by Abbi Waxman
Anyway, I’m leaving you this car, and also the savings account. Your mom refused to take money from me, so I put it away for you. One hundred dollars every week you’ve been alive, plus interest, and it’s ended up being an excellent example of the miracle of compounding. Spend it on something amusing. If you want to sell the car, please offer it to Moltres first; he loves it. Don’t be fooled by his gruff exterior. He’s really a pussycat and a good man. I’m not suggesting you marry him or anything, but he’ll give you a fair price.
Here’s the thing, Nina. I have a feeling you and I are very alike. I know you love books even more than I do, and I know you enjoy being alone. (Yes, I stalked you a little bit online as you got older. There’s nothing you can do about it now that I’m dead. Sorry.) But I made mistakes in my life, and I want to give you some advice.
Oh God, just like Becky had said. Tablets of stone. Advice from beyond the grave.
I was an anxious child, with parents who didn’t like me. My father wanted a big, brave boy, and my mother wanted my father to be happy. I learned very early on how to cover up, and cover up well. I was terrified of the other kids at school, even more than the teachers. So I kept my head down, got all A’s, didn’t make eye contact, and ran home every night to do homework and read. I rode that horse all the way through college. I don’t have a single friend from those days, and when my parents died, I didn’t know enough about them to write a eulogy. I asked a neighbor to do it.
Eventually, I discovered drinking, and that helped, right up until it didn’t. It certainly helped me achieve my primary goal, which was to avoid feeling uncomfortable at all costs. Difficult feelings? Drink and get numb. Painful relationship? Drink and leave. Children who need me, or whose mothers needed me? Drink, leave, and pretend it was for their benefit. I was a real loser, Nina, as I’m sure your brother and sisters have told you.
Ultimately, after Archie’s mom, Rosie, died, my life fell apart completely. On the surface it was better than ever. The firm was thriving, my bank account was enormous, I had beautiful girlfriends and lovely cars and no joy at all. I drank myself to sleep and hoped I didn’t dream.
Then I got lucky: Eliza walked into the middle of this disaster and pulled me out. She helped me stop drinking, she helped me get into therapy, she helped me start over. There was something about her, a deep reservoir of calm and confidence I could cling to. For the first time it was acceptable to simply be me. But there was nothing she could do to fix the crap I’d left in my wake, and I’ll admit it: It was easier for me to walk away than it would have been to go back and make it all right. I could see how much damage I had done, but I told myself it was too late, anyway. The truth is I was scared of my own kids, and how angry they were, so I hid on the other side of town.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t enjoy being alone; there’s a lot to be said for it. But if you’re choosing to be alone because you’re scared of other people, resist that fear. Trust people with your truth, and bravely tell them you’re not brave at all.
Finally, hold on to the family you’ve suddenly acquired; they’re my real gift to you. And you, dear Nina, are my gift to them.
He signed it,
Love, Dad
Well, damn, thought Nina. I guess I left the window open; there’s rain all over my face.
Twenty-seven
In which Nina delivers a letter.
Lydia lived in Santa Monica, which would normally be enough reason to avoid her all on its own. But now Nina had a mission, so the next day she crossed the 405 for the second time in a week, and made her glacial way down Olympic Boulevard.
Santa Monica is literally a separate city from Los Angeles, albeit one with no perceptible border or an inch of physical separation. It even has its own weather. Cooler, foggier, more, you know, coastal. It has fierce devotees who regard the East side of LA with the same disdain Nina had for the West side, but as they tended to be richer, more opinionated, and deeply into things like crystals and colonic irrigation, Nina didn’t worry about it.
Lydia lived on 16th Street, in a nice residential neighborhood, where presumably she could wreak havoc with her neighbor’s peace and quiet. Nina’s intention was to drop off the letter and walk away as swiftly as possible, but as she approached the front door, it opened and Lydia stood there.
“Are you coming to kill me?”
Nina stopped, halfway up the path. This woman was seriously off her rocker, but she couldn’t help admiring her bold welcoming of possible death.
“Yes, Lydia,” she said. “I am going to kill you using this deadly envelope, and then I am going to feast on your entrails.”
“Paper actually has a great deal of strength, if properly folded.”
“I’m aware of that. There’s something called buckypaper, which has a tensile strength greater than steel.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes at Nina. “How do you know that?”
“I read.” Nina held up the envelope. “This, however, is a regular envelope, which I haven’t treated with poison or booby-trapped in any way. I found it in the car your dad left me, and it’s addressed to you.” She shrugged. “I am merely the messenger, so, you know, don’t shoot me.”
A cat had appeared in the doorway, next to Lydia. It decided to irritate its owner by walking down the pathway and greeting the visitor. It was extremely friendly and looked like a leopard.
“Is this a Bengal?” asked Nina, bending to stroke its head.
“Yes,” said Lydia, watching from the door.
The cat had grown tired of being petted, and now sat next to Nina’s feet and started washing itself.
“What’s its name?”
“Euclid.”
“The founder of geometry?”
“No, Euclid O’Hara, who works at the pizza joint on Montana.” Lydia snorted. “Yes, the father of geometry.” She turned, suddenly, and went into the house. “Come on, then, come in.”
Nina started walking in.
“Bring the cat,” said Lydia, from somewhere in the house, but the cat was already coming. Cats hate to miss anything.
• • •
The hallway of Lydia’s house was dark but opened into a large, sunny room at the back that made Nina stop short. Books lined every wall and stood in stacks on several large tables. Books were open on a desk, books were piled on the floor, and there were even two books opened on the arms of a chair that looked potentially as comfortable as hers.
“Wow,” she said, and stopped herself from saying, I guess you like books, because it was something people always said when they came to her place, and it irritated her.
Lydia turned to face her, catching her gazing openmouthed at the shelves. “I like books,” said Lydia. “I don’t like people.”
“Me neither.”
Lydia shook her head. “That’s not true. You’ve already become closer to my family than I am, and you just met them. You might be shy, you might be introverted, even, but you like people.”
Nina opened her mouth to object, but closed it. Lydia might be right.
“Now, a true misanthrope,” Lydia continued, “hates and despises people, and I don’t hate them. I simply don’t like them much, in the same way I also don’t enjoy oysters. Unfortunately, they’re harder to avoid than oysters.”
Nina nodded in understanding, gave a small smile, and held out the envelope. Lydia stepped forward to take it.
“Thanks.”
There was a pause, then Nina asked, “Aren’t you going to open it?”
Lydia gazed at her aunt for a long moment, then sat down on the chair with the two open books. Nina sat down on the sofa, and Euclid jumped up next to her.
“Do you have a cat?” Lydia asked.
“Yes,” Nina said. “His name is Phil.”
Lydia said nothing, just raised one eyebrow in the exact way Nina did. So Nina did it back at her, and suddenly Lydia laughed.
“I may have to admit that you’re related to me after all. You like books, you like cats, you c
learly enjoy a useless fact, and you raise your eyebrow exactly the same way I do.” She looked at the envelope. “I don’t know why I’m going to open this. There’s almost nothing it can contain that will make any difference to me.”
“Maybe it’s a really good recipe for banana bread.”
Lydia snorted. “Or maybe it’s a bomb.”
“Why would your grandfather leave you a letter bomb?”
Lydia looked at her witheringly. “Why would he leave me a recipe for banana bread?”
Nina shrugged. “Maybe it’s an apology.”
“For being a crappy grandfather? Too little, too late, don’t you think? Unless this envelope contains Hermione’s Time-Turner and a promise that he’ll actually pay attention to me this time around, it’s just paper.”
“But don’t you want to see?”
“No,” said Lydia, but then she opened the envelope and tipped the contents into her lap. She sat silently and looked, then picked up a birthday card.
“I gave this to him when I was ten or so.” She picked up a friendship bracelet of red and yellow threads. “And I gave this to him much later.” Finally, she picked up a folded piece of paper and opened it up.
“‘Dear Lydia,’ “she read, “‘If you’re reading this, I’m dead, I’m afraid.’ “
“Huh,” said Nina. “He said that in my note, too.”
Lydia looked at her over the piece of paper. “Well, it was true in both cases, right?” She continued to read:
You were always the smartest of my grandchildren, and the one that made me most nervous. I worried you saw right through me, saw how shallow I was and judged me for it. Now I think I was wrong, and I am more sorry than I can say that I never got to know you better. You’re a very special person, Lydia, and I hope you can forgive me. I realize you’ll probably say this is too little, too late, and you’ll be right. But it’s the only thing I can do, because no one can turn back time. Except Hermione, of course.
Lydia looked at Nina and her mouth twitched. “That’s creepy.”
Nina shrugged. “People make book references. What can you do?”
Lydia continued reading:
By the way, you and Nina would probably really get along. You should have dinner or something. I’ve put a gift card for AOC in the envelope. Hopefully, it’s still in business and you two can start to be friends.
Lydia looked up at Nina and frowned. “Such a manipulative bastard, even dead. It’s funny how people behave badly their whole lives and then think they can say sorry and it’s all erased. Not that AOC isn’t a great restaurant.” Euclid left Nina and wandered over to jump on Lydia’s lap. “He left my mom and her sister when they were really young, and my mom was kind of ruined by it. My grandma is a total witch—did you catch that?
Nina nodded. “It was subtle, but yeah, I noticed.”
“She made my mom’s life difficult, and my mom made my life difficult, and now I make other people’s lives difficult, and maybe it’s time the whole cycle stopped.” She sighed. “I just find people so …”
“Scary?” asked Nina, sympathetically.
Lydia looked at Nina for a long time. “No,” she said. “Deeply irritating and fun to torment.”
“Oh,” said Nina.
Suddenly, Lydia tore the letter from William into a dozen tiny pieces and threw them in the air. “So much for Grandpa.” She grinned. “Fancy a cup of tea?”
• • •
At the back of Lydia’s house was a wide, curving garden. Sitting there, sipping an excellent cup of tea, Nina smiled cautiously. “What do you do for work?” She waved inside at all the books. “Are you a teacher or something?”
Lydia shook her head. “No, I work at the RAND Corporation. Do you know it?”
Nina nodded. “Originally started by the Douglas Aircraft Company to research new weapons, it is an international think tank that has produced over thirty Nobel Prize winners.” She paused. “RAND is actually short for research and development.” She paused again, and hesitated. “I’m actually a little bit obsessed with RAND, because they do all this secret stuff and probably have a room with one of those big maps on the floor with lights and tiny models.”
Lydia laughed again. “I can take you there, if you like.”
“Really? There’s a room with a map and tiny little models?”
“No, but there’s a reasonable cafeteria.”
Euclid walked to the middle of the lawn and sprawled, making sure everyone could admire him.
Nina asked, “What do you do at RAND?”
“Oh, it’s thrilling,” said Lydia. “I research global traffic patterns.”
“Wow,” said Nina. “That really is incredibly boring.”
Lydia laughed. “Not to me, which is why I do it. I don’t see cars; I see patterns. And it’s not even only cars; it’s how people move around in general.” She sipped her tea and reached for a cookie. “I love it. Do you love your work?”
Nina thought about it. “Yes, I guess I do. I sort of fell into it, rather than chose it, but it suits me very well. I live a very quiet life, I walk to work, I read a lot, I have a trivia team, and I have a cat.” She turned up her hands. “It’s all pretty good.”
“No boyfriend? Or girlfriend?”
Nina shook her head. “No. There was someone but I messed it up.”
“How?”
Nina took a deep breath. “I get anxiety,” she said.
“Like Archie?” asked Lydia.
Nina nodded. “I broke up with him before we’d even really started. I got overwhelmed and threw him out of the boat.” Suddenly, her eyes were prickling. “It’s so stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. Anxiety is the most common mental illness in America, with over forty million sufferers.”
Nina stared at her.
Lydia shrugged. “I share an office with a mental health researcher. RAND is actually full of people like us, nerdy obsessives with good memories.” She took another cookie and started eating it. “But why don’t you explain to him and see if you can start it up again? Do you want to?”
Nina nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know. I really like him, and being with him actually feels good, but there’s too much going on. I thought I was pretty much alone, and I was OK with it. Good with it, even. Now I have all of you guys to deal with, and a boyfriend was too much.”
Lydia gazed at her. “You’re an idiot. We’re family; you can ignore us completely. We’re like succulents: Minor occasional attention is entirely sufficient. You should absolutely get him back.”
“He’s ignoring my texts.”
“Have you considered the old-fashioned, in-person conversation?” Lydia put down her teacup.
“No,” said Nina. “Besides, he’s competing in a trivia competition this evening; the final of the Southern California Quiz Bowl. I don’t want to put him off.”
“Wow,” said Lydia. “That is both the lamest and the nerdiest excuse for inaction I’ve ever heard. I can’t decide whether to smack you across the face or burst into applause.”
Nina opened her mouth to respond, when her phone rang.
“Can you come right away?” It was Liz, and she sounded frazzled. In the background, Nina could hear yelling.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, Meffo came by and posted a notice that the store was closing and was going to be replaced by a pot-infused makeup emporium called Puff and Pout.”
“You’re joking. A pot dispensary?”
“No. Artisanal makeup, custom made for each customer from a range of natural minerals and pigments, infused with CBD oil and locally sourced organic marijuana.”
“Did you memorize that?”
“No, I’m reading from the notice. Their slogan is Look fantastic, feel even better.”
“Wow.”
“Then people started reading the notice, and all of a sudden there was a crowd outside with placards, and now the police are here and it’s all gotten a bit out of hand.”
/> There was the sound of breaking glass.
“Oh dear. Gotta go.”
“Was that our window?” Nina had visions of crowds of zombies swarming the store, which didn’t make any sense, but that’s what popped into her head.
“No, Meffo’s windshield. I stashed him in the office for safety, but there wasn’t much I could do about his car.” Then she hung up.
Nina turned to Lydia. “How fast do you think we can get to Larchmont Boulevard?”
Lydia grinned. “In K.I.T.T.? With me driving? Twenty minutes.”
Nina shook her head. “No, in a regular Trans Am, because K.I.T.T. is a fictional character, during rush hour, and with me driving.”
Lydia made a face. “Forty minutes.”
“Fine, you drive.”
Twenty-eight
In which things get a little out of hand.
Here’s a useful tip: Driving through Los Angeles in a fast car with a genius researcher is not enjoyable, unless you are one of those people who drinks five Red Bulls and snorts coke before getting on the front seat of a roller coaster and sticking both arms in the air. Nina started reciting “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” as they sped through Beverly Hills, and by the time they reached Larchmont, she was reading the line about rolling the bottoms of trousers, and that tells you how fast they were going. Furthermore, apparently the way to beat traffic in LA is to treat straight lines as abominations and Tetris your way through the side streets. It didn’t help that Lydia was calling out street names as she went, like a pool shark calling a pocket.
As they turned onto Larchmont Boulevard, it was immediately clear something was wrong. Pedestrians on both sides were looking south, toward the bookstore, and Nina began to get what Han Solo might have called a Bad Feeling. She was still nauseous from the car ride, but this was something more.