Page 26 of First-Time Caller
Patty watches me with careful, quiet eyes. “And where do you stand?”
I finish my coffee mug of wine and extend it across the table for more. Liquid courage, maybe. Or self-medication. I haven’t decided yet.
“I wish I knew.”
Three cookies and the rest of the wine bottle later, I wave to Patty over my shoulder as I slip out the front door of the café. She salutes me with the discarded wine cork, then twists the deadlock into place. I step into the cobblestone street, grateful that my house is a short walk down the block.
Night in this part of the city always feels like the hazy edges of a dream. Wooden signs that could have been painted four hundred years ago. Crooked, mismatched stones that are slippery beneath my boots. Weathered lampposts and flickering lanterns. Buildings stacked right on top of each other, slate rooftops kissing at odd angles.
Everything is holding perfectly still and I slow myself to a stop, holding still to match. The cold air bites at my nose and my cheeks, and my brain is fuzzy from wine and too many cookies. The light I left on in my living room beckons me home to my bed and the fluffy comforter I impulse-bought from the Home Shopping Network. Thick socks and a heater that rumbles and groans.
I stand there with one foot on the smooth stone and one foot on the sidewalk, caught halfway, my thoughts spinning loose and hazy. I told Aiden that I’m tired of wasting time on things that don’t feel like everything I’ve ever wanted for myself, but I’m not sure that’s true. I don’t know what I want for myself. It’s all twisted up in the things I think I deserve, then squashed under the things I’m brave enough to reach for. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about any of it long enough to know what I want.
I sigh as I trudge up the steps to my front door. Talking about my feelings live on the air might not be what I want, but maybe it’s what I need. Maybe I need to be tugged out of my comfort zone. Maybe it’s time for something new.
I pull my phone from my pocket before I can second-guess myself, navigating with clumsy fingers to my email. I pull up the message I got from Maggie immediately after our phone call the other day and type two words:
I’m in.
CALLER:I haven’t listened to your show before, but I heard your conversation with that young woman. Lucie. One of my grandkids was listening.
AIDEN VALENTINE:A lot of people have found us that way. Thanks for calling in.
CALLER:I had hoped—well. I thought it might be nice, if she were listening, to say a little something to her.
AIDEN VALENTINE:Of course.
CALLER:I’ve been with my husband for sixty-five years. Every day isn’t a fairy tale. We’ve worked hard for our relationship. To build it. To maintain it. I’ve become so many versions of myself and so has he, but we’ve found a way to fall in love with one another over and over again. Every time.
[pause]
CALLER:But there’s magic too. In between the hard work, there are perfect moments where everything lines up exactly right. What else is that, if not the universe telling me I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be? I’m right next to him, holding his hand. [laughter]
CALLER:I wanted to tell Lucie that she’s right to believe in it. Her magic. And I hope she finds what she’s looking for.
Boston is good? You’re enjoying it?”
“Oh, it’s lovely, honey.” I can hear the smile in my mom’s voice, the low murmur of my dad in the background. He says something and she laughs, a light smack against his shirt. If I close my eyes, I can see them exactly. Sitting too close together on a couch by the fireplace, my dad with his arm over her shoulders, tipping her closer for a kiss. “I’m having the best time, Aiden.”
I smile at nothing, kicking a loose rock across the parking lot. “You deserve the best time, Mom.”
She deserves more than that. With the cards she’s been dealt, she deserves only good things from here on out.
“And you?” she asks. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, Ma. I’m always okay,” I respond immediately, blowing out a breath and watching it slip away in a little white cloud. It’s a habit born of three cancer diagnoses in twenty years. I’ve never felt like I’ve been able to be anything other than okay, not while my mom has been the furthest thing from it. Insulating my feelings from my mom so I don’t burden her is like breathing at this point. An old habit that I tug on like my favorite sweater. I roll my shoulders back and try not to give her cause to worry. “Getting ready for the show tonight. Snagging some fresh air while I can.”
Wandering around the parking lot, ignoring Jackson and Eileen and Maggie and—fucking Hughie with his overly eager thumbs-up every time we pass each other in the hallway. The whole station is treating me like our future is on the line with every broadcast, and while that’s probably true, it would be great if I could pretend there was less pressure. An impossibility when Maggie bellows down the hallway about soulmates and true love every ten to fifteen seconds. She started emailing me quotes fromPride and Prejudice. I had to set up a spam blocker.
“We’ve been listening,” my mom tells me, and another guitar string of anxiety plucks in the middle of my chest.
I press my fist to it, digging my knuckles into my down jacket. The chain around my neck that I never take off bites into my skin.
“You’ve been doing so well. Your dad tells me you’ve gone virile.”
I choke on nothing. “I’ve gone, what?”
“Virile. You know, when the whole internet decides they love you?”
