Bunny picks up Caroline’s hand. “I
“I know, Mom.”
She strokes Caroline’s palm. “And who knows, maybe you could give yourself a little microloan, if you need it. One of the perks of working at Tipi. If you find it difficult to live on the salary, that is.”
Caroline shakes her head at me.
“But, Alice, I have to tell you, if either Zoe or Peter shows any aptitude for math or technology, you really should-”
Caroline puts a finger on her mother’s lips, silencing her. “You always have to get the last word, don’t you?”
Later that afternoon I check Lucy Pevensie’s Facebook page. There are no new messages or posts. Yossarian is not online, either.
I scroll through my Facebook news feed.
Nedra Rao
47 minutes ago
Linda Barbedian
5 hours ago
Bobby Barbedian
5 hours ago
Kelly Cho
6 hours ago
Helen Davies
8 hours ago
Lately when I read my feed I feel such a mixture of worry, irritation, and envy, I wonder if it’s even worth having an account.
I’m antsy. I open a Word file. A minute goes by. Five minutes. Ten. My fingers hover over my keyboard. I nervously type “A Play in 3 Acts by Alice Buckle,” then quickly delete it, then write it again, this time in caps, thinking capital letters might give me courage.
The sounds of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” drifts into my bedroom from downstairs. I look at my watch. It’s 6:00. The cutting board will be pulled out soon. Peppers will be washed. Corn will be husked. And somebody, most likely Jack, will take his wife for a spin around the kitchen. Others of us-William and I-will be reminded of middle school dances and drinking cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer in the basement of the neighbor kid’s house. And the youngest of us, Zoe and Peter, and perhaps even Caroline, will download Marvin Gaye onto their iPods, feeling like they are the first ones on earth to discover that earthy, sexy voice.
I put my fingers on the keyboard and begin to type.
91
William walks into the kitchen. “Are you hungry for lunch?” he asks.
I look at the clock. It’s 11:30. “Not really.”
He rummages around the cupboard, pulling down a box of crackers. “Do we have any hummus?”
“Second shelf. Behind the yogurt.”
“So. News,” says William, opening the fridge. “I got a job offer.”
“What? William! You’re kidding me. When?”
“They called yesterday. It’s in Lafayette. Great benefits. Health. Dental.”
“
“I was afraid it would fall through. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s an office supply company.”
“Office supplies? Like Office Max?”
“No-not like Office Max. King’s Stationery. It’s a mom-and-pop shop, but they’re growing. They’ve got two stores in the Bay Area and plan to open two more in San Diego this year. I would be direct mail marketing coordinator.”
“Direct mail? As in flyers, postcards, and mailers?”
“Yes, Alice, as in what people usually throw in the recycling bin before even looking at it. I was fortunate to get it. There were dozens of applicants. The people seem nice. It’s a perfectly fine job.”
“Of course it is,” I say. “But William, is this what you want?” Were office supplies his big dream?
“What I want doesn’t matter anymore,” he says quietly.
“Oh, William-” He holds up his hand and cuts me off.
“Alice, no. Stop. I owe you an apology. And if you’ll just shut up for a second I can give it to you. You were right. I should have tried harder to make it work at KKM. It’s my fault I was laid off. I let you down. I let the whole family down. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
I’m stunned. Did William just admit to me he may have had something to do with being laid off, that it wasn’t just all about redundancies? Did he just say it was his fault? He leans over the sink and looks out the window into the backyard, chewing his lip, and as I watch him I feel the last bits of anger over the Cialis debacle drain right out of me.
“You haven’t let me down, William. And your ‘not trying’ wasn’t the only reason you were laid off. I know that. A part of it was out of your control. Maybe it’s my fault, too, somehow. All of this. Where we are. Maybe I let you down, too.”
He turns to face me. “You haven’t let me down, Alice.”
“Okay. But if I did, and I probably did, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, too.”
He gathers his breath. “I should take this job. I like paper. And pens. And sticky notes. And highlighters.”
“I
“And mailing supplies.”
“And staplers. Don’t forget staplers. Do you know staples come in colors now? And Lafayette has a great downtown. You can probably walk there for lunch from the office. Grab a Starbucks in the afternoon.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” says William, dipping a cracker in the hummus. “That will be nice.”
“Have you formally accepted?”
“I wanted to talk it over with you first.”
“When do you need to give them an answer?”
“I have a week.”
“Well, let’s just let it sink in. Really weigh the pros and cons.”
I’m hoping this will buy me some time to find out what’s going on with my job. I haven’t heard anything back from Kentwood Elementary as to my query about going full-time in the fall, but I’m hopeful. Often the Parents’ Association doesn’t make decisions about how funds are being dispersed until the very last minute.
“Seeing that there are no other job offers forthcoming there are only pros, Alice. I can’t think of any negatives,” says William.
He’s right. We don’t have the luxury of choice. Nobody does. Not anymore.
92
