From Comfortable Distances (57 page)

The organ played on,
taking over the cathedral, like a giant sweep of thunder full of crescendos and
valleys and she thought back to the little girl ice-skating. The rhythm of it
all, the great big dance of life and then she was thinking of the dance she
shared with Neal on the cruise to nowhere. Holding him close, feeling his cheek
beside hers, his breath by her ear. So much changed over time. Or maybe it was
that things didn’t change so much as they revealed themselves. There was no
short cut to the long run. That was for sure.  The organ was softer now, the
melody almost sorrowful so that Tess felt an overwhelming sadness come over
her. She had never meant to do Neal any harm, never meant to cause anyone any
pain. She scanned the rows, trying to imagine which row Neal had sat in as he
labored with pen and paper and wrote her the story of his life, the story he
had wanted and needed her to know, to accept. She wondered how things would
have turned out if she hadn’t responded to Neal after reading his letter—if she
hadn’t met him by Jamaica Bay the morning after. Would he be back at the
monastery now? But maybe it was all exactly how it was meant to be. Maybe Neal
had told her because he knew that she could, would, accept him. Perhaps he had
seen her as flawed in some way, like himself, and felt comfortable with her.
What if Neal was still around because he felt his job was to help Tess with her
life? What was it about Tess that Neal knew? What if his visit had nothing to
do with Neal and he had been sent by some higher force to help fix Tess? The
thought made her laugh out loud—Neal being sent to her from God. And yet, who
knew for sure? The people in the pew in front of her had turned to see where
the laughter had come from. She was tired of her mind. Tired of the places it
traveled when she lost her way. She stood up and excused herself as she made
her way out of the pew, which had filled up in the last twenty minutes or so.

She moved to the candles
by the lobby. Brisk air seeped in through the wrought iron doors, which opened
and closed with hordes of tourists entering and exiting the church. She stood
in line and picked up a wooden stick and a stack of votive candles. She watched
what the people in front of her were doing and lit her stick from glowing
candles. She placed the votives in empty candle holders and before she lit each
candle, she thought of the person she was sending a prayer of well-being to:
Lyla, Neal, Michael, Kash, Dale, her mother, and then Tess. When she was finished
with her prayers—simply may he or she be well and safe—she lit one more candle
for her father, the father that she had never gotten to know, who may or may
not have come looking for her at some point of her adulthood. Lighting one more
candle—it became somewhat addictive to her to light and pray—she prayed to be
open to anything and everything that came her way, to accept her fate,
regardless of what the universe dished out to her. When she heard the woman
behind her remark to her friend about how long she was taking, Tess looked up
to see that the line behind her had grown steep. She fished in her wallet for a
twenty-dollar bill and stuffed it into the donation box before she moved away.

On her way out of the
church, she lingered by gift shop, looking over the medals of St. Francis and
St. John and the various prayer books and rosaries for sale. She wanted to get
something for Neal, a token of sorts; only she wasn’t sure what he’d like. When
she saw the laminated prayer card with an ocean flowing up a sandy shore,
adorned with three little gold embossed footprints in the sand, she brought it
up to the cash register. It was corny, and yet she believed that in years to
come, if she should no longer know Neal as she did today, it would serve for
him as a reminder of their time together and she wanted him to remember, not to
lose her in his road ahead. As selfish as the thought was, she wanted Neal to
love her regardless of the route he took. She wanted to be the woman who had
changed his life, she supposed. She laughed at herself. If she had read such
lines in a novel, the melodrama would have been off-putting. She couldn’t
remember ever having wished such a thing – had she even cared what any of her
exes thought of her? No. She supposed not. Old and foolish, she smiled to
herself. Tess Rose, you are old and foolish.

“Tick tock, tick tock,”
Michael said as Tess brushed past him in the office kitchen.

“I assure you that my
biological clock stopped ticking years ago,” she said. She reached around him
for a spoon on the counter to stir her coffee. “Do you prefer to be in the way
or does it just come naturally for you?” she asked.

“The ticking clock was
referring to your departure, for your information, and most normal people would
say excuse me, at which prompting I would gladly move out of the way,” he said.

“It’s 7:00 am. I came
into the office to get some work done while it’s quiet, not to defend my life
choices to you again. For that matter I could be out walking with Lyla. Oh, I
forgot, I shouldn’t be talking bad about your new best friend Lyla.”

“First of all, she’s
your
new best friend, so don’t give me that propaganda,” Michael said.

Tess stared him down with
her hands on her hips until he looked up at her from his coffee, his chin to
his chest, eyes lowered, the lines of his forehead deep and grooved.

“Wipe that look off your
face—you're creating wrinkles on your brow first of all, and second of all,
people who criticize me and condemn me to hell aren’t best friend material,”
Tess said.

“Say what you will, but I
know that you wouldn’t be walking in the early morning hours with someone whose
company you didn’t at least somewhat enjoy,” Michael said.

“Amusing people amuse me,”
Tess said.

“What purpose do I serve
to you?” Michael said, his eyes appraising Tess.

“Right now you annoy me,”
Tess said. “If you don’t mind getting out of my way, I’d like to finish making
my coffee.”

“You realize that ever
since you gave me your adios-I’m-out-of-here letter you’ve avoided me,” Michael
said.

“I see you in the office
every day.”

“Except on the days you
play hooky to hang out with your yoga friends, and on the other days you’re
busy every minute,” Michael said. “Whenever I try to get your attention you’re
on the phone or on your way to a meeting and if I try to find you at home, I
have to worry if the monk is around.”

“What do you need to
know?” Tess said, facing him, a sugar sweet-smile on her face.

“For starters, if you’re
still serious about ditching work and running away to Woodstock and if so, when
do you plan to let the team know about the transition?” Michael said.

“I still intend to go up
to Woodstock to spend the holidays with my son and perhaps stay on a bit. As
for letting the team here know, I don’t see that as necessary. Last I checked
with the boss, I’m allowed to take a vacation. I’m sure I’ll send out a memo
before I head out that in my vacation absence, they can all go to you with
questions. And of course you or they can always reach me when I’m in Woodstock.
It’s not like I’m going around the globe—I’ll be a few hours away.”

They made their way down
the hall to Tess’s office. Michael paused beside her at her office door,
waiting for her to lead the way in.

“You’re not going in your
office?” he said.

“I prefer to finish this
conversation out here,” Tess said, peering in at her desk, which was covered
with stacked-up files and post its arranged according to her color-coded
criteria of urgency. “I need to get work done once I walk in there. Someone
needs to keep closing deals to keep the business alive,” she said.

“So you’re not going to
let them know you’re leaving,” Michael said.

“For goodness sakes,
Michael. Are you familiar with the saying
Live and let live
? Let me live
my life.  Just feel excited to run the business. You may not ever have this
chance again,” Tess said.

He bowed down to Tess.

“Yes, mighty one. Thank
you for this most honored gift,” he said and Tess laughed.

“You think it’s funny,”
he said.

“I think you’re funny,
Michael. It’s like you want me to be someone that I’m not just to keep your
life in order.”

“You seem to forget the
fact that you’re running away from your responsibilities and tossing them to
me,” Michael said.

“Say it, Michael. Say
what it is that’s really bothering you,” Tess said.

“You already know,” he
said. “I don’t want you to go. I feel like your life is still here with me.
Working together at Best.”

Tess opened her mouth to
speak, but no words came out. She could have reminded him that they were
over—that they hadn’t been a couple in a long time. She could have told him
that her life was where she chose it to me, not where Michael believed it was.
She could have told him to get a grip, to let go of her, to get on with his
life. She could have told him that change was an inevitable part of life, a
beautiful part of life. There were so many things that she could have said, but
somehow none of them were necessary.

She reached out and
touched his face, her open palm against his cheek, making its way down to his
chin and then dropping down to her side. It felt like more of a motherly
gesture than a romantic one.

He nodded and Tess
smiled.

“It’s all happening
exactly as it should,” she said and he nodded again and made his way down the
hall to his office.

Tess sorted the folders
in front of her, each one labeled with a different address—somehow she was
responsible for each of these deals. Off to the right of her desk in her in-box
were folders from her agents, deals they wanted her to look over before they
acted. That was part of being the boss—overseeing her agents’ transactions. She
focused back on her folders and put the Johnson house sale on top. That would
most likely close today if the bank guaranteed the mortgage. She knew the young
couple buying the house was on pins and needles for everything to be final with
the woman being six months pregnant. She began to look through the papers, see
what the buyers still needed to review, what would need signing for the
transaction to move forward, and then let the folder fall to her desk. What did
it any of it matter? That’s what went through her mind and yet some distant
voice in her brain reassured her that it did matter—it was her job, there were
people involved whose life dreams depended on it, whose futures would be shaped
by these transactions. One day way back her future had been carved when she
moved into her home on East 66
^th
Street in Mill Basin, Brooklyn.

7:20 am. It was too early
to call Prakash and yet…. He picked up on the second ring.

“You’re awake,” she said.

“Mom,” he said. “How’d I
know it was going to be you?”

“Telepathy,” she said. “Why
are you awake?”

“The same reason you’re
in your office right now—working.”

“The new complex still?”
Tess said.

“Whatever I come up with,
the investors seem to have their own ideas,” he said.

“Why don’t you ask them
what they want and create it?” Tess said.

“That’s what I thought I
was doing but they seem to keep changing their minds.”

“Do you like your life,
Kash?”

“Is this going to be an
existential talk?” Prakash said.

She could hear that he
had put down his pencil and imagined him leaned over, rubbing his eyes with the
heels of his palms as he used to do when she woke him up for school, his piles
of thick, curly black hair springing forward.

“The thing is a person
can make all this money, be busy, and yet still not know what’s missing, what’s
right, what’s next,” Tess said.

“A person can also waste
time worrying about what’s missing, what’s right, what’s next, and neglect to
live in the moment and enjoy all that is,” Prakash said. “And if something
makes you feel bad, you get to change it. That’s the beauty of freedom.”

Tess put her legs up on
her desk and studied the scuffed points of her heels from the snow and salt on
the ground. They needed polishing.

“Freedom is a complicated
concept,” Tess said. “Our right to exercise our freedom affects others.”

She heard Prakash walking
around his apartment. Perhaps he was looking out his window, high up on the 22
^nd
floor. It was 4:30am in San Francisco; she imagined it was dark and cold and
foggy there.

“I got my plane tickets
by the way, so we’re all set for our New Year’s getaway,” Prakash said.

“I’m looking forward to
that,” Tess said.

“Have you invited
anyone—Neal? Michael?”

“No,” Tess said.

“Are you still planning
on staying up there?” Prakash said.

“Yes,” Tess said. “I’ve
let Michael know.”

“How did he take it?”

“Obstinately. But he’ll
live.”

“I’m going to stay on
through the first week in January, so you’ll have some company for a bit,”
Prakash said.

“That will be nice,” Tess
said. “Be sure to pack warm clothes. It gets a bit torrential up there this
time of year,” Tess said.

“Thanks for the tip—I was
going to pack shorts and t-shirts.”

“Will you get some sleep
tonight?” Tess said.

“It’s already tomorrow,”
Prakash said. “And I’m fine. Remember that I learned my work ethic from you.”

“That’s what frightens
me,” Tess said. “You know I’m proud of you, Kash. Really proud of you.”  

“I know. Do yourself a
favor, Mom: don’t waste another minute today worrying—just live,” Prakash said.
“Like you used to say to me—
this is it, this is life
.”

“Yes,” Tess said. She
vaguely remembered her little mock top-hat tipping gesture when she would say
that to her son.

“Birthdays tend to cause
anxiety, Mom. Whatever you’re feeling is perfectly normal,” he said.

She stopped tapping her
pencil against the desk and closed her eyes, smiling.

“I don’t know how I got
to be 56 years old,” she said.

“I don’t know how I got
to be 33, but somehow, it happened. That’s how life works. Another day, another
24 hours older.” They were silent for a few moments before Prakash cleared his
throat. “Back to work for me. See you soon, Mom,” he said, to which Tess
replied “See you soon,” and then he was gone.

Outside, the birds made
their way from the telephone line across the street to the one adjacent to it.
One after the other, they seemed to follow, scooting on the thin wire to make
room for one another. The trees waved in the wind, their branches seemingly
brittle under the gray-black snow laden sky, as if they were about to snap off.
Tess was grateful to be indoors, warm, the heat booming through the vents. She
felt tired, but when she thought about sleep, that wasn’t what she wanted. She
had slept plenty. No, she was restless, tired in her brain. Uneasy about what
was to come. There were moments, days, when she felt strong, confident and
open-minded about the future. So how was it that on the opposite end of that
spectrum she felt so afraid, so unsure? She had her tools: meditation,
pranayama, yoga. Only she didn’t feel like any of that now. How quickly all
that she had learned went out the door when fear cast its shadow over her. She
wondered how her mother had managed it all—how she had remained so steady
through adversity, of which she’d had her share. Perhaps her steadiness had
been an act. Perhaps underneath it all was the very same desperation that Tess
was feeling. People were masters at hiding their truth, wearing masks. Why
would her mother be any different? The birds were in flight again, moving
beyond her sight. Where would she go if she had the power to fly away? She
didn’t even know.

The sound of a new email
in her inbox jarred her from her thoughts. It was from Michael.

I honorably request your
presence to join me brunch this Saturday, December 20
^th
, in New York
City, to celebrate your birthday and the New Year. As I know that you will be
heading up to Woodstock on Friday, December 26
^th
, your birthday, I
am hoping this will be satisfactory to you. Kindly RSVP no later than 8:00 am.

Tess responded:

Thanks for your most
generous invitation. Regrettably, I have early morning yoga and subsequent
brunch plans with yoga friends on Saturday.

Michael would live. He
was attached to her companionship. Once she was gone, he’d be fine. They had
been divorced for a long time now—they were friends. She wondered if he would
even care about her whereabouts if Neal hadn’t come into the picture.

Work. Organizing her
files. That was the task that was in front of her. Focus. She took a deep
breath, kicked off her shoes under her desk to stretch her toes, and got back
to it. She would go through her own files and then get to her employees’ files
and get them the answers or approvals they needed. Systematic and orderly. Her
goal was to be through it all by 9:30, at which time she would depart for her
10:00 am appointment. It was a new lead—a gentleman who was looking to buy a
home in Bergen Beach, something about his having family there, in laws, she
believed, and him wanting to find something large and grand that he and his
newly pregnant wife could move into ASAP. He was a partner at a law firm in Bay
Ridge, and from their initial conversation, it seemed that he had money to
spend. She could always tell by the tone of a potential buyer’s voice if he was
worth her while to take on—a buyer with money, a quick-close type of sale—or if
it would be a longer, more drawn-out type of sale, an insecure buyer with less
money to spend, which she’d hand off to one of her agents based on their
experience level. This gentleman could very well be her last client for some
time. Depending on how the meeting went today, she’d determine if she’d be able
to close it out in the next few weeks or if she’d have to make a trip back to
Brooklyn to finish it out. She knew exactly which house she’d show him if he
had the money to spend that he insinuated he did.