Love And Miss Communication Part 26

Sam Blumberg was everything you would want to find in an eighty-seven-year-old retiree living in a senior center and more.

Though Bette was due to return to Florida in a few weeks, Sam had flown up to visit her. Evie met him on the screened-in porch of Fran and Winston's home. Bette was temporarily lodging there ever since her neighbor in the apartment building started a noisy renovation that was taking her "kishkes" out. Bette looked vibrant and strong, not at all like a woman whose life was upended by cancer months earlier. Her hair was newly frosted and her nails lacquered in a rich burgundy color. She tapped her ring when Evie arrived. Old habits die hard, Evie reminded herself.

While Evie reclined on the outdoor love seat, Bette and Sam sat on identical rocking chairs, swaying back and forth in the opposite direction so that they crossed at the midpoint.

"I'm so glad to meet you, Sam," Evie said, after she released his wrinkly hands from hers. He was really a cute old man, his skin crinkled like an overripe peach and sprouting with patches of fuzzy white hair. Even in his seated position, Evie could see his stature was stooped. His body, like Bette's, was a collage of soft-edged parts held together by a big heart.

"Evie, you're every bit as gorgeous as your bubbe said you were. The Rosen women make me weak in the knees. Of course, that could also be my osteoporosis."

"Sam, you must be killing it in Century Village," Evie said.

"It's either me or old age because they're dropping like flies down there."

Evie giggled.

Bette beamed. In the sunset of her life, with all the wisdom she'd ama.s.sed over decades, she was still proud to have landed "a catch."

"Listen, Evie, I hear from Bette you're spoken for, but if things don't work out I've got a grandson for you in the city that would put all those other cards to shame. My Barry is tall, makes a nice living, and let me tell you, he knows how to treat a lady. You could do a lot worse. Such a shame he hasn't found anyone yet."

It was all Evie needed to hear to know Bette and Sam were perfectly matched.

"Thanks, Sam. I will definitely keep Barry in mind."

"Maybe you have a friend for him?"

"You said he's tall?" Evie asked. There was no harm in introducing him to Stasia, though the idea of Evie finding a boyfriend for her most desirable friend was still an unsettling reversal.

"Listen, he's no basketball player, but he's tall enough. You need a lightbulb changed, call the handyman. What's with these girls today, Bette?"

"Don't get me started, Sam."

"Things were better in the old days. All right, beautiful ladies, I'm going inside to call my stockbroker. My new glaucoma medication has been working miracles and I want to pick up some Glaxo." Evie watched Sam rise slowly, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair to lift all 120 pounds of his sagging flesh.

"So, Evie-le, vhat can I do for you?" Bette asked innocently once Sam was out of earshot, even though she knew d.a.m.n well Evie was there for advice.

"I'm confused," Evie said, prepared to elaborate. "I mean, since we last talked-"

"Let me guess. Jack's a putz arriving just in time to screw you up and things vith Edward are too good. I'm right, no?"

Evie was done with dishonesty. She hadn't taken the train out to Greenwich to share partial truths. She looked at her grandmother squarely and said, "I think that basically sums things up. Jack called me. And e-mailed. It's such an about-face from where he and I left things."

"Zat Jack did some number on you." Bette sighed. "Of course zis is also your fault. You alvays vant ze unattainable. You don't vant to be a part of any club zat vill have you as a member. But you're not Groucho Marx."

"I know that, Grandma."

"So listen to me. You vanted Jack for so long. You can't imagine letting him go after you pined and pined for him. But now you have Edward. A real mensch. Much better for you. Of course, it has come too easy. He doesn't make you sveat vaiting by the phone. So naturally you aren't sure he is good enough for you. You only vant someone you need to convince."

"That's really not true, Grandma. Of course I want someone who really loves me. Not someone I have to tranquilize to make sure he shows up to our wedding."

"You know vhat you are doing, don't you?" Bette took a deliberate sip of tea and then folded her hands together, like an aging Jewish Buddha.

"And what am I doing?" Evie asked, though she could hear the predictable answer in her head. "You're being meshuga," "You're shmucking up your life," or some variation on the same theme.

"Vhat you are doing," Bette said, "is looking for lumps."

"Looking for lumps? What in the world are you talking about? This has nothing to do with cancer. Nor my hypochondria. Which is getting better, thank you very much."

"I'm not talking about ze cancer. Listen to me, bubbela. I have spent my life vorrying. Looking for lumps. But you know vhat? I didn't ever imagine I vould lose my son. Ve never know vhat really comes next, no matter how hard ve try to prepare or to predict. You are not really in control of how life vill unfold. So just live and stop being afraid to be happy."

"Okay, maybe you're right. Maybe I do look for lumps, as you put it. But even if I can put my craziness aside, I'm not sure if Edward will still have me. His daughter just had her fifth birthday party and I wasn't invited. He said he didn't want to get her hopes up too much unless we definitively were going to have a future."

Evie had called Edward the day after she left him in the park to apologize for her rash and confusing behavior. He took her call at work but was more curt than usual. She found herself stumbling over her words and not saying much of anything at all. She wanted to beg for his patience, to explain how hard it was to let Jack go a second time-even if she wasn't sure he was even hers for the taking. But that would have sent Edward running for the hills, so instead she simply suggested they meet up that night for a drink to talk more. He listened to her patiently but said that he didn't want to see her until she had sorted out her feelings for good. Bette winced as she listened to Evie recounting these details.

"Evie, please," Bette said. "Don't make me regret fixing you up vith him."

Evie shot up. "What do you mean, fixing me up?" she asked, totally in shock. Evie told Bette months ago that she and Edward were dating and Bette never mentioned that she played a role in getting them together, beyond being the obvious source of their meeting.

"Evie-le, give me some credit, please?" Bette said. "Who do you think told Edward all the vonderful things about you? I showed him pictures of you from your high school graduation party. I vanted him to see vhat you looked like vith a little blush. That's vy I had you come to ze hospital all dressed up on ze day of my surgery. I vanted Edward to see how beautiful you are. Vhen you try, of course."

"But I yelled at you when I thought you were trying to set me up with a married man. You knew he was divorced and didn't tell me? I confided in you that we were seeing each other right after the first date. You could have told me then."

Bette shot Evie a look that sent p.r.i.c.kles down her spine.

"Vhat can I say? I felt it vas better you didn't try to date him right away. He's so handsome. And successful. I believed it vas best you vere yourself around him. Not too nervous, not all ze time trying so hard. And if you knew I vas ze one behind zis, you never vould have given it a chance. I'm only telling you now because you two have already gotten to know each other." Bette took the blanket she had on her lap and tightened it around her chest. It was eerie to see any bodily frailty in a woman who was such a force of nature.

Evie wanted to be angry with Bette for deceiving her. She could have avoided the horror of asking Edward about egg freezing, among the other embarra.s.sing things she shared with him. But what Bette was ultimately saying, albeit in a backhanded way, was that she knew if her granddaughter acted like herself around Edward, he would like her. The rest would fall into place, just like it did. That is until Jack came back into the picture, sending an otherwise smooth courtship into a tinderbox.

"And Edward?" Evie asked. "He was in on your little plan?"

"Not at all," Bette said. "You vere both my p.a.w.ns. I told him I didn't even know if you had a boyfriend, who you vere seeing, etcetera. Spark his interest, you know? Things aren't so different today zan zey vere in my day. But, Evie, I can't tell you vhat to do."

"You can't?" Evie asked, wondering if the radiation treatments had somehow eradicated the part of her grandmother's personality that ent.i.tled her to tell other people how to live their lives. She should tell Aunt Susan it was safe to move back to the East Coast.

She kissed her grandmother on the head and helped her out of the chair. Together, with linked arms, they walked back into the house, where Fran was waiting with a plate of cookies and fruit and Sam was, true to his word, on the phone with his broker. Evie had only a touch more clarity, but she was feeling very grateful for her loving family nonetheless.

On the train ride back to the city, Evie couldn't stop thinking about Bette's ruse. What her grandmother didn't realize, being an octogenarian, was that her plan only worked because it coincided with Evie's Internet hiatus. If she was still Googling every person she met, particularly every man, then she'd have known Edward was not married. She would have seen him as a potential mate and acted entirely differently around him, just like Bette said. Or she would have been turned off by his high-profile divorce and had the totally wrong impression of him. Their initial conversations were so comfortable because she wasn't trying to ensnare him in her fishing net. Instead she was just herself, the good, the bad, and the ugly all in plain sight. And still Edward liked her.

But being off-line had also brought Jack back into her orbit. He copped to as much when he said that her ignoring his correspondence was driving him insane. Who would have thought chucking her computer in the reservoir might have helped him propose to her a year ago?

Most surprising of all was that disconnecting had helped her professionally-remarkable in a city where smartphones were more common than underwear. If she were still on the grid, she'd have posted her resume soon after leaving Baker Smith and would probably be grinding her way through another thankless big-firm legal job by now. Then when Caroline asked her to redesign Jerome's office, she would have barked that she was knee-deep in some billion-dollar merger and didn't have an ounce of spare time. There was no chance she'd ever have enrolled in the New York School of Interior Design.

Going dark had changed the course of her life. Evie just hoped it was for the better.

Stasia called her unexpectedly a few days after her visit with Bette.

"I miss you, Evie," she said, in a voice that sounded tired but genuine. "Can we meet for coffee?"

"Anytime, anyplace. Thank you for giving me another chance."

They arranged to meet at Starbucks later that afternoon. Too many months had pa.s.sed where Evie had let her preoccupation with Edward, and now Edward and Jack, divert her from the task of repairing that friendship. She finally understood that the only barrier between them all these years had been her own envy. And it was misplaced envy at that. All that time, Evie had avoided sharing romantic troubles with her, feeling like her friend-who'd never seemed to know loneliness or heartbreak-could not relate. Now things were different, and Evie suspected there would be more reciprocity in their discussions, even though she was distressed that it took a marital crisis to get to that point.

Stasia looked thinner than Evie had ever seen her, and her normally shiny hair was lackl.u.s.ter and unkempt. She was still a beauty, though, like the true ones always are.

"How are you?" Evie said, though she felt foolish asking the question.

"I'm healing. Rick moved all his stuff out last month. Not seeing his disgusting boxers every day has been helping. I came really close to burning his things, but I restrained myself. What about you? Things with Edward still going strong? I've been keeping tabs on you through Tracy and Caroline."

"Actually, things are rocky now. I'd love to get your advice."

"You sure? It's nice to know someone thinks I'm capable of giving romantic advice given my husband's disappearing act."

"Hey," Evie said in a stern voice. "n.o.body was better than you at getting every cute guy in school to fall in love with them."

"That's true," she said, shrugging in earnest. "But believe me, this has been very humbling."

"I'm so sorry, Stasia. I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better. I know it doesn't compare, but I've been humbled before too. Giving Jack the marriage ultimatum and seeing him willing to let me get away-that was a doozy. And now, well, I just don't know where I stand with anything."

Evie filled her in on her string of dates with Edward and running into Jack on New Year's Eve.

"I acted pretty nutty after I saw Jack. We had this talk in his office. I don't know-it just felt like something was still there. Then I went back to the table and Jack came over to introduce himself to Edward. They shook hands, and I'm telling you, it was like watching my past and future implode simultaneously. Jack said to Edward, 'Don't let her get away.' What does that mean? Why would he say that if he didn't have regrets? Anyway, the rest of the dinner was a disaster. Half the time I was trying to make Jack jealous by throwing myself at Edward, the rest of the time I was trying to prove to Edward that Jack was history. Then get this-Jack called me. Told me he's been e-mailing me too. Said he missed talking to me. And my face. Now Edward wants to hear me say that I definitely have no more feelings for Jack. And I can't seem to get myself to utter that simple sentence."

"Well, do you?" Stasia asked. "Still have feelings for Jack?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I love Edward. That's for certain. But there is a part of me that needs Jack to know I'm winning or at least make him regret he didn't marry me. If I still care about that, does that mean I'm not really there with Edward?"

Stasia took a sip of her chai latte and didn't respond for a long minute. "I really don't think so. Take me, for example. I genuinely despise Rick now, but I'd love for him to think that I'm dating some superstar right now. Does that mean I want to get back together with him? Not one bit. But I still want him to think I'm doing great."

"I get that," Evie said. "I really get that, actually. That's kind of what Facebook is all about."

"Totally. Oh, did you happen to see my lab equipment when you were at JAK, by the way?"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Evie asked, wide-eyed.

"I lent Jack a whole bunch of test tubes, droppers, and beakers when he was experimenting with molecular cooking. He never returned them. It was like five hundred dollars' worth of stuff, but it was right before you guys broke up so I couldn't say anything."

"Sorry, hon, I don't recall any science instruments lying around," Evie said.

"a.s.shole," Stasia clipped. "Edward is so much better than that."

"So what do you think? How can I show Edward that I'm committed to our relationship? I don't want him to think I'm still into Jack, or worse, that he's my rebound guy."

"Well, I hate to borrow a page from Jack's book, but you can never go wrong with food. Why don't you cook a really fabulous dinner for Edward at your place? Make his favorite foods. Light candles. And then sit him down and do what you were planning to do on New Year's Eve. Tell him how much you care about him. How you haven't been this elated in ages-or ever. Rea.s.sure him about Jack. Tell Edward how hurt you were when Jack let you go and got married so soon after you guys broke up. Keep in mind that Edward has been married before. You worry that there's no room for Jack in your psyche if you move forward with Edward. That's not how things work. Rick will always be a part of me. These people who take up s.p.a.ce in our lives, they don't just vanish entirely. They leave scars. Do you see what I mean?"

"I think you're spot-on," Evie said. "All this time I was feeling guilty whenever Jack crossed my mind. But it's not like I can feign amnesia about an entire two years of my life. I think Edward would understand if only I could explain myself coherently for once. He said himself that Georgina will always be a part of him."

"Exactly. So, is there anything else? I'm on a roll."

"That's all for me. What about you, Stas? I'm really worried."

"I'll be okay. I have great friends." She put her hand on Evie's.

"Not me so much. I should have been banging down your door after that night at the hospital or at least putting out a hit on Rick. I got caught up in my new relationship like some teenager."

"Stop it. I'm happy for you that you've found someone," Stasia said.

"Speaking of finding someone, how do you feel about accountants?"

"I feel positively. Rick did our taxes. It's almost April and I'm screwed."

"I mean romantically. My grandmother's boyfriend's grandson is apparently looking for love."

"Oh dear. Let me think on that. I've recently joined something frightening called Hinge. Anyway, you have a phone call to make and cooking to do. And I'm heading to the lab."

"The lab? It's Sat.u.r.day."

"I prefer the rats to men these days. Though they have a lot in common."

"Things will work out for you," Evie said.

Stasia raised an eyebrow and said, "You never believed us when we said that to you."

Evie laughed. "I guess I'm an optimist now."

"Jeez, maybe I should quit the Internet," Stasia said. "I could use an att.i.tude adjustment. And the focus at work. I check Rick's Facebook status about every five minutes. Not good for all those people counting on a better Alzheimer's drug."

"Ahh, the Facebook stalk. I know it well," Evie said wistfully. "Or should I say I knew it well?"

Evie took a last sip of her drink and asked, "So you really are just going to let Rick get away with this? No revenge? You are a better woman than me."

"Well," Stasia said, her voice but a whisper. "Remember I told you my father was appointed to the Committee on Homeland Security?"

"Yeah," Evie said, unsure where this was heading.

"He added Rick to the no-fly list. I cannot wait for him to take his little spinning mistress on a trip to nowhere."

Evie called Edward the moment she parted with Stasia to invite him to a home-cooked meal at her place that night. She said she needed to see him. That she missed him terribly. And that she wanted to feed him. Luckily, he agreed.

She dashed to the oversize gourmet grocer in her neighborhood. When she pa.s.sed the yams, her menu was inspired. She would cook Edward a Thanksgiving meal, in January. He told her he regretted that he only feasted like that once a year, so she filled her cart with turkey, green beans, gravy, a prepared pecan pie, and the ingredients for sweet potato fluff. Confused by the different checkout lanes-did "13 items or less" mean she had to count each individual yam or did the bag count as one?-Evie felt like a tourist in the grocery store. She was used to ordering online through FreshDirect, lazily selecting "refill existing order," even though it meant receiving multiples of c.u.min and cilantro and other aspirational items that had no business in her kitchen. When she couldn't do that anymore, she bought cereal and other essentials from Duane Reade and the corner store.

Afterward she visited the liquor store and picked up two bottles of award-winning wine recommended by the manager-a white from the Rhone Valley and a red Bordeaux. Then she rushed back to her building. The grocery bags were piled high in her hands so that she couldn't see two feet in front of her. She fumbled around for the proper elevator b.u.t.ton and hoped she was getting off on the correct floor.

"Need some help?" a familiar voice said, startling her. The brown paper bags blocking her vision came crashing down to the floor.

"Jack? What are you doing here?" Evie asked, without even looking down at the mess of food at her feet.