Relatively normal, p.13
Relatively Normal, page 13
“It would explain a lot, you know.”
“What?” he looks up over his coffee cup. His blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.
I giggle. “Maybe my whole family has been abducted and partially lobotomized in the name of Martian science.”
He laughs. “I can see where that might make sense.” Then he gets serious. “Cat, you can never walk out of my life again, okay?” I don’t point out that I never did. He was the one that pushed me out.
I don’t know what to say. Can I have Sam in my life as just a friend? It’s such a foreign concept. What would we do, call each other on the phone and talk about our lives? Have lunch when I’m in town like I do with Sarah? How can I go back to that after I thought we’d spend forever together?
I don’t answer.
“Stop thinking so hard. You’re going to hurt yourself,” he says.
“I’m just trying to imagine what friendship with you would be like. Would we recommend books to each other? Talk about moisturizers, what?”
“We were friends long before we were anything else, Cat. We certainly can be again.”
What he’s saying makes sense. Sam was like a brother to me for most of my life until he became more. I need to ask myself if that’s enough. Could I listen to him tell me about his girlfriends? Could I go to his wedding? I have a lot of thinking to do, and I know I’m not going to be able to do it here in Gelson. The sooner I get back to New York, the better.
After we finish our beverages, Sam walks me back to Nan’s room before going on his rounds. I continue to ponder what I’m going to do with him. It would be so much easier if I walk away and never spare him another thought. I’m just not sure I can. Sam Hawking is like french fries. One encounter is never enough.
Time to Go
My thoughts are full of Sam and Ethan. Hardly a minute goes by where I’m not thinking of one of them and wondering what I should do. I don’t talk to anyone else though. My family and Sarah have made it clear they think I belong with Sam. While I have my concerns about Ethan, I’ve decided to go back to New York and see how I feel in our home together. I’m going to return to my old life for a full week before entertaining any notions about our future. I owe it to him. I owe it to us.
The more I think about it, I realize Ethan is a good fit for my New York persona. It’s just with Nan’s scare, and everything else, I’m reminded there’s more to me than just who I am in Manhattan. There’s a whole history, a whole family who are part of my make up that I’ve been ignoring.
My mom sits on my bed while I pack. “I don’t know what we would have done without you here.”
“Come on, Mom. You would have been just fine. You’re tougher than you think you are.”
“I miss you, Cat. I miss being a part of your everyday life.”
I know what she means. There’s a special something that happens with a parent/child relationship when it evolves into a friendship. I left home to start my own life before that could ever develop with my mom and dad.
This is the longest I’ve been home since the summer after college. It turns out it takes more than four days of togetherness to break down old dynamics and connect in a new way. Who knew?
My dad pops his head in the door. “Sarah’s here. She’s waiting in the living room.” My friend and I have had precious little time together and an O’Hare run will give us some quality moments to talk.
Nan is doing well, but they’re going to keep her in the hospital for at least five more days. She’ll either come home or enter a short-term care facility, depending on what her rehab needs are. Either way, she should be back in the house by Christmas.
As I walk down the stairs, I spy several field mice dressed like they’re going to visit the queen’s court. I can’t imagine how my dad gets knee breeches and ruffled shirts on such tiny rodents. I know he’s taken to sewing some of their outfits onto them, so they look more realistic. More realistic for an ecstasy-induced rave, maybe.
Speaking of drugs, I run into my brother at the bottom of the stairs. He takes my arm and asks, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I let him lead me into the dining room. “What’s up?”
“I wanted you to know I’ve thrown away all my pot. I feel like I’m responsible for what happened to Nan. I’m going to clean up my act.” His head hangs low in contrition.
I sigh. “Marijuana didn’t create her aneurysm, Travis. But I’m glad you’re going to turn over a new leaf. It’s time you start to live your life and quit hiding from it.” At this moment I feel like I’m connecting with my brother for the first time since we’ve become adults.
He leans in to embrace me and declares, “I love you, Cat. I promise, I’m going to change.”
I hug him back. “I love you, too, Trav. I believe in you. It’s time you believed in yourself.”
He nods his head. “Thanks, sis.” Then he walks away with a purposeful stride I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.
I kiss my parents before hugging the life out of them. I try to convey everything I’m feeling in that embrace. I love you. I accept you. We’ve faced death and won. Things are going to be different. And most of all, thank you.
When I wave goodbye as my friend’s pickup pulls out of the driveway, I don’t feel the normal sense of relief I’ve felt in the past. I feel longing and sadness. I feel a strong desire to turn around and go back and never leave again.
Follow the Yellow Brick Road
There’s one runway at LaGuardia Airport that has me on pins and needles, negotiating with God, every time I land there. It ends right at the edge of the East River and every single time, it feels like we’re going to miss it and crash into the water. Guess where I land today?
When the plane stops at the gate, and my stomach finally drops out of my throat, I grab my overhead bag and make my way out into the melee toward the Uber stand. It’s only two in the afternoon, so hopefully I won’t be sitting on the Triborough Bridge for an hour. I purposely arrived at this time to try to avoid that treat.
The added bonus is that I’ll be back in the apartment before Ethan gets home from work. I want some time by myself to form my own opinion on whether it still feels like my home.
I love driving into Manhattan. The skyline is thrilling to me. It’s like the yellow brick road leading into Oz. I just know magic awaits in one form or another. Today’s entrance inspires the same nostalgia, but it’s not quite as intense as it usually is.
When the Uber pulls up in front of my apartment building, I get out slowly, as if seeing it for the first time. I smile at the doorman when he holds the door for me. I like Edgar. For having such a short stature, he commands an authoritative presence. Though I’m several inches taller, and I’m no Amazon, I don’t doubt his abilities to protect our domain. He’s one of the interesting characters that’s a part of my life here.
The lobby smells like matzo ball soup, so Mrs. Fein must be working her magic. I wonder if she’s noticed that most of the times I stop to see her are when she’s making it. Note to self: stop to see Mrs. Fein, soon.
When I get to the twelfth floor, I hesitate before stepping off the elevator. Somehow, I know things will be different the moment I cross the threshold, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I try to convince myself that I’m being ridiculous, but a full minute lapses before I step out.
When Ethan and I decided to move in together, we opted for his apartment because he owned it. Mine was bigger, but going back to paying rent once you’ve bought into Manhattan real-estate is a giant step backwards.
The prospect of gaining a life partner seemed a fair exchange for my single-girl-in-the-city furniture. Stability in the form of blah-beige couches and sensible matching end tables. I reasoned we wouldn’t be living in his apartment for too many years before we bought something else that suited a growing family. My decorating style could certainly sit on the back burner until then.
So, when I walk into to 12B, it feels like I’m entering a good friend’s domain. It’s familiar and nice feeling, but not like I can’t wait to settle in and start nesting. This is Ethan’s home, not mine.
The apartment is unchanged. Extremely tidy, with everything in its place. The narrow, glass-topped trestle table to the left of the front door is fingerprint free, but the basket of Russian nesting dolls I keep there is nowhere to be found.
The pile of papers I’m perpetually sorting on the kitchen counter top is also missing. I walk into the living room and discover my red cashmere afghan is not on the back of the couch where I keep it. The few items that show I live here are absent.
Without my strategically placed pops of color, the monotony of Ethan’s boringness screams at me. Brightly painted matryoshka dolls, a deep red afghan, a royal blue vase, and wicker basket full of green and gold mosaic tile ornaments really made something out of this place.
I find the vase in the pantry along with the dolls. The basket of ornaments is where it always is except it’s covered by a beige tea-towel, and the afghan is in the linen closet. The whole scene kind of takes my breath away. Apparently, when I’m not here, Ethan obliterates all traces of me. What in the actual hell?
I continue to walk around and inspect everything like an anthropologist studying an extinct civilization. Perusal of the kitchen indicates Ethan has switched the silverware drawer and the gadget drawers back to how he had them before I moved in. I changed it out of necessity. With me doing most of the cooking, I needed an efficient way that made sense to me.
This alerts me to look in the dish cabinet. Sure enough, he’s moved the dinner plates to the second shelf and put the salad plates on the first shelf. Who does that? Every sane person in this world knows the heavier plates go on the bottom and ascend accordingly.
Suddenly, I don’t want to be here by myself. I’m not quite sure where to go, but I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. I grab my purse and coat and walk out the front door. I briefly toy with the idea of stopping in on Mrs. Fein, but I don’t particularly feel up to small talk, even though a bowl of matzo ball soup would really hit the spot.
I walk out onto Columbus Circle and cross the street to Central Park West, which will take me to my perfect thinking location. I stroll for several blocks until I get to Strawberry Fields, where I grab a spot on one of the park benches. I sit and watch people go by—except I’m not really watching them. It’s more like they become blurred distractions, fading into each other.
I try to talk myself down and ask why I care if Ethan doesn’t like my knickknacks. I reason it’s because those things represent me and my taste. They’re my contribution to our home. By hiding them away when I’m not there it’s like he’s hiding me away. I had concerns coming home, but now they’re magnified significantly.
A half hour passes, and I wonder if I’m making too much of this. Maybe I’m overreacting because of all the upheaval at home with Nan. Maybe this is no big deal and I’m just emotionally overwrought. Maybe one of Nan’s flying saucers will drop out of the sky and take me away from all this.
I stop and pick up our favorite Chinese takeout on the way home. I promised myself I would come back to New York and live for an entire week before making any decisions. In order to do that, I need to put my irritation on the back-burner.
The Master of the House
When I get to the apartment, I leave the food on the countertop to microwave later. I set about unpacking before Ethan comes home, but I don’t bring my decorative touches out of hiding. I leave them where the master of the house has put them, wondering if he’ll return them to their proper place now that I’m back.
Ethan is always home by six, so at six thirty I begin to worry about him. I fire off a quick text, but he doesn’t return it. At seven, I microwave some lo mein and steamed veggies and pour myself another glass of wine.
When I check my texts, I find that I have two. One from my mom and one from Sam, both wanting to make sure I got in okay. It’s nice to know someone cares. After eating, I pick up the phone to call Jazz. I haven’t heard her voice in a week and I miss her.
When she answers, she nearly breaks my eardrum screaming into the receiver. “YOU’RE HOME!”
“Sweet God, woman, I think I’m deaf. Don’t yell at me.”
I hear her say something to Dylan in the background, before she focuses on me. “I want to hear every detail of your trip, but I only have five minutes. What are you doing right now?”
“I’m waiting for Ethan to come home. He’s late.”
“He’s never late,” my best friend replies.
“Well, he’s late tonight. I just took a bath and poured myself some wine. I’m torn between cranking up some vintage Foo Fighters or watching Jane the Virgin on Netflix.”
Jazz votes, “Go with the V. That chick has got it made in the shade. In the first season alone, she falls passionately in love with two dudes, gives birth, and somehow stays a virgin. Oh, and let’s not forget graduate school. Life in a telenovela rocks!”
Meanwhile, I’m not in a love triangle because I’m being faithful and monogamous to the man I’ve committed to share my life with. A man who hides my afghan. One who’s afraid of taking a cruise because he dreads a horrendous salmonella outbreak and refuses to consider camping because ticks live in the great outdoors and he doesn’t want to contract Lyme disease. No one is ever going to turn my life into a television series.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask my friend.
“Sex date,” she answers.
“Wow, talk about a lot of information. I hope it’s with Dylan.”
She laughs. “Totes. You know how it is during the holiday season. We’re both so busy we have to schedule every encounter.” She whispers, “Uh-oh, gotta go. He’s started doing a striptease in the hallway. That’s my cue.”
“Happy hunting,” I offer. Although I don’t think her prey is going to put up a fight.
I fall asleep on the couch. When Ethan finally walks through the front door, I open my eyes just enough to make out what he’s doing through my still intertwined lashes. According to the clock in the stove, it’s ten. I observe my fiancé as he puts the mail in the mail holder and hangs his keys on the middle of three hooks located to the right of the can opener. Then he takes his shoes off and puts them in the front closet—all before flipping on the light.
When he turns around and sees me, he jumps and borderline screams like a little girl. “Catriona! What are you doing here?”
I sit up and for a split-second experience a very strange feeling—like I’ve traveled back in time and don’t live here yet. Ethan seems that surprised to see me. “I came home today.” Then I remind him, “We’ve been texting about it.”
“Is today Wednesday, already?”
“Ethan, why don’t you know what day it is? Didn’t you go to work today? Didn’t you happen to discover it was Wednesday when you ordered your Wednesday lunch at the deli?” He always has the turkey breast on white bread, dry, with one slice of cheddar cheese and a lettuce leaf on Wednesday. Dear God, just thinking about it is enough to make me want to punch him. How in the world did his crazy routine ever make me feel comfort?
He continues to look befuddled. “I didn’t go to the office this week. I went home to see my parents.”
Now I’m completely confused. “Why? You just spent four days over Thanksgiving with them.” He normally only sees his folks once a month. I can’t imagine they had anything left to say to each other.
Ethan continues to just stand there. “My mom had something very important she wanted to talk to me about. She said it couldn’t wait.”
Icy fingers of dread crawl up my spine into the base of my neck. Is that flipping busybody planting seeds of doubt in her son’s head about me? I’ve done nothing for her to question my commitment to him. Nothing. I finally manage to ask, “And what did she have to say?”
He shakes his head. “I’m really not sure I can explain it properly. But the long and short of it is she’s leaving my father.”
“What?! Where in the world did that come from?” After my conversation with Natalie, I had the feeling she was holding her relationship up as the model of what a healthy marriage looked like. Now she’s leaving Jason? It makes no sense.
Ethan finally walks over and sits down on the couch next to me. He answers, “I don’t know. She talked about traveling a lot and said she’s been thinking that maybe she should have done more of it in her life. She says she wants to try to be adventurous.”
I feel as shell-shocked as Ethan. “Can’t she do those things with your dad?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I asked her the same question and she says she doesn’t want to. She said my father has never wanted to travel farther than the grocery store and while she used to feel the same way, she doesn’t want to die without having discovered who she might have been had she made different choices in her life.”
Holy crap. “Did your mom say where she wanted to go?”
Ethan looks like a lost little boy when he answers. “Cambodia.”
Where Do I Start?
I get up this morning and nearly run into work. When I see Jazz, I push her into our office and shut the door. “OMG, you’re never going to believe what Ethan told me last night!”
“What?” she demands.
“I don’t know where to start. I mean I have to tell you about the trip before I tell you what Ethan said or it won’t make sense,” I say.
“So tell me, already!”
When I get to the part about the chuck and shuck, Jazz holds her sides in laughter while I try to adequately explain the expression on the Crenshaws’ faces when I taught them how it was done. She gasps for air, “OMG, I know Natalie and Jason, and cannot for the life of me imagine their horror at being asked to perform such an act.”
Then she blows on her fingernails and rubs them on her shirt as though shining them. “I, on the other hand, have aim so pristine I almost took the crown from your dad.”
