Ana drives me to the office and parks the car in front, on the street. There is a parking garage underneath the building, but it’s $2.50 every fifteen minutes and that’s simply absurd. I refuse to encourage those overpriced assholes by using their service. This has nothing to do with my grief, by the way. I have a lifelong hatred of price gouging. It says on the sign that it’s free with validation from Wright & Sons Funeral Home, but that seems awfully tacky on everyone’s part. “Yes, we would like him embalmed. By the way, could you validate this for me?”
Ana finds a spot on the street easily enough. I check the passenger’s side mirror and realize that my eyes are red and bloodshot. My cheeks are splotched with pink. My eyelashes are squashed together and shiny. Ana hands me her large, dark sunglasses. I put them on and step out of the car. As I catch a glimpse of myself in her mirror one last time, dressed for a meeting with large glasses on my face, I feel like Jackie Kennedy. Maybe there’s a part of every woman that wants to be Jackie Kennedy, but they mean First Lady Jackie Kennedy or Jackie Kennedy Onassis. No one wants to relate to her like this.
Ana runs to the meter and goes to put quarters in but finds herself empty. “Shit! I’m out of quarters. You head in and I’ll take care of this,” she says, heading back into the car.
“No,” I say, reaching into my own wallet. “I have some.” I put the change in the meter. “Besides, I don’t think I can do this without you.” Then I start crying again, blubbering, the tears falling down my face, only visible once they’ve made their way past the huge lenses.
JANUARY
When we got in Ben’s car, he asked if I was up for an adventure and I told him that I was.
“No, I mean, a true adventure.”
“I’m ready!”
“What if this adventure takes us on a road trip to a restaurant over an hour away?”
“As long as you’re driving, it’s fine by me,” I said. “Although, I’m confused about what could possibly require us to drive an hour out of the way.”
“Oh, you just leave that to me,” he said, and he started the car.
“You’re being very cryptic,” I said. He ignored me. He reached over and turned on his radio. “You’re in charge of music and possibly navigation if it comes to that.”
“Fine by me,” I said, as I immediately turned the station to NPR. As the low, monotonous voices started to fill the air, Ben shook his head. “You’re one of those?” he said, smiling.
“I’m one of those,” I said, owning it and not apologizing.
“I should have known. Pretty girl like you had to have some sort of flaw.”
“You don’t like talk radio?”
“I like it, I guess. I mean, I like it the way I like doctors’ appointments. They serve a purpose but they aren’t much fun.”
I laughed, and he looked at me. He looked for just a little too long to be safe.
“Hey! Eyes on the road, Casanova!” I said. Casanova? Who was I? My dad?
Ben immediately turned back and focused on what was in front of us. “Sorry!” he said. “Safety first.”
By the time we hit the freeway, he had turned off the radio.
“That’s enough traffic updates for me,” he said. “We will just have to entertain ourselves the old-fashioned way.”
“Old-fashioned way?”
“Conversation.”
“Ah, right. Conversation.”
“Let’s start with the basics: How long have you lived in L.A.?”
“Five years. I moved right after college. You?”
“Nine years. I moved here to go to college. Looks like we graduated the same year. Where did you go to school?”
“Oh,” I said. “Ithaca. My parents both went to Cornell and made me take a tour, but when I got there, Ithaca seemed a better fit. I was originally premed, but that lasted about two months before I realized I had absolutely no desire to be a doctor.”
“Why did you think you wanted to be a doctor?” We were speeding up the freeway at this point. The driving was taking up less of his attention.
“Both of my parents are doctors. My mother is the chief of staff at the hospital in my hometown, and my dad is a neurosurgeon there.”
“A neurosurgeon? That’s intimidating,” Ben added.
“He’s an intimidating guy. My mom’s not easy either. They were not happy when I changed my major.”