weird. My mom seems fine, like the doctors have got it all under control, but she’s not herself. She’s just different.”

  “I think stuff like this is always an adjustment. It’s going to change her life and yours for a while. Maybe you should talk to her doctors.” I can’t believe he is being so awesome. I wish I could really enjoy it, but more than anything it’s just nice to have someone that I can tell all my worries to. I certainly can’t tell my parents and I don’t want to tell Monica.

  “What bothers me the most is that they just took care of it without ever telling me.”

  “Eve, sometimes, I think people tend to see you as this little self-sufficient being, who needs to have her space.” What?

  “I don’t see that. I love having my space invaded, especially if it’s done right.”

  “Yeah, and you always say the perfect thing to deflect it, too. You’ve always got that faraway look in your eye.”

  “Well, I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I don’t know if now is the best time to get into it. I’ve been exerting enough bad energy onto Monica, I don’t think I have the strength to get pissy with you.”

  “Well, that’s refreshing. Hey, want to have dinner tomorrow?”

  “I’ll have to see if I have the space. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”