Objects of My Affection (13 page)

“So … how is everything going?”

“Fine.” I paste on a smile as I plot my getaway. Wine. I was going to get wine. I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more about now. “I was on my way to get something to drink. Excuse me. Lovely seeing you.”

My heart is knocking in my chest as I make my way to the coolers outside. Okay. That wasn't so bad. Now it's over with. I'll simply grab my wine, sneak around the side of the house to the living room where Penny is, and then I'll—

“Are you working on another book?”

My heart stops its thumping and sinks to my stomach. Daniel
is next to me, pulling a beer from the cooler. He hands me an open bottle of chardonnay—of course he'd know my beverage of choice.

“I've been busy on a different project,” I say, pouring a glass of wine, right to the top.

“What kind of project?”

I attempt to maintain a pleasant expression, but Daniel is doing that annoying thing he does where he looks all
nice
and
open
and
interested
in what I have to say.

“I'm helping this woman clear out her house. It's cluttered. Like insane-hoarder cluttered.”

“You'd be great at that. I still line up my shoes in pairs, thanks to your fine teaching.”

I'm trying not to picture how his shoes used to be in my closet when one of the Andreas leans between us to grab a Diet Coke.

“Oh, hello, Danny Boy,” she says. “Surprised to see you here … figured they'd have you chained up at work trying to bring in new business. Since your account bombed out and all.” She shoots me a significant look—maybe I was hasty assuming people would side with Daniel after the breakup. I clearly underestimated the bonds of sisterhood and scorned women everywhere.

Daniel takes a swig of his beer. “I'm a man at a baby shower. This is part of my penance.”

“Then it's time to head inside for more,” Andrea says. “Penny is opening the presents. Andrea and I can show you how to ooh and aah properly.”

“There's a technique?” he asks.

Andrea rolls her eyes. “Men.”

I'm picking up my wine to go, but Daniel says, “Save us a spot, will you, Andrea? We'll be there in a minute.”

After she leaves, Daniel seems to take a great interest in peeling the label off his beer bottle. Finally he says, “How's Ash?”

I feed him my standard line: “He's great.”

Daniel's eyes lift to meet mine. “Yeah? I'm glad to hear that.” His voice is gentle. “What's he doing these days?”

I desperately want to lie to him—give him the same story about Ash's being away at a tiny college out of state. He'd see through it, though. Then I scold myself. Just because Daniel disapproved of how I handled things with Ash doesn't mean I should feel awkward. The great Eleanor Roosevelt once said that no one can make you feel like a total loser without your permission, or something along those lines, so I need to quit letting him make me feel uncomfortable.

“He's in Florida. At a rehab.”

“That's great.” Daniel seems genuinely happy at the news. For a second I fear he's going to hug me. He starts forward, and I stiffen, but he just runs a hand through his hair. “I'm so glad for him. It's great. Wow. It's going well, then? Which one is it? How long has he been there?”

This is nothing I want to talk to Daniel about. I take a step toward the house. “I don't want to miss out on the present opening.”

“Sure. No problem.”

He follows me to the living room, then sits down on the floor with the Andreas. I cram in next to Heather and Hank—a prime location since it's on the other side of the couch. If I lean back, I can't see Daniel over Penny's girth.

We leave as soon as the presents are open—Heather begs out with excuses of babysitting troubles but in reality is bowing to the combined misery of both her husband and me.

Not until we're on the road does Heather say, “I can't believe Daniel had the nerve to show up. Did you talk to him?”

“For a couple minutes. It was no big deal. I'm over it.”

I assume that's the end of the subject. We move on to complain about the traffic, and how it shouldn't be allowed to be this bad on a Saturday, when Heather says, “Can I tell you something without you getting upset?”

“I guess so. What?”

“I'm not done being mad at Daniel. I liked the two of you together.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Hank says, “his hair is getting thin on top.”

It's not true—Daniel has the same wavy, unruly mop as always, and, damn it, it still looked as adorable as ever on him. But I can't say I don't appreciate Hank's effort.

M
onday morning I'm enjoying watching Niko load the truck—both for the thrill of seeing the progress and the simple fact that he's easy on the eyes—when Will calls.

“Two things,” he says, without so much as a hello. “First off, I'm making sure we're set for tomorrow, two o'clock, for when I bring the art expert by for a walk-through. It would be nice,” he adds pointedly, “if we could actually
walk through
.”

I glance worriedly around. Three weeks' worth of Xs on the calendar and—for all that's been removed—we've barely made a dent. “I'll do the best I can.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

That's rude even for Will. “This is not an easy job.”

“If it's too much for you, let me know. There's a place—Organize Me I believe it's called—that submitted a very reasonable bid. Since you were already hired, I've held them off. But …” He lets the threat hang there.

Grrr. Organize Me!—yes, exclamation point—is like the National Guard of the organizing world. One phone call and they release a team of professional, snappy organizers that march into your home and whip it into shape. I hate them. They're so cookie-cutter. So overly polished. Plus I interviewed with them and they didn't hire me.

“I didn't say I couldn't do it—only that it isn't easy. That should come as no surprise to you.”

“Remember, this man is not aware that Marva is the client. I intend to keep it that way. It's your job to remove any traces of her identity—paperwork, bills, and so on. I've timed it for when she'll be at a doctor's appointment. Which brings me to the second reason for my call. She's got some sort of tooth crisis. I need you to take her to the dentist today.”

“Excuse me?”

He must realize he's overstepping, because he says, “Please, could you run Marva to the dentist? She called me to say she's in pain and has scheduled emergency dental surgery. Broke a crown off or something. Root canal. At any rate, I can't get away from work. Her usual nurse isn't available. I suggested a cab but they won't release her to one. Apparently she'll be doped up.”

Why don't you call Organize Me! if they're so great? See if
they'll
schlep your mother to a dental appointment.
“Today is a very busy day for me,” I say, enjoying lording my power over Will for this brief moment. “It's not in my job description, but I
do
want to be flexible. I suppose that's one of the pluses of working with an individual, such as myself, over a faceless agency.” Pausing long enough that I hope Will is squirming at least a little on his end, I finally put him out of his misery. “All right, then. I'll take her.”

“Thank you,” he says grudgingly, as if he's squeezed the words out from the bottom of a tube of toothpaste.

S
orry about that rattling noise,” I say to Marva as I drive down Harlem Avenue. “I usually handle it by cranking up the music. Fixes it every time.”

Having Marva in my car makes me realize how long it's been since I've given anyone a ride, and suddenly my beloved Mustang's faults spring to light.
Just a few more weeks and I can spruce you right up,
I silently promise, giving the dashboard a little pat of reassurance.

Marva seems unaffected by the rattling, which is accompanied by a clanging as I turn the corner. “I'd rather deal with noise in a car like this that has personality,” she says, speaking slowly due to her sore tooth, “than ride in one of those dreadful SUVs.” She gives a grunt of annoyance, her gaze on the shops and businesses as we pass. “Another yogurt shop. There must be five of them on every block. How much yogurt do people need to eat?”

It occurs to me how much of this is new to Marva. Even though she's lived here for so long, she's rarely left her home. Rather pitiful, actually. She used to travel the world. Now it's a big deal to go to the dentist.

After I drop her off, it takes two hours for Marva's dental surgery, which I fill with errands. When I get the call to pick her up, I'm at a yogurt shop, indulging in a chocolate frozen yogurt with raspberries (she gave me a wicked craving for it with all of her griping). Hurrying back, I escort her out of the office and quickly come to understand why they wouldn't let her take a cab. She's high as a kite. Goofy. Giggly. “What floor?” Marva asks when we get into the elevator, then apparently finds punching the buttons terribly funny.

“I've got it,” I say, deftly blocking her hand with mine. “Don't feel like you have to talk if it hurts.”

“Are you kidding? I don't feel a thing! Anywhere!”

It's like corralling a parade of kittens keeping Marva on track to the car, and I'm relieved when we're finally on the road, although tickled. One could assume Ash would have ruined for me any ability to see the humor in someone's acting loopy postsurgery, but I'm able to differentiate between a medical need and an emotional one—if only my problems with Ash had been limited to visits to the dentist.

“Chicago is such a great town,” Marva says dreamily on the drive back, clearly seeing the route home more sparkling than on the way there. “You a native?”

“No, came here for college. How about you? How did you end up in Chicago?”

I'm just aiming for casual chat—I figure Marva's not capable of
much more than that. But she says, “After the house burned down, this was all I had.”

“You had a house burn down?” I'm stunned this has never come up before—but then again, Marva's never been this loose. “When? What happened?”

“It was twenty years ago … no, more than that. I was living in San Francisco—it was a terrific Victorian. As I said, I like things with personality, and that house had tons of it. At any rate, there's not much to say. There was a fire. I was away. I lost everything. Of course I didn't have insurance, not in those days. Fortunately, my parents had be … be—” She stumbles over the word
bequeathed
… tries again … and finally continues, “They'd left me the house here in Oak Park when they died. I came with nothing—had to start completely from scratch to re-create a home.” She laughs far more gaily than the conversation merits. “You no doubt feel I got carried away.”

I'm blown out of my socks. This explains so much—of course Marva can't let go of anything. To lose all she had in a fire—how shocking and life-changing that must have been.

“So your furniture … and clothes … and, oh, wow … any mementos you kept from Will's childhood?”

“Gone.”

“Your
paintings
? Everything?”

“I was fortunate as far as that goes. I rented a studio, and I kept most of my own artwork there, along with a few favorite pieces. So those were spared. But, yes, everything else was lost.” She closes her eyes. “Everything. Absolutely … everything.”

Marva sleeps the rest of the short ride home as I try to imagine what it must have felt like for her to walk up to her house to find everything she owned destroyed. No wonder she's so insistent about deciding on each and every item—that choice was stolen from her once. It's not as if the flames held up, say, her midcentury end table and said, “Keep or donate?” They took what they wanted, and I wonder if that's how she sometimes regards me—as a wildfire sweeping through her home, trying to take it all away again.

“I promise I'm just here to make it better,” I whisper gently with a wave of sympathy I've never before felt for her. She answers with such a loud, staccato snore that it nearly makes me swerve.

T
he next morning I get a later start than I'd planned to meet Will at Marva's. Wanting to pitch in wherever I can, I helped Heather prep for the book-club meeting she'll be hosting later. Then I made the mistake, after brushing my teeth, of patting my face with the hand towel in the upstairs bathroom. I hadn't realized Abigail had used it when she was playing with her Little Princess Glitter Gel. The only way to get rid of the sparkles was to remove my makeup entirely and start over.

Lucky for me there's not much traffic at this time of day. I'm zipping along the freeway. I start giving myself a pep talk about how great the day is going to go when I think, Why waste my energy coming up with positive things to say about myself when I can call my mom and make her do it?