Invisible as Air

by Zoe Fishman

  “No,” said Todd. “I’m firing you because you hate being here, because you are disrespectful and rude to me and because, quite frankly, your work sucks and has sucked for a long time. That, on top of your exorbitant salary, is why I’m firing you.”

  “You little shit,” said Sylvie.

  Thankfully, her anger had magically released her salivary glands and her mouth had resumed its normal function. She hated him—he was indeed a bona fide shit—but he was also, for once, right.

  “Also—and this will remain just between us because I’m kind enough to do you and your reputation a solid—Amanda told me about you swiping her pills. She doesn’t feel safe working with you, and frankly, neither do I,” he said.

  “Get out of here,” she muttered. “That’s ridiculous. I did no such thing.”

  “Sylvie.”

  “Todd.”

  “Look, I don’t want to get into it. I trust her word. Plus, you’ve been suspiciously, shall we say, wobbly around the office.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Sylvie.

  “The falls?”

  “Once!” Sylvie shrieked. “I fell once! And I went over there to see her baby. Do you know how hard that was for me? Do you even remember what happened to me? That I lost my own baby three years ago?”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

  It took every fiber of Sylvie’s self-control not to hurdle his desk and choke him to death.

  “I went over there to be kind. I didn’t touch her fucking pills.”

  “Sylvie. I think this discussion is over. It is what it is. You are no longer needed here.”

  “You better be giving me some severance. I’ve worked here for eight years.”

  “I can give you two weeks.”

  “Two weeks? Are you insane?”

  “Thank you for your time here, Sylvie. We have very much appreciated your efforts and contribution to the team. Terry from Human Resources will be in touch. And we’ve taken the liberty of clearing out your desk. Marlena has your things outside for you.”

  “Marlena knew this was happening? Do you know that bitch online shops all day long? Do you?”

  Todd stood up as if to escort her out.

  “Don’t you even think about muscling me out the door, Weenie. Everyone calls you that, you know. The Weenie. There is not one person here who thinks you’re qualified for anything but ordering Danish and bagels for morning meetings. Not one.”

  She stood up and turned briskly toward the door, almost tripping over her feet in the process.

  Outside, Marlena held a box of her things in her arms, which Sylvie promptly snatched.

  “That was shitty,” Sylvie told her. “You couldn’t even give me so much as a warning? Where’s the sisterhood?”

  Marlena shrugged.

  “And let me tell you something else,” said Sylvie. “All of your clothes are two sizes too small.”

  Sylvie clomped down the hallway, her high long gone. She passed Amanda, who was cowering in her cubicle.

  “I didn’t steal your fucking pills, you idiot,” Sylvie lied.

  “Give me a break.”

  “I had the runs.”

  “What you have is a problem.”

  “And what’s this about not feeling safe? I mean, honestly, Amanda.”

  “What? You stole from me. I don’t feel safe.”

  “You know what?” said Sylvie.

  “What?”

  “Your kid is ugly.”

  And with that, Sylvie walked out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Paul

  Paul sat on his exercise bike in the driveway, the sun practically setting him on fire. David’s truck came up the driveway, and for a moment, Paul considered being run over and how that wouldn’t be the worst thing. But with his luck, he would probably survive and be a paraplegic, which would just be terrible.

  Paul stared at the hot asphalt beneath him. As a bead of sweat rolled down his nose and landed with a splat, he swore he heard it sizzle. He was having all sorts of thoughts lately, morbid thoughts, and he didn’t like it. He knew he was depressed, but a middle-aged married couple with matching Prozac prescriptions was too much of a cliché for him to bear. Exercise should do the trick, he had reasoned. Except it wasn’t.

  “David!” yelled Paul. David waved from behind the glass of his windshield before turning off the engine.

  “Hey, man,” said Paul, getting off the bike. “This is a nice surprise. What’s up? Everything okay?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m just dropping off the tables and chairs.” David looked just to the left of Paul’s gaze, not directly into it. “I didn’t think you’d be around, was just gonna take the equipment I sold for you to free up some space and leave ’em in the garage.”

  “The stationary bikes and the rowing machine?” asked Paul.

  “Yep,” answered David. “You’ve got around six hundred and fifty bucks coming to you.”

  “That’s all? I easily spent fifteen hundred on those, all told.” Paul was annoyed.

  “Yeah, but once the guy takes his cut and I take my cut, that’s what’s up.”

  “Your cut?”

  “I can’t do this totally for free, man, come on,” said David. He still wasn’t looking at Paul.

  “Fine,” said Paul. Who was he to complain? It wasn’t like he had taken any initiative in the matter other than suggesting it to David. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, man,” said David, finally looking him in the eye. But he didn’t sound fine; he sounded angry.

  “Okay, okay. Sorry.” Paul walked over to the garage and pressed the button that opened its doors. “Thanks a lot for letting us borrow these. On the one hand, I’m relieved that we don’t have to go through the bullshit of some giant, expensive Bar Mitzvah party, but on the other, well, now I have to have everybody at the house. In my space. Not my specialty.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” said David. He motioned toward the truck bed. “You want to help me get them out and the machines in? As long as you’re here?”

  “Of course.” Paul followed David around to the back of the trunk.

  “What’s with the bike in the driveway?” asked David. “It’s a hundred degrees out.” David hoisted himself up into his truck bed, his skinny calves like broom handles poking out of his rather enormous and blindingly white Nikes.

  “I’m an idiot,” confessed Paul, taking a table from him. “I thought it would up the ante on my workout, but I’m exhausted. I just can’t get my groove back lately.”

  “Oh yeah?” David hopped down with two tables of his own, and they walked together to the garage. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Haven’t seen you in a minute,” said Paul.

  “I’m just busy,” said David, resting his tables against the outside of the garage.

  “What, the Riley house is practically finished,” said Paul.

  “Yeah, that’s been all me, by the way,” said David. “The other guys on the team are a bunch of lazy asses.”

  “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Paul, following him back to the truck for their next round.

  “Not that big a deal. I’m telling you now.” They passed the next sweltering twenty minutes in silence, emptying the truck bed.

  “Is that it?” Paul asked, when the bed was empty.

  “That’s it,” said David. “Now, let’s get the machines I need and load ’em up.” He wiped his brow with his forearm. Paul didn’t know if he could do it. His muscles were quivering, they’d been out of use for so long.

  “Could we take a little break?” he asked David, embarrassed.

  “Nah, we have to keep it moving. It’s only three things.” Paul looked at him beseechingly. “We stop now, we’re never getting started again. Trust me. Come on, man, I’ll do most of the lifting.”

  Paul nodded, fighting the urge to collapse onto the lawn.

  First, they had to stack the boxes up and out of the way. There w
ere so many of them. A food scale, a people scale, riding gloves, protein powders, a blender as big as Teddy’s head, Speedos on sale, goggles, spandex everything, four different pairs of the same sneaker; it went on and on, Paul’s browsing history come to life. Click, click, buy and then he tracked the package maniacally: two more days, today! And then the thing would arrive on his doorstep, he would drag it into the basement away from Sylvie’s prying eyes like a lion with its kill, rip open the box and be satisfied for exactly ten minutes.

  “Rowing machine first,” said David, when a path had been cleared. Paul nodded. “Count of three. One, two, three,” and they were carrying it, Paul’s back on fire, his ankle throbbing, sweat dripping from every pore. The same with a different stationary bike, and finally, mercifully, the last thing of all the things, for the moment at least, a backup trail bike for the trail bike Paul already had.

  David closed the bed of the truck and they both leaned against it, panting. Paul more so than David, but he was relieved to notice that yes, David was panting too.

  “You want a beer?” Paul asked.

  “I can’t,” said David. “Gotta take off.”

  “Where to? Come on, one beer.”

  “I really can’t.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to seem out of line here, but are you . . .”

  “Am I what?” asked David.

  “You’re not, with the pills again—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Paul. No. And you’ve got a lot of nerve talking to me about pills. Mr. Shopaholic.”

  “Okay. I guess I deserve that,” said Paul. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just think you’re acting a little strangely with me today, that’s all.”

  “Sylvie came sniffin’ around for pills,” David blurted out.

  “What?” Paul didn’t want to know what David meant, and yet he knew exactly what he meant, and despite the heat, he suddenly felt cold.

  “My oxys.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The other day when she came for the stuff, she asked me for some pills. I didn’t want to tell you, but how can I not tell you, you know?”

  “I need to sit down,” said Paul. “Will you come inside with me and sit down?”

  “Okay,” answered David.

  Paul walked slowly; he was seeing spots, whether from the onset of heatstroke or shock that wasn’t exactly shock—it was more like of course that’s what Sylvie has been up to, you idiot—he wasn’t sure.

  “I’m a little bit confused,” said Paul, taking two beers from the refrigerator and handing one to David.

  “I shouldn’t, man,” said David.

  “Drink the fucking beer,” said Paul.

  “Okay.”

  “She told me she was on Prozac,” said Paul, when they were both sitting at the table and he had taken a long swig from his green glass bottle.

  “I highly doubt that,” said David.

  “So what the hell happened?” asked Paul, although he knew David had no answer.

  “Whatever happened to the Oxys your doctor prescribed you, when you broke your ankle?”

  “I didn’t want anything to do with them. I told her to throw them out.”

  “And did you see her throw them out?” asked David.

  “What am I, a fucking detective? No, I didn’t see her throw them out. But she’s never messed with pills before, or any drugs, for that matter. Why wouldn’t I trust her to throw them out?”

  Paul put his head in his hands and closed his eyes and thought. Ever since he had come home from the hospital, ever since he had given his wife the task of disposing of the pills he had no interest in taking, she had been different. There was the Yahrzeit candle, for one. The talking about Delilah for two, a giant egg of three-year silence just cracked open like it was no big deal. Sylvie’s psychobabble about honesty. Her acceptance of Teddy’s Bar Mitzvah terms. And the spaciness that had replaced her resentment like a thief in the night. A thief Paul had appreciated. Her resentment of him was an exhausting emotion to go up against each morning, like climbing Machu Picchu in flip-flops.

  God, he was so stupid. Prozac, for Christ’s sake. He sat up.

  “Did you give them to her? The pills?” he asked David.

  “I did. And I’m sorry. But she was desperate. And she swore to me that she just had to get through the Bar Mitzvah and then she’d get some help. She swore.” David shrugged. “I should know better, but I believed her. Except now I don’t.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. I think she needs help. I know these pills. When you get to the point where you need one to get through the day, the point where you’re begging people you barely know for some, you’re in trouble. This Bar Mitzvah business is a load of shit. There will always be Bar Mitzvahs if you’re an addict, you hear what I’m saying?”

  “I hear what you’re saying,” said Paul. “I just can’t believe you gave them to her.”

  But he wasn’t mad at David. None of this was his fault.

  He looked at David, and David opened his mouth to say something else, but then promptly closed it again.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” said David. “I’m sorry I gave them to her. And I’m sorry I’m telling you like this. I know you have a lot on your plate.”

  “I don’t have a thing on my plate,” said Paul.

  “You depressed?” asked David.

  “Yeah, I think so. I think that’s about right.”

  They both sat on the couch, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound in the otherwise empty house. Outside, the sky began to darken as a summer thunderstorm approached.

  “I should get going,” said David.

  “Okay.”

  David stood up. “I love you, man. I want you to know that,” he told Paul. There were tears in his eyes.

  “David, it’s okay, really,” said Paul, standing up too. He put his hand on David’s shoulder, a sign of solidarity. “I’m glad you told me. I’ll handle it. It’s not your fault.” He paused. “But can you please get your ass back into rehab? You’re worth more than these stupid pills, you really are. You have to learn that. Like, truly learn that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay like okay, or okay like whatever?” asked Paul.

  “Little bit of both,” said David. “But I hear you.”

  “I’ll see you,” said Paul, as David walked back toward the French doors leading to the deck.

  As he opened them, the front door opened at exactly the same moment. It was uncanny, the timing. Bracing himself, Paul turned. But it was Teddy. Thank God, it was Teddy. He could not face his wife yet.

  “Hey, Dad,” Teddy said, making a beeline for the kitchen.

  “Hey.”

  Thunder cracked outside, and then moments later a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Rain began to fall. Softly for a moment and then, in sheets, beating down on the hot earth mercilessly as David backed his truck out of the driveway.

  “Your bike is going to get ruined,” said Teddy, standing at the sink and staring out the window. He crunched into the red apple he had just washed.

  They both watched the bike being pummeled by the relentless rain, out there alone on the driveway.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Teddy

  Teddy looked at the clock on his mother’s car’s dashboard. It was 3:33. Make a wish, he thought, and his wish was that this whole stupid Bar Mitzvah would just be swallowed by a sinkhole.

  “Mom, where the fuck are you?” Teddy’s mom barked into the air, the magic of Bluetooth connecting her to his grandparents, her parents. He glanced over at her. Her lips were pulled back, her teeth bared like a rabid wolf. They had been circling the airport for near thirty minutes, combing Zone Three because that’s where his grandmother, his Bubbe, claimed they were.

  “Oh, you know what? We’re in Zone Six. Not Zone Three.”

  Sylvie looked over at Teddy and shook her head in disbelief. Then she pounded her fist against the wheel and h
ung up.

  “I’m not going to be able to do this,” she said, looking straight ahead. “They drive me absolutely fucking nuts.”

  “So don’t do it,” said Teddy. “I don’t know why we’re having this stupid Bar Mitzvah anyway. Everyone hates everyone else, and I couldn’t care less.”

  Plus, you’re on drugs, Dad’s miserable and getting texts from girls named after diseases and I’m fighting with the only girlfriend I’ll probably ever have. He really missed Krystal. It had been three days since they’d spoken, since the delicious but awkward dinner at her house, when she wouldn’t even walk him out.

  “You know what, get out,” said his mother. She screeched over to the curb, cars she cut off in the process blaring in protest. “I’ve had enough of your attitude. This is Zone Six, where your idiot grandparents supposedly are. Find them and bring them to the curb. That is, if it’s not too much for you. I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

  She reached across Teddy and opened his door, her eyes as angry as he had ever seen them. He supposed she had not taken a pill today. He also supposed that he was kind of being an asshole. He got out.

  He could hear his grandmother squawking from yards away, something about her bag. His mom couldn’t stand his Bubbe’s designer luggage.

  “She treats each piece like a goddamn newborn,” she had said on the drive over, gearing herself up to be annoyed.

  “Bubbe?” he called out into the crowd.

  It had been a few years since he had seen his grandparents; they had visited when Delilah had died, and then he and his mother had flown to New Jersey to visit them a year or so later, but save for the occasional FaceTime and birthday or Chanukah card, it was radio silence. Teddy had not thought he cared, but seeing them now in person, from a distance even, he realized he was angry.

  But then his Bubbe turned, her comically stretched face breaking into a smile that did not move a muscle of it, her dark hair shellacked into a bob, her nails a deep, dark red and her wrists adorned with gold and diamond bangles that shone in the afternoon sun, and Teddy’s anger subsided. She was a character, his Bubbe, and she made the best matzoh ball soup and always, always told him he was the most gorgeous boy in the whole wide world. She was all right.