“I think we should go get some white chalk from Walmart. Fat chalk, not skinny. And then we should write YOU ARE LOVED on the sidewalks in town.” Ana squealed, delighted with this plan.
I imagined actually carrying it out. “But people will be walking all over us.”
She tapped her finger on her lip. “I know. Obvious! We’ll go at night.”
Then—the noise of a gong reverberating. It was Ana’s phone. She looked at the screen. “Fuck, it’s Eunice,” she said. And then she picked up and said, “Hey, Eunice!” in the cheeriest voice I’d ever heard.
The sun was dipping lower in the sky. Chuck would be on his way home now. I hoped that he’d stop and get the milk because I might not have time. But he wouldn’t think to do that unless I had specifically asked him to, which I had not. When Ana got off the phone, I would tell her I had to leave.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” she was saying, her voice still chipper. This was followed by a disappointed “Oh,” and then she put her whole hand over her neck and pretended to strangle herself. “I understand,” she said coolly. “Okay, thank you, Eunice. Good-bye.”
She hung up. “Fuck. She’s fucking selling the fucking house.” Ana slumped out of her straight-backed yoga posture and let her head fall forward. “She’s putting the ad up tomorrow.”
I cringed for her. “I’m sorry, Ana.”
She tugged her braids. She was distraught. “This is bad.” And then—woosh!—she whipped her braids over her shoulders, which changed the tone. “But you know what? I sensed some hesitation in her voice.” She looked up at the clouds, but only for the briefest second because she already knew what she wanted to find. “If she’s putting the ad up tomorrow, that means we need to do the sidewalk thing tonight. It has to be tonight. Maybe that will stop her.”
Carefully, I said, “That seems”—I paused, looking for a gentler word than nonsensical—“well, it seems a little nonsensical.”
“It seems insane, I know. But I’m floundering, Nan. What am I going to do? I feel I need to take some action here.”
“I understand,” I said, though I didn’t, not exactly.
“I’m just—fuck! I just—it just feels like a real need, you know? I need to do some good right now. At least try to change the course of things. Damn. I wish I had thought of this earlier.” She touched her heart and tears welled in her orange eyes. “Like in my twenties.”
It was a little awkward getting to her. I had to take small steps along the Jacuzzi bench so the water wouldn’t splash up on me too much. I sat beside her, put my arm around her shoulders, and that’s when she began to cry. At first it was a slow pulsing sob, and then she cried harder and harder and then it seemed like the act of crying was making her cry and then she was crying so hard I thought this couldn’t possibly be all about the house. It was about everything now, just everything in general.
“Sshh sssh,” I comforted. It took me a second to realize I was rocking her. I was such a mom, even when I wasn’t trying to be.
When she was all cried out, she wiped her wet face on my shoulder. She looked like the saddest woman in the world. In a small voice, with her eyes so expectant, she asked, “Will you please do this with me tonight, Nan?”
?
“The boys aren’t coming home either,” Chuck said over the phone. “Team dinner. I’ll just”—I could see him in the living room, putting his hand on his waist—“stay here. Do we have”—I could see him walking into the kitchen, opening the fridge, noting the vegetables I’d planned to cook for a Thai-inspired stir-fry—“hmmm.”
I was sitting on Ana’s low couch, picking at my toenail polish and watching her do a headstand. “You could cook those veggies,” I said.
“That seems like a lot of work.” I heard the fridge door close. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to cook.”
I am often not in the mood to cook, Chuck, but I do it anyway. “Maybe you could order something.”
“Let’s order in,” Ana whispered.
I nodded.
“Or maybe,” Chuck said, “it is pool night. Maybe I’ll go down there and say a quick hello to the team. I can eat there.”
“You can eat there,” I repeated, not really paying attention. Ana’s face was red now. Upside down, she looked like a different person—still pretty, but her cheeks were in the wrong place. I had chipped a good-sized red piece of polish off my toenail. I told myself to stop chipping. I couldn’t just leave the chip on her couch, so I put it in my pocket.
“I’ll just eat there then,” Chuck said. I could see him walking toward the closet now with plans to change his clothes. “See you later?”
“Yes,” I said, “have a nice time.”
“Love you, Nance.”
“Love you, Chuck.”
Ana lowered her legs slowly to the floor in one piece, which was impressive. “You’re so fortunate, Nan,” she said, adjusting her wig. “You have a husband who loves you and children who adore you and a house with a garden up on the cool mountain. You are constant and dependable and your life is beautifully ordered.”
“You,” I said, “have no attachments and total freedom and you don’t have to cook for anyone.”
“I never cook,” Ana said absolutely.
“Never?”
“No,” she said, setting her chin on her knee. “Cooking gives me zero joy.”
I laughed.
“Here’s a question: do you like cooking?”
“I mean, sometimes. But I always cook. It’s part of my job. I have to.”
“You have to?”
“Well, I don’t have to have to, but, yeah, I kind of have to.”
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” Ana said. “I follow my instincts.” She squinted her eyes and nodded. “It’s like that Ana Gersh quote. ‘I am a lamp to myself. I am my own confidence. I hold the truth within myself as the only truth.’?”
13
Chuck poured the coffee. I took the milk out of the fridge. The single-sized plastic bottle of milk that definitely wasn’t organic—it was all they’d had at the gas station.
We had a rule. No talking until the first sip of coffee. I added my milk, and while he added his, I ran my hand over his poufy bed hair. Then we sipped.
“How was your night?” I asked him.
He kissed me on the forehead, wrapped his hand around my waist. “It was fun,” he said. “Dylan is good at pool. So is Brad. Oh, and Brad said Marcy’s waiting for you to call her, by the way.”
“I know. I’ve been meaning to.” I stretched my arms up. My back felt sore. I had known it would. Bent over the sidewalk, writing YOU ARE LOVED for the thirtieth or fortieth time—I lost count—I had thought: Nancy, your back is going to be sore tomorrow. “Did you win?”
“We lost.” He joke-frowned. “I forgot how bad I am at pool.”
This was true. Chuck was terrible at pool. I didn’t respond.
“I want to get better. You should see these guys. I mean, really complicated shots.”
I stretched my neck while Chuck peeled a banana.
“What did you eat?” I asked.
“Mozzarella sticks and chicken wings.”
I would hold myself back. I would not scold him. At least he was eating a banana now.
“What about you? I didn’t even hear you come in. How was your night with Ana?”
“On-a.”
“Right, On-a.”
“It was fun.”