Piece of Mind Page 13

  “It’s your job to be the garden,” she said.

  “What garden?”

  “You’re obviously the one who needs the tending, but you have to plant some flowers.”

  “This isn’t about sex, is it? Because I don’t think I feel comfortable discussing that with you.”

  “Don’t be disgusting,” she said. “This is about looking like a proper lady. That’s all.”

  “I wore some makeup when we went out.”

  “And today?”

  “Makeup is not an everyday thing.”

  I touched my eye, still traumatized by the memory of the mascara attempt the night before.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” I asked. “Or a husband? I’m sure you do, the way you always look so put together. Is that a stupid question?”

  “It is a stupid question,” she said. “Because I don’t look this way for anyone but myself.”

  “Were you ever married?”

  She inspected her fingers. “In my day, you hit a certain age, you found a fella you didn’t hate, and you got hitched. But everyone I knew was getting married, and they all seemed so miserable. So I waited. I thought I had it all figured out.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then nothing. All the good prospects went away, and I got stuck with Herb, years later than everyone else.”

  “But you were happy?”

  “Things aren’t always so black and white.”

  She looked down, into her cup.

  “He was a handsome devil. Don’t get me wrong. Jellyroll hair and a soft leather jacket. And such a charmer. When he told me he wasn’t the monogamous type, I thought, finally an honest man! But I was a fool. I didn’t know men always tell you who they are. They tell you from the first moment you meet them. I was just too stubborn to listen. And what did I know anyway? I thought we were the same. Neither of us wanted the traditional stuff. We both liked our freedom. But then—out of nowhere, one day he started painting this picture of a family. A little girl with curls, a little boy with a wagon, a big dog in the yard. Before long, he was bringing home these tiny booties and building a crib. Who wouldn’t get swept up in that?”

  I thought about it. “I’m not sure I would.”

  “Well, you’re smarter than me then,” she said. “Because it was just an image. None of it was real.”

  “So you never had kids?”

  Enid took a heavy breath. “It was too late. I was nearly forty by that time, and in those days—” She took a sip and grew quieter. “It just wasn’t what the universe had in mind.”

  She seemed a little sad. I didn’t want to push further, so we sat there for a good while just sipping until I realized she was probably waiting for me to say something.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It wasn’t in the cards.”

  “What happened to Herb?”

  “He had a baby with someone else, he moved out, and that was that.”

  “What an asshole.”

  “He hardly ever pretended to be anything else.”

  I peeked over at Frank, who was busy at the counter organizing stacks of napkins.

  “He’s a kind one,” Enid said, following my eyes. “Always with good intentions.”

  I watched him wipe away a few spills.

  “Just pretty up that face and get him to lower the price on the java,” she added. “I don’t like climbing the steps.”

  THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON, Enid talked about Belle, about the paws again, and the waves of fur, the way she loved to roll in the grass, how she hated wearing sweaters. It was like she hadn’t talked to anyone for so long that she needed to get it all out. Belle’s food dish was lime green, and she owned the porch for sunbathing, as well as a marked pachysandra bush, and a spot on the living-room couch from which she could view the entire neighborhood—the same spot where she made her bed most nights, though she was never supposed to be on that couch in the first place.

  I listened as best as I could, trying to contain my quickening heartbeat, and twitching eyelids, but it was hard when there was no promise of an end. Would she ever stop? Would I ever feel inspired enough to draw her? By this point, I had a number of false starts, little sketches of Belle’s imagined world, but nothing meaningful enough to keep.

  “You know I don’t do regular portraits, right?” I finally said. “If I do this, it won’t be Belle really. It will just be me projecting Belle onto what I think could somehow happen in my alternate universe, which is probably just a variation on your interpretation of her, since I never knew Belle.”

  “I don’t care about formalities. I just want something to remember her by.”

  “You don’t have any photos?” I said.

  “Didn’t we already go through this?”

  “I wish I had more photos.” I wanted more than the few scattered shots of random days, rare moments outside, loose reproductions that had fallen away with our old house. “I guess I like concrete images.”

  “Why?” Enid said. “They’re fake impressions of moments that never happened.”

  She took a big gulp of her tea, which must have been cold by that point.

  “Film captures real life,” I said.

  “In posed form.” She tapped my page again. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  There was very little.

  “For now.”

  “Oh well. My hip’s killing me anyway.”

  I was relieved to see her get up.

  “I’m done too,” I said. “I’ll go with you.”

  When he saw us at the exit, Frank scampered out from behind his register.

  “Is it okay if I call you?” he said.

  This was what people did. They talked on the phone to the people they met before and after dates. I could do that. Maybe I could even have a boyfriend.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll try to pick up.”

  _________

  ONCE FRANK BEGAN CALLING, he called a lot. Up to three times a day. While I appreciated the gesture, it was clear neither of us were phone people.

  If something mildly entertaining was on, or if Harry was making a noise, or if I thought I heard Nate jiggling the lock, I’d get distracted. Since his responses were so often muted, he’d have to remind me he was there by asking random questions.

  I imagined Frank jotting down possible topics on his steno pad before he called—categories on one side, examples on the other, like a late-night host who only asked what was on the card. Do you like scary movies? No. When did your parents meet? A summer in college I think? What’s your favorite ice cream flavor? Chocolate brownie. This is the way I sketched him a few times when I was bored. Inquisition Man—full of questions without answers.

  “How did Harry get his name?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” I said, actually stopping my sketch to engage. “I guess he just looked like a Harry. But it’s true; I could have done better.”

  “I like his name.”

  “I could have thought of something Egyptian, you know? Because the Egyptians worshipped cat gods, something more regal.”

  He took a minute. “But Harry’s not from Egypt.”

  “Of course not—directly, but it would be best to find a name to represent the traditions of his lineage. Like Nefertiti or something.”

  “Isn’t Harry a male?”

  It sometimes felt like we were having separate conversations.

  Yet, a week later, it was almost like we were a couple.

  21

  ON THE DAY OF THE BRUNCH, WE WERE STUCK IN THE BACK of a line that stretched around the block of a French bistro. Why were we waiting to pay for a made-up meal?

  “Are they giving away free food today?” I said.

  Sabine smiled. “You’re going to love it here,” she said, squeezing my arm.

  Sabine didn’t extend her hand when the introductions were going around; she went in for a hug. Frank wasn’t expecting that. He winced when she lunged toward him, but it was over before he had to think about whe
re to put his hands. She was, as I’d expected, beautiful, but in an uncomplicated, natural sort of way.

  “The omelets are incredible,” she said to us.

  They looked like standard omelets to me, judging by the plates crammed around tiny tables I could make out in the distance. “Do they use special eggs?”

  “Farm fresh,” she said.

  When we moved a few steps, Frank positioned himself in front of Nate and Sabine and cleared his throat. “How did you two meet?”

  He had rehearsed enough to make it sound spontaneous, except his shoulders were stiff, and his speech stilted.

  Sabine held Frank’s gaze as though it were the most insightful question she’d ever heard. “Isn’t that always the thing you want to know?”

  She looked at Nate then.

  He was watching her as though she were draped in light. It almost looked like she was, the way the sun was bouncing off of her hair. “We were at a party. Well, I was. He was crashing.”

  “It was a beer garden,” Nate said. “We didn’t know about the party.”

  “He tried to buy me a drink, but it was an open bar.”

  “I wanted to save her from standing in line,” Nate said.

  “It was very sweet,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I ended up missing most of the event because we talked the whole night. I thought, if nothing else, I have just made a new friend in this city.”

  “A friend, huh?” Nate said.

  “Yes, a friend,” she said. “Of course, once he began serenading me with that guitar, I was smitten.”

  He blushed a little, something I hadn’t seen in a while. Was that lust or love?

  “Is that what you do for all the girls?” I said.

  “Of course not,” he said. “There are no other girls.”

  “Aw,” Sabine said, holding Nate’s hand. “There’s the romantic I fell for. You know he used to write me songs all the time? Poems from his soul. I’ve missed that guy.”

  “I’m still here,” Nate said. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

  She looked at Nate for a second before turning her attention toward Frank.

  “So, tell us.” Sabine gave Frank a playful jab with her elbow, which made him stiffen further. “How did the stars align for you two?”

  Frank coughed and took a minute to gather some thoughts. “She was looking for a job, and we didn’t have one, but she drew this dog, and I asked her to dinner.”

  “He gave me free coffee,” I said.

  Frank nodded. “I got lucky working in a coffee shop.”

  “I wish I did that,” Sabine said. “Can you imagine, sweetie?” She said “sweetie” as though it were Nate’s name. I couldn’t imagine Frank as anything other than Frank. “You must meet the most interesting people.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t drink coffee,” I said. “Which must be easy for him now, since we don’t have any. Do you think we’ll have some soon? Not like it’s urgent, but I didn’t have any this morning because I knew we’d have some with the meal. Will we have to wait much longer?”

  Nate was tapping his foot, looking a little more fidgety than usual. It seemed as though he was stuck in one of two modes lately: restless and antsy or exhausted and half-asleep.

  “This is standard procedure,” he said.

  My legs were wobbling, and I was getting flushed from the heat. Plus, the line was so crowded. Baby carriages kept brushing up against my feet, and people’s newspapers were encroaching on my personal space. “Is there a place to sit?”

  “We could go somewhere else,” Sabine said. “If we had to.”

  “Maybe we should,” Nate said. “What’s the point of standing here all day?”

  “The point is to get to know each other,” Sabine said. “And to enjoy a delicious meal. But I don’t mind leaving if that’s what everyone else wants.”

  “I just meant maybe we could find another spot,” Nate said.

  “As good as this one?” Sabine said. “Where?”

  “No, I can wait,” I said. “I just wanted an approximation, so I could mentally prepare. I could go somewhere to get a placeholder cup.”

  “I have a better idea,” Sabine said.

  We watched her prance across the street to a newsstand—she must have been a dancer with that stride—and return armed with a copy of the Times and the Daily News.

  “Pick your sections,” she said.

  Normally I would have taken the Times, but the News had the comics, so Frank and I split up that paper, while Sabine and Nate took chunks of the other one, and by the time we got through our pages, it was our turn to be seated.

  THE TABLE WAS SMALLER than it had looked through the window. Other tables surrounded us on all sides. I knocked over a woman’s fork and rammed into a waiter trying to squeeze into place. The waiter looked at me and shook his head, as if it were my fault that this place was over capacity.

  The seats were so close together that I was practically on Frank’s lap. I wanted to leave until I caught a whiff of the coffee from the table next to us.

  Nate smelled it too, and looked at me. “We’ll put in the order as soon as we can,” he said.

  “How long do you think that will take?”

  Not too long, apparently, because they wanted us out as soon as we got in. But the cups were child-size, and by the time the waiter finished serving everyone’s first round, and tea for Frank, I was ready for my second. I motioned to him and my cup to let him know, but he didn’t seem to appreciate that.

  “You’ll have to give me a minute, please.”

  I wanted to leave again. Why was brunch a thing? I looked around the table and grabbed a corn muffin from a basket, stuffing a large piece into my mouth.

  “Aren’t those amazing?” Sabine said.

  I nodded, hoping I wouldn’t choke.

  When we placed our orders, we were allowed to pick one item from the six listed. NO SUBSTITUTIONS! it said on the bottom of the menu.

  “Does that mean no mushrooms for onions?” I said.

  “Yes,” Nate said.

  Still, when the waiter came, Frank didn’t seem to get it.

  “Could I have extra potatoes instead of salad?” he said.

  “No substitutions,” the waiter said.

  Frank was ruffled by his rudeness, which made me a little sad, but also a little irritated because hadn’t he read the menu.

  Nobody else in the restaurant seemed to have any trouble with the setup. Least of all Sabine, who found enough room somehow to cross her legs and touch each hand multiple times, to talk so that we could all hear, to make her way through her plate delicately enough not to lose control of the conversation. How did she do that?

  It seemed she talked the whole meal, first about her current internship at some fancy consulting firm with a long name.

  “You crunch numbers?” I imagined a giant Pac-Man board, a digital version of Sabine swallowing complex decimals and fractions before spitting them out and rearranging them for the next player.

  “In a way,” she said.

  And then she went on about some future internship in data analysis that lost me as soon as she began.

  “I do some consulting, sort of,” I said. I looked at Frank. “I mean, I kind of did the other day. With coffee tasting?”

  “That sounds much more interesting,” she said.

  “She’s an expert,” Frank said.

  “No,” I said. “I just really like coffee. Do you think we could get more?”

  I was hungry, and there wasn’t enough on the plate. It looked more like a snack than a meal, though the fruit was arranged so skillfully I was hesitant to eat it.

  “So,” Sabine said. “Are you two planning on getting away this summer at all?”

  “Away from here?” I said. “Why, are you?”

  “Not really,” Nate said.

  “Well, we do have this wedding in a couple of weeks,” she said. “My cousin.”

  Nate looked at her. “I didn’t know I was invited
to that.”

  “I reminded you about it the other day,” Sabine said.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t tell me I was going.”

  “That was the reason I brought it up,” Sabine said. “But that’s fine. You don’t have to go. Are you saying you don’t want to go?”

  “No,” Nate said. “I’m not saying that. But I was planning on working full weekends this month.”

  “That’s okay,” Sabine said. “If you have to work, I’m sure I can find another date.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Nate said. “I’ll go. I’ll just have to pull a couple extra-late nights this week.”

  “Again?” she said.

  “So we can pay for things like brunch,” Nate said.

  Sabine didn’t respond directly to Nate. She gave it a second and then went on about what a great match her cousin and her cousin’s fiancé were with their musical theatre backgrounds, how they were so perfect for each other. I didn’t care about her cousin, but I wondered what it would be like to attend a wedding with a date. I imagined Nate and Sabine dancing close, the ideal proportions for her to lean her cheek against his when the bass softened, for his hand to rest on her lower back. After a fight, they probably danced closer.

  I bet Sabine knew how to dance the moment she stepped onto the floor. She seemed like someone who had been dancing her whole life. And Nate was a quick study, so he would know how to adapt to her style.

  Listen to the music, he had said in Mexico, when I was too buzzed to worry about how out of sync I was with the mariachi band. Watch what they do. I tried. In my head I could see it, but my feet couldn’t keep up.

  Frank said he didn’t like to dance, but that he’d take me one day if I wanted. I didn’t want to go dancing; that wasn’t the point. I only wanted to know how.

  I wondered if I might have wanted to go with someone else. That man waiting outside the bathroom, for example. He was tall, and graceful-looking, kind of like Byron. What if I just walked up to him and started talking? I’d have to maneuver through narrow aisles to get to him, so I’d probably trip over a fallen spoon or an outstretched foot, and the creamer would fly, and all of us would have to leave with our heads down. And what would I say anyway? He wouldn’t want to respond to someone like me. It was the shuffling that caused my problems.