Page 23 of Somewhere Along The Line
She uses the winking face emoji in place of punctuation. I wait for the rest of the sentence before I realize it’s not coming.
“James, are you listening to me?”
No, but that’s not his fault. “Sorry, I’m here. I got a text and got distracted. What were you saying?”
“I was saying we need to schedule the guys to come stretch the carpets before we meet with a realtor.”
“Yes, you’re right, I’ll add it to my list. But that isn’t the priority right now, the priority is…”
Buzz.
Another message. Again from Piper. This time it’s a gif: a cat dressed like Sherlock Holmes, its head shifting back and forth as it peers through a magnifying glass held between its paws. A chuckle escapes my lips. She couldn’t be cuter if she tried.
“James, if now’s not the right time…” Dad starts, and while his voice is measured, I can tell he’s annoyed. “If there’s something more important than this, just call me back later. It’s fine.”
It’s not fine because if I end the call now he’ll sit in the house, swimming in memories of Mom as he tries to decide on his own which things of hers to let go.
I can’t have him doing that for either of our sakes.
“Now is a fine time, Dad. Let me mute my notifications; I’ll text her back later. It’s nothing urgent.” I rock back in my chair, raking my hand through my hair as I settle in for the rest of this conversation. It’s eating into my workday.
“You’ll text who back? Her?”
The pitch of Dad’s voice ticks up and hot discomfort seeps through my chest. I’ve made an error of disastrous proportions just now.
Dad’s been goading me for years to prioritize my personal life—it kills him that Mom won’t see me get married. He feels responsible for helping me get there, as though shepherding me into a happy ending would mean he’s done right by her.
“It’s nothing, Dad. Sorry, I just mean that Icantalk now. You want to talk about carpets?” I hope he’ll take the bait. I know he won’t.
“Well, I don’t anymore!” Dad chortles and my jaw sets as I steel myself for the interrogation to follow. “C’mon Jamie, throw your old man a bone. Who is this young lady who’s making you laugh on a Friday morning when you’re supposed to be paying attention to your dad?”
I roll my eyes, glad he’s not here to see it. “Listen,” I reply, “I’m only telling you this because you won’t let it go if I don’t.” I try to sound firm as though it could stop him from pressing. “Her name is Piper, and we’ve been talking. It’s nothing serious, and it’s not going anywhere, so don’t get your hopes up. We’re just getting to know each other.”
“Piper? That’s a lovely name. You’ve been seeing her for a while?”
I exhale and pick up a pen from my desk, spinning the cold metal tube between my fingers.
“We’re notseeing each other, Dad. We met on the train and we get off at the same stop. It’s been a fun distraction but that’s really all it is. Things are nuts right now with work and the house; I have no room in my life for anything else.”
I need to wrap up this call before I say more, and because my inbox is accumulating at a rapid clip.
“James, I’ve been telling you this for years…”
Here it comes. The same story I’ve heard since I turned twenty—the age my parents were when they got married.
“There’s nothing worth more than sharing your life with somebody. You think you have all the time in the world, that marriage is something you can put off until you’re settled, or more successful, or have whatever it is you’ve decided you need. But the best part of building a family is getting settledtogether, being successfultogether,and you’re willfully missing it.
“You’re thirty-two, and the good ones are mostly taken. Try not to let this one go. I don’t know about her but I do know about you, and it’s been years since you’ve let a woman catch your attention after Sydney broke your heart. That’s not nothing.”
He’s right, but I won’t tell him that.
“Geez, Dad, I don’t even know this woman’s address (that’s a lie—I walked her home last night), and you’re practically volunteering to officiate our wedding. I don’t need this pressure or your guilt trip about ‘wasting my best years.’
“Look, you know as well as I do these past eighteen months have been brutal. I’ve watched grief eat you alive as you try to move forward without Mom. Forgive me if I’m not eager to sign up for more hurt. I know how this will end if I get caught up with Piper, and I can’t do that right now. Not to me, not to her, and not to you.”
My forehead finds its way to my desk, my arms slack at my sides as though my will to live has drained from my body entirely. The only pieces of me left are sinew and bones.
“My life is fine, Dad. I mean it. Sorry I let this conversation go sideways. I’ll drive up this weekend, and we can make a plan for the carpets and the landscaping and whatever else we need to address. Love you. I’ll see you soon.”
