Dad loses his patience and says, “Okay, Joan.”
As I’m walking out the door I hear Gavin say, “From Ted Baker.”
“What?”
“That was his Ted Baker suit,” Gavin says.
“Oh.”
I’m frozen. We all are.
Then Gavin smiles and says, “Good night, Joan.”
And I smile and say, “Good night, Gavin.”
6
Ollie shoos his daughter out of the room, shuts the door behind her. “Sorry about that.”
“She’s fine,” I say.
“She’s a handful, but we keep her around anyway.”
I had heard about the girl’s unusual memory, but to see it in action is another thing. Sort of startling, actually. Even more startling is coming all this way to put distance between me and my phantom love only to confront him almost immediately. Not that I’m blaming Joan. Of course she has memories of him.
Sydney made an effort to drop in on Paige and the family whenever he was in New York. His job as a marketing exec brought him out east quite a bit over the last few years. He’d even, on occasion, forgo the swanky hotel in Manhattan and slum it over here in Jersey City, in this very room, just to spend extra time with his dear friend Paige.
So, yes, all this should come as no surprise. But I hadn’t considered Joan. I was more focused on what I was escaping from than what I was fleeing to.
And now, judging by the look on Ollie’s face, it would appear I’ve wandered too deeply into my own head.
“You all right?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s just weird to be back.”
I turn once again to our old band poster on the wall. To be fair, I had been forced to reckon with the past well before Joan appeared. I felt its presence acutely on the ride over here; as Ollie drove us away from Newark Airport and the rank stench of industry seeped through the AC unit; seeing the highway signs announcing towns I hadn’t considered in ages (West Orange, Union, Hackensack); watching Ollie have to take the jug handle on the right to make a left turn; sitting in the car while the gas attendant conveniently filled the tank for us; passing the Dunkin’ Donuts and the WaWa and the C-Town; and, finally, turning onto Ollie’s street and beholding that iconic skyline in the near distance, as vivid and bright as if it were generated by CGI and then projected onto an enormous screen.
And now, again, coming upon this ancient band poster on Ollie’s wall. There were still parts of me that Sydney hadn’t experienced.
“Do you still have copies of our album?” I ask.
Ollie walks to the mirrored closet. He slides it open, revealing rows of CDs and vinyl records. Dozens of copies of everything he’s ever worked on. “Take as many as you want,” he says.
But I have no use for it now. Actually, I can’t stomach most music these days, all the songs of longing. On the ride over, Ollie was playing something folky and harmony-laden, and I so badly wanted to turn it off. If I had, though, I’d only be reinforcing the idea that he should be worried about me.
“In the mood for a drink?” Ollie asks.
“Yes.” I turn and notice Paige leaning against the door frame, as if she’s been watching us this whole time. She abandons her post, throws her arms around me. People seem to want to hug me extra-hard now.
She lets go of me, makes a full-body assessment. “You look really skinny.”
“It’s called camera-thin.”
“I’m jealous.”
“There are moms in Beverly Hills who pay large sums to have a body like yours.”
“Don’t call me a mom.”
She’s kidding, I realize, but the fact that I have to think about it for a second underscores how long it’s been since we’ve spent quality time together.
I take a good look at Ollie and Paige, the two of them together. I hardly remember them at the funeral, almost a month ago. I hardly remember being there myself. But I see them now. They were one of those meant-to-be couples back in college and still very much in love all these years later. Ollie remains gaunt and disheveled and striking; Paige with that wariness in her eyes even when she’s smiling. We look older—I can see it, but I don’t feel it. I’d believe it if you told me we were back in our freshman dorm right now.
“Thanks for having me,” I say.
“We’re so happy you came,” Paige says.
Ollie reaches into his pocket for a set of keys. “The door to our apartment is always open. But if you go out through the front door, just make sure you lock the dead bolt. It’s the ground level.”
“He’s paranoid about the equipment,” Paige says.
“I bet,” I say. “It’s like a little musical heaven down here. I think I had one of those old Casios as a kid.”
“Yeah, they’ve become pretty sought-after,” Ollie says.
“I’d love to hear what you’ve been working on.”
“Definitely.”
Instrumental music, which is what Ollie does, I can handle. I’m half expecting him to crank up the speakers now. Usually he can’t wait to share. But tonight he’s subdued, perhaps on my account. Little does he know I’d much rather hear about his life than have to talk about mine.
“I’ll pour us that drink,” Ollie says, leaving Paige and me in the bedroom.
“He showed you where everything is?” Paige asks.
“Yeah. I’m all set.”
Alone now, Paige and I have trouble meeting eyes. Maybe it’s just me who’s finding it difficult. The more I study her—the unfading smile, the frequent deep breaths, the way she’s hugging herself despite the room being plenty warm—the more I’m reminded of my own feeble attempts to hide the underlying angst.
“I really didn’t expect you to come,” Paige says.
“I can go back.”
She tilts her head, studying me from a new angle, and then she closes in for another hug. “Ollie will be gone in the morning. I have a few students coming for tutoring sessions, but I’ll be around.”
“You’re not going to join us now?”
“Another night. I’ll let you two catch up.” She’s already in her pajamas: a pair of sweatpants and a worn-in tee. “Oh, and I don’t know if Ollie told you, but when you use the shower you have to turn the faucet all the way up to get it hot. Something’s wrong with the boiler.”
She backpedals to the door and regards the space with bemusement, as if she’s seeing it only now after living here so long. “It’s really weird,” she says.
“What is?”
“Sydney was here when the studio first opened, and now you’re here when it’s closing.”
“Closing?”
Paige nods, eyes low. “Ollie’s going to be working for his father.”
That explains why he was wearing that shirt, a baby-blue button-down with Sully & Sons over the heart. I assumed he was sporting his own surname in an ironic gesture. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t keen on sharing his newest creations. Maybe there aren’t any.
Paige bids me good night and now I’m alone.