Текст книги "The Job "
Автор книги: Claire Adams
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
“Well, we got together and talked about some things, but she didn’t want to come to the bar,” Jessica answers.
I help her outside, and once the sun is in her face, she takes a deep breath.
“Would you mind taking me home?” she asks.
“I took a cab, but I’ll be happy to make sure you get there safe.”
“I drove,” she says. “I can’t drive home for obvious reasons, though.”
“Sure,” I tell her and ask for her keys.
“Yeah, that’s part of the problem,” Jessica says. “I kind of made a little wager with Delilah in there that kind of lost, so I ended up paying for drinks for both of us, only I didn’t have enough money to cover all of it, so I gave her my car keys for collateral. You’re going to need to go in there and pay the balance on my tab and get the keys from her. I don’t think it should be much more than a hundred dollars.”
“A hundred dollars?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll pay you back when you take me home, I just didn’t remember to bring enough for evverry eventuality.”
“Come in with me, stand at the end of the bar near the door and don’t talk to anyone or order any drinks or do anything but wait for me, okay?” I tell her.
I’ve never been to this place before, but I’ve got a really bad vibe as I go back in. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that nearly everyone in the room is staring at me.
They’re not goths and they’re not ravers. They’re not the typical club or bar crowd either. I’m not sure how to describe the clientele other than to say that they appear very territorial and I seem to be infringing on that territory at the moment.
Still, we can’t really get out of here until I get Jessica her keys back.
I walk back down to the end of the bar and find Delilah.
“Hey, you did come back,” she says. “I was wondering if you would.”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I understand that my friend owes some money for drinks, and I’m here to settle up and get her keys.”
“All right, dearie,” Delilah says, and leans over the counter toward the bartender. “How much is my tab?”
The bartender answers, “Two-fifty.”
Fucking hell.
“All right,” I answer and pull my wallet out of my pants pocket. I remove my card from inside and set it on the counter.
“Too bad,” Delilah says. “I was really looking forward to taking that Merc out for a test drive.”
“What was the bet?” I ask.
“What was what?” Delilah responds, cupping a hand to the side of her ear.
“What was the bet?” I ask again.
“Oh,” Delilah nods. “She said that you wouldn’t come if she called you. The way she said it, I had a feeling that you would.”
“You had a feeling?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Delilah says. “Listen, she’s not good for you. She doesn’t appreciate you. If you’ve got more in those pockets, I bet I could find you someone that’ll put a smile on your face without all the drama that one’s going to give you.”
“Thanks, but I’m not interested,” I tell her.
“Too bad,” she says again.
The bartender hands me back my card and I sign the receipt. I put the card in my wallet, my wallet in my pocket, and I turn back toward Delilah, saying, “Now, the keys if you don’t mind.”
“You know we don’t bite,” she says.
“I never said you did,” I answer. “I’d just like to get her home. It’s kind of a rough time.”
“Oh, I think we all know about that, sweetie,” Delilah says and stands up to better access her front pocket. She pulls the keys out and holds them above my open hand but, before dropping them, she leans in close to my ear and says, “If you change your mind, give me a call.”
She stuffs a piece of paper into my front pocket and drops the keys in my hand.
“Ta-ta,” she mutters, and I force a smile as I turn to walk away.
The problem is, Jessica’s nowhere to be found.
Chapter Fifteen
None of the Above
Jessica
“If you’re that worried about it,” Kristin says, “call him. If you would have told me that he was there, I would have walked over there, myself and we would have figured something out.”
“How’s Mom doing?” I ask.
“She’s going to be laid up for a while,” Kristin says. “They took out cartilage from a few of her joints, and they’re going to be taking her in for a scan later today to see if they got it all.”
“How could they not be sure about something like that?” I ask, trying and failing to unlock my phone’s lock screen.
“They’re just being cautious,” Kristin says. “How much did you drink? You know both Mom and Dad are going to flip the fuck out if they know you’re already drunk.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her.
“Get your shit together, will you?” she asks. “You’re supposed to be the reasonable one and I’m supposed to be the drunken idiot.”
“How do you suggest I do that?” I ask. “‘Get my shit together.’”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe dial down the drinking for starters. You’re not a heavyweight, so stop trying to act like one. And what the hell is going on with you and Eric?”
“I have no idea,” I tell her and finally manage to unlock my phone. I find Eric’s number and call it.
“You just left,” he says, answering the phone. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I kind of got in touch with both you and my sister. We’re headed—” I turn to Kristin, “Where are we headed?”
“You’re going home,” she says. “I’m going to the hospital to check up on Mom.”
“I’m going with you,” I tell her.
“Not like this, you’re not,” she retorts.
“I’m either going home or to the hospital,” I tell him and turn back to Kristin. “I’m fine. I want to go to the hospital with you.”
“You can come later today after you’ve had a shower, a nap and some coffee. And, you know, brush your teeth,” she says, holding her nose like a child.
“If you want to meet me at my apartment, that would be okay,” I tell Eric.
His sigh is very audible.
“All right,” he says. “Is there anything I can pick up for you on my way?”
“Yeah,” I tell him, “I’m running low on vodka.”
Kristin’s sitting in the driver’s seat, shaking her head. “You need to get your shit together, sissy.”
Of all her terms for me that I don’t like, and there are many of them, “sissy” is the only one that actually pisses me off.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I ask her, covering the phone. “I can’t remember how many times I’ve picked you up from bars, parties… I’ve basically been your fucking designated driver since we were in high school.”
“Yeah, and I’m finally starting to see why that pissed you off so much,” she says. “Mom’s in the hospital. This isn’t all about you, Jessica.”
For whatever reason, her use of my first name makes me feel like an asshole.
I put the phone back against my ear and say, “Just meet me at my apartment and we’ll go from there.”
There’s no answer.
“Eric?”
I look down at the phone. The call’s already ended.
“I wonder where I lost him,” I mutter.
“I think around the time you told him you needed more vodka after ditching him in the bar he came to pick you up from is a pretty good guess,” she answers.
I look out the window.
“I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” I ask.
“You’re fucking a lot of things up,” she says.
“Gee, thanks. That’s very helpful,” I tell her.
“Just get your head out of your ass,” she says. “We’re all going through some shit right now, but we need to be there for Mom. That’s the important thing.”
“I just wish I knew that she was going to be okay,” I tell her.
“Me too,” Kristin answers.
We pull into my building’s lot and Kristin parks in my space.
“Call your friend back and tell him you don’t need any vodka. I’ll stay with you until he gets here,” Kristin says.
“Why would he come?” I ask. “I haven’t exactly been the best version of myself the last couple of days.”
“Nobody expects you to be,” Kristin says, bumping the lock button on her keychain. “Maybe just start aiming a little higher than straight down, and I’m sure you’ll be okay.”
I feel stupid. I feel stupid and angry and depressed and helpless and I’m really not in the mood to be around myself right now, not that I have a choice in the matter.
That’s why I wanted to drink, but it’s not helping shit.
I tried to find a bar that reflected my feelings, but I just ended up getting bored and even more frustrated with everything.
“Is this what you were feeling like?” I ask as we make our way into the building.
“What do you mean?” she returns.
“All those times I picked you up,” I explain. “Did you feel this, I don’t know, broken?”
“Probably a different version of it,” Kristin says, “but yeah. I wasn’t doing it because I was happy.”
“Do you want a drink?” I ask her.
“Remember what I said about relocating your head?” she retorts.
I smile and, as we get to my apartment door, I realize that Eric’s got the key. Unlocking my phone again, I call the number.
“If you really want more vodka, I’ll get it for you,” he says.
“No, that’s okay,” I tell him. “I do, however, need my key to get in. Are you close?”
There’s the sound of a cash register opening and closing.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I had to make a quick stop by the store,” he says. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Okay, thanks,” I answer and hang up.
Kristin and I sit against the wall.
I turn to her, asking, “So the surgery went well?”
“Yeah,” Kristin says, “that’s what Dad told me, anyway. He said that they were able to get what they knew was in there. The only thing they can do now is hope that they didn’t miss anything.”
“And that’ll make her better?” I ask. “I mean, if they got everything, that’ll be the end of it and she’ll be all right?”
“I don’t know,” Kristin answers.
“What about chemo or radiation?” I ask. “Why haven’t they talked about doing any of that?”
“This kind of cancer doesn’t really respond to any of that,” she answers. “The only thing they can do is go in there and pull it out.”
“So she’s going to be fine?” I ask again.
Kristin just looks at the ground and says, “I hope so.”
We wait for a while and Eric eventually shows up. He’s got a brown bag in his hand, and before Kristin or I can say anything about it, he says, “I was already at the liquor store when you called. I would have just left it in the car, but that wouldn’t really have made much of a difference right now.”
Kristin stands and helps me to my feet. Eric pulls the keys from his pocket and hands them over to me.
“I can stay as long as you want me to,” Eric says, but as soon as the door’s unlocked, I can’t pretend like I want anyone to see me right now.
“That’s okay,” I tell him. “Go ahead and head back home. I’ll give you a call later.”
I don’t know if the look he’s giving me is one of disappointment or worry, but it’s definitely one of the above.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “I’m taking the day. I can give you a hand around the house, give you someone to talk to—I mean, I know Kristin’s here, but sometimes the more the—”
“I’m sure,” I interrupt. I can feel myself snapping at him, but I can’t stop it.
It’s not like we’re some serious couple or like we’re in love or anything. So far, I think we’d be pushing it to say that we’re anything more than glorified fuck buddies. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I do love him.
With the door open, I motion for Kristin to come in, but she shakes her head.
“I’ve got to get to the hospital,” she says and she turns to Eric. “Do you need a ride home?”
“That’s all right,” he says. “I can just take a cab. I live in the opposite direction from where you’re going.”
“Let me give you a ride home,” she insists. “I’ve got a little bit of time to kill. Our dad said he’d give me a call when she’s awake and he hasn’t called yet.”
Eric looks at me and then back at Kristin.
“If you’re sure it won’t be a problem,” he says.
Kristin turns and gives me a hug, saying, “Remember: shower, nap, coffee, toothbrush. You’ll probably want to do it in that order, too.”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
As she pulls away, I can see the uncertainty in Eric’s eyes. He makes a decision and starts to move toward me, but I just turn back toward Kristin and say, “Well, I’ll see you guys later.”
I shut the door behind me and, for a brief moment, I’m just proud of myself for not grabbing that brown paper bag from Eric’s hand.
That pride doesn’t last long, though.
Chapter Sixteen
The Keys to the Asylum
Eric
“I don’t know what to do, guys,” I tell my crew. “I know that last job was supposed to be the thing one that turned it all around for us, but people just aren’t hiring. I’m open to suggestions.”
It’s been three days since I last saw Jessica. She’s not answering my calls or my texts.
I stopped by her place yesterday, but she either wasn’t home or she just didn’t want to come to the door.
Now, sitting in this booth with my crew—Alec excluded, as he’s back finishing up his thing in Jersey—eating pizza, I’m seriously considering dissolving the company.
“I don’t know what to tell you, boss,” Ian says, “but if things don’t turn around, and I hate to say this, but, you know, we need income.”
“I know,” I answer. “I’d hate to see that happen, but I’m not blind to reality, either.”
“Well, it’s been fun,” the newest new guy says and gets up from the table. He drops a few bucks to cover his portion of the meal and walks away.
None of us try to stop him.
“Even if we could get something small, just enough to get by, maybe that would be enough to keep things going until we can find something better,” Ian says.
“I’ve made some appointments and placed some bids,” I tell him, “but everyone’s shooting low these days. Just yesterday, I underbid a project by about twenty percent and the guy just looked at me like I was asking him to pay me in gold bullion.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Ian says. “Maybe we’re bidding too low and people aren’t taking us seriously. I get that other guys are bidding low, too, but a lot of people won’t hire a crew that’s underbidding. They think it’s a sign that we don’t know what we’re doing.”
“What do you think, José?” I ask.
“I know of a job,” he says, “but it’s not going to pay like we’re used to.”
I sit up a little straighter in my seat.
“What is it?” I ask.
“My cousin’s redoing his bathroom, countertops and cabinets, mostly, and he asked if I could help. He offered to pay, but it’s not enough for all of us.”
“How much?” Ian asks.
“He said five hundred, plus the cost of materials,” José answers. “It’s a one, maybe two day job with all of us, but I don’t know if it’d be worth it to bring everyone in for it. It’s a small bathroom, I don’t even think all of us would fit in there at the same time.”
“Well,” Ian says, turning to me, “it’s something.”
“Yeah,” I answer and take a drink of water. “It’s something.”
“I can give him a call if you want,” José says. “If you think it’s worth our time.”
“If nothing else,” I tell him, smiling, “we’ll be helping out your cousin. As far as I can see it, there’s no reason to turn it down while we’ve got nothing else going on.”
José nods and gets up from his seat, pulling the phone from his pocket.
“Have you talked to Lou?” Ian asks.
“No,” I answer. “I’m not exactly his favorite person right now.”
“He just got on with a crew that’s doing the new bank building on 42nd,” Ian says. “Maybe it’s time for us to start jumping on the larger jobs.”
“It takes a bigger crew than what we’ve got, though,” I tell him. “I can’t afford to pay a bigger crew until we get a bigger job, and we can’t get a bigger job until we’ve got a bigger crew.”
“Not necessarily,” Ian says, leaning over the table toward me. “Maybe it’s like one of those ‘if you build it, they will come,’ things. We place a bid on a bigger project and when we get it, we can hire on a few more hands.”
“It’s a risk, though,” I tell him. “I’ve done that sort of thing before, but if we’re talking about jobs the size of what Lou’s doing, that’s going to be a lot of guys who are either new to the business or new to us. Either way, it’s going to slow us way down and if we take too long on a job like that, word’s going to spread that we can’t get shit done. Even if we finish up strong, that’s going to put us in a bad position when it comes to the next job.”
“We’ve got to do something,” Ian says. “We’re already down to family members, and I think we both know that’s a pretty fucked position to be in.”
“I know,” I tell him. “Let me think about it.”
He shrugs and leans back.
José comes back to the table with a look of disappointment.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He got someone else,” José answers. “He said that he could do it for cheaper if he used a couple of guys from his neighborhood.”
We just lost out on a micro job for a family member of one of my crew.
I think it’s safe to say that we’re fucked.
“Ian, tell José what you just told me,” I say.
“I was just telling the boss,” Ian says, “that if we were to take on a bigger job, we could bid low enough to get it and just hire a bigger crew.”
“We’d have to find a way to manage a lot of people that we’ve never worked with before, though,” José says. “We get a crew that’s even triple the size of what we’ve got now, and we’re going to end up spending all our time making sure they’re doing everything right. It’ll slow us down. We’ve got to do it more gradually.”
“We’re out of options,” Ian retorts. “As far as I can see it, we either go all in on something big—and do it right quick—or we’re gonna be standing in the unemployment line this time next week.”
“What if we start over?” I ask.
“That’s what I’m telling you,” Ian says. “If we don’t do this thing right, we’re going to end up back at square one.”
“No, we’re already there,” I tell him. “Now that Joe’s gone—”
“Marcus,” Ian corrects.
“Damn, I’ve really got to get better at remembering names,” I laugh. Leaning forward, I ask, “Who do we have right now? We’ve got the three of us and Alec. We’ve all been doing this for a long time, and we all know how we like to get a job done. We can move forward with a project even if I’m not there. What if we start a different kind of company?”
“What do you mean?” José asks.
“José,” I start. “You know just as much—all right, probably more—about this business than I do. You’re great when it comes to hands-on work, but you’re also a hell of a leader and you can always get the guys motivated. Ian,” I go on, turning to my only other employee at the table, “we mostly use you for carpentry and general construction, but you’ve got a background in electrical work, too.”
“Yeah?” Ian asks. “So?”
“So,” I continue, “Alec is—okay, Alec’s kind of worthless when it comes to doing any actual work, but he’s great at schmoozing clients. Do you remember that remodel last year when he got the client to give us each a ten thousand dollar bonus?” I ask.
“Good times,” Ian says wistfully. “But what does that have to do with where we are now?”
“Don’t you get it?” I ask. “We need to stop looking at ourselves as just guys on a crew and start looking at what we can all bring to the table. Why don’t we hire a whole new crew, but instead of trying to direct things worker to worker with only me and sometimes José taking the role of foreman, what if we all oversee a particular part of the job and let the new guys focus on doing the work. That way, we’re out of each other’s way. We can still make sure they’re doing things our way, but as foreman to worker.”
“How is that different from what I was telling you?” Ian asks.
“The difference between a crew and a company is the quality of the leadership. I’ve done the best I can, but it’s not enough for me to be the only guy. I’m saying that if we break this thing up into four divisions—okay, three. I really don’t want Alec doing more than sweet-talking his way into jobs for us. But three divisions. I hang onto the business end of things: purchasing, payroll, all that stuff. José, you would be foreman over the carpenters and general construction. Ian, you could head up electricians and maybe bring in a couple of guys to take care of plumbing work.”
“Where’s the money coming from?” José asks. “We would have to land something big and I don’t know if Ian and I have the experience to head up whole divisions of the labor.”
“You do, though,” I tell him. “When either of you speak, the whole crew listens. You know what you’re talking about and you know how to help get the best out of everyone around you. Maybe it’s harder to see from where you are most of the time because we’ve been holding onto such a small crew for so long, but I know I can see it.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Ian exclaims, pounding his fist on the table.
The one downside about Ian is that any idea that even subtly resembles anything he’s ever said is, in his mind, his idea.
“What do you think?” I ask.
Ian’s already on board, and I have no doubt it’s not going to be long before he’s lobbying to have his name included in the company banner. José doesn’t seem so convinced.
“How many guys are you talking about taking on?” José asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “It would vary a bit depending on the size of the first job like this, but I don’t think it’s unrealistic to have, say, twenty, thirty guys by the end of the month.”
José smiles, but I don’t think it’s a sign of agreement.
“We’ve been running a four-man crew,” he says. “Five when we can keep someone new on long enough. Do you really think we can change everything about the way we work in a single job?”
“Let me ask you this,” I start, “José: If I wasn’t there to do it myself, how confident would you be that you could run the crew, get the work done well and make a solid name for the company?”
José looks away.
While Ian makes no bones about his ambitions, José’s always been more modest. Even with that, though, he knows he could take the whole company if it came to that.
José nods.
“That’s why you’re my number two, and that’s why I can feel confident leaving you guys to do your thing when something comes up on the business side that I have to take care of. All we’d be doing is focusing all of our energies in the areas where we have the most knowhow and the most experience. I think, if anything, that can only make us better and make the guys working under us better as a result. What do you say?” I ask. “Maybe it’ll work, maybe it won’t. From where I’m sitting, though, I think it’s our best shot.”
“I’m in, boss,” Ian says. He puts his hand over the middle of the table like we’re in one of those kid’s sports movies that are so depressing.
I close my eyes and shake my head at him and his hand retreats.
“José?” I ask.
He still doesn’t look quite convinced.
When we’re working, he’s the most confident man on the planet. He knows what he’s doing and he knows how to get the best out of everyone that’s around him.
Outside that context, though—I don’t know if it’s because I’ve kept him at number two in such a small crew for so long or what—he’s a lot less self-assured.
“One thing I do know,” I tell him, “is that if this thing has any chance of working, we’re not going to be able to do it without you.”
He’s smiling. José never smiles.
“All right,” he says. “I’ll do it.”
From there, the rest of the business lunch—if that’s what we’re calling it—is all smiles and handshakes. There’s still one big problem, though.
We’re still just three guys sitting at a table with absolutely nothing but our enthusiasm to tell us that anything’s going to really change.
We need to find a job.
Before leaving the restaurant, I excuse myself for a moment to call Alec.
I fill him in on what we’re talking about and he seems pretty thrilled over the chance to “exercise his world-class charm.” Once I remind him that we’re a legitimate business, not a mafia operation, he’s a little disappointed, but he’s still on board.
Nothing has really changed, at least not yet, but for the first time since we got that job remodeling Jessica’s store, there’s a glimmer of hope that things are going to finally turn a corner.
When I get back to the table, I set up a time for all four of us to get together and further solidify our new roles in the company and develop a strategy for landing the bigger jobs that we’re going to need to stay afloat.
We say our goodbyes and we all have smiles on our faces as we walk out of the restaurant, but with every step I take away from the restaurant and away from my guys, the less convinced I am that I’ve done anything more than give my crew one last thing to smile about before we all end up looking for different jobs.
What can I say? Faith has never been my strong suit.
By the time I get back to my building, any vestige of a smile has long since passed, and I’m feeling a rush of anxiety running through me.
Shaking up the division of labor is a positive step, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be enough to save the company.
That anxiety only grows as I come to my hallway and find Jessica sitting with her back against my door.
“Hey,” she says, looking up at me.
“Hey, are you all right? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days,” I answer and help her up from the floor.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she says. “It’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair?” I ask.
“Well, we’re still just starting to get off the ground with whatever this is, and it’s not fair for you to have to carry everything,” she answers.
“I really don’t mind,” I start, but I don’t get a chance to finish the thought.
“I’d really rather not talk about it,” she says. “Are you going to invite me in?”
I unlock the door and open it, motioning for her to go ahead inside.
“I’m not drunk today, so that’s a plus,” she says.
I shut the door. “I’m glad to hear that,” I tell her. “I went into a bottle when my mom—”
“Yeah, I’d really rather not talk about it,” she says. “I was thinking maybe we could do something else.”
“What’d you have in mind?” I ask.
She lifts an eyebrow and starts undoing the buttons on her blouse.
“Jessica,” I start, “as much as I enjoy, you know, I think I’d rather talk to you for a little bit.”
She stops unbuttoning her shirt, saying, “Well, this is what I need right now.”
“I know you want to block it all out with sex and liquor—”
“Ah, but I’m not drunk today,” she says.
“Still,” I continue, “it’s just putting off dealing with the situation. I hope things get better for your mom and fast, but you have to deal with what’s going on right now.”
“Why do people always say that?” she asks. “Everyone thinks that confronting your emotions at all times is the best way to stay healthy, but does anyone ever consider the fact that sometimes it’s just a little much?”
“I know it’s not easy, but—”
“I don’t even like my mother,” she says. “I mean, I love her, but she’s never been the kind of person that I could really share anything with. Every fucking thing I did was never good enough, and even now, laying in that stupid hospital bed, she’s still telling me that I should sell the store and go back to working as a waitress—something about how it’s more suited to my capabilities. Even with all that, she’s still my mom and I still love her. I don’t know that I can get through this unless I have some detachment, so come here,” she says, unbuttoning another button, “hop on.”
Hop on?
“Jessica, I don’t know what our relationship is and I don’t know where it’s going, but I do know that we’re never going to be on a solid footing unless we can start talking to each other about things.”
“I’ll tell you what,” she says. “There’s something from you that I want and there’s something from me that you want. I’d be willing to give you yours if you’ll give me mine.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“We do things my way for a while,” she says, “and when we’re done with that, I’ll answer any question that you have.”
“Just one question?” I ask.
“That wasn’t it, was it?” she returns.
“No,” I tell her. “But I think I’m looking for a little bit more than that.”
“I don’t think I’m there,” she says. “Maybe if things wouldn’t have happened with my mom the way they have, it might be different, but we are what we are and the facts are the facts.”
“I don’t think it would be any different,” I tell her.
“What do you mean?” she asks impatiently, sitting on my couch, the front of her blouse coming open.
“I mean that you’ve got this need to control everything, even to the point of self-destruction,” I tell her. “Right now, you’re trying to control the chaos in your life by turning it into a giant distraction that’s going to end up solving nothing, only making you resent me for going along with it, and I’m not going to stand for that.”
“Oh, you’re not going to stand for it?” she asks. “That’s some pretty tough talk.”
“I’d rather have no relationship with you than a relationship where you just use me until you get sick of me or start resenting me or both,” I tell her.
“Use you?” she laughs. “You think I’m using you?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “I think it’s pretty clear that you are. We don’t talk for days and then when you show up on my doorstep, quite literally, you expect me to just fold and do what you want me to do, regardless of how I think it’s going to only end up hurting both of us.”
“You didn’t seem so principled the other night,” she says.
“Yeah, well the other night, I thought you were just trying to get through a tough moment. I didn’t know that you were planning on turning it into a means of evading the harder facts of your life permanently,” I respond.
“Sweetie,” she says, “you’re good, but I’d hardly say you’ve got the stamina to help me ‘evade the harder facts of my life permanently.’”
“You know exactly what I mean,” I tell her. “Now, I would love to sit down and talk and to be here for you, or if you don’t want to talk, I’d be happy to just sit here and hold you or just sit here and do nothing at all, but I’m not just going to let you turn you and I into an escape from reality.”
“And why not?” she yells. “You know what it’s like, having a parent with cancer! Your mom died; do you really think life would have been easier if you sat down and talked endlessly about something that you couldn’t control?”
“No,” I tell her. “I don’t think anything would have really helped me at that moment. I don’t think that anything’s going to make it all better for you right now, either. The situation here is terrible and nothing’s going to change that. All that we can do, all that anybody could do, would be to do our best to get through it.”
“That’s what I’m doing,” she says, her voice filled with anger. “I’m just trying to get through it.”
“Then quit running away from it,” I tell her. “Listen, you don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to, but I have a feeling you’re not talking to anyone about it.”
