“Shut up. It's not. He made me do it.”
“After giving you the gift of this pet you're crazy about and sleep with every night and broke up with your boyfriend over.”
“Shut up,” Lucy said.
The waitress came over and they ordered-pad thai for Sari, a shrimp salad for Lucy, with the dressing on the side.
“Anyone else on the horizon?” Sari asked after the waitress had left. “Like, for example, someone named David who's not a cat?”
“It's not like that with him,” Lucy said. “For one thing, he has a girlfriend. And, even if he didn't, I’m not attracted to him.”
“I think he's kind of cute.”
“He's a nerd,” Lucy said. “I dated enough nerds in college to last me a lifetime. I want to look across the pillow in the morning and be turned on.”
“I want to look across the pillow in the morning and not be alone,” Sari said. Then, “Oh, man, Luce, I’m sorry. I hate when people do that-make everything about themselves.”
“Nah, it was your turn anyway,” Lucy said. “You were looking a little sad when you got here. Everything okay?”
“I just got this e-mail from Jason Smith. He's pissed off that I stopped seeing Zack. And I feel guilty enough about it-” She made a face.
“You're too softhearted,” Lucy said. “That's your problem. You don't owe him anything, Sari.”
“I know. It's just-” She stopped. “Nothing. It's just nothing.”
The waitress came up then with their food. Both girls stared at their plates without eating for a moment. Sari slowly brought her water glass to her lips.
“Oh, shit,” Lucy said suddenly and savagely. “Oh, fuck, Sari!”
“What?” Sari said, so startled she almost dropped her glass. “What's wrong?”
“I just remembered-”
“What?”
“That fucking sweater,” she said. “I’ve been working on that fucking sweater forever and now I don't have a boyfriend to give it to anymore. Kathleen was right. I can't believe it, but she was right. Knitting a sweater for a guy curses the relationship.”
Sari laughed. “You scared me. I thought it was something a lot worse than that.”
“Do you know how many hours I’ve spent on that sweater?”
“Well, find a new boyfriend who's the same size,” Sari said. “Or… would it fit your father?”
“My father weighs three hundred pounds,” Lucy said. She poked at a piece of cucumber. “Hey, Sari?”
“What?”
“I think I really want to rip it all apart. Tear it to shreds.” She made fists out of her hands. “And then stomp on the last little bits of it. Come back with me and watch?”
“Throw in a glass of wine and I’m there.”
“I am never knitting anything for anyone ever again,” Lucy said. She cut a shrimp in half with one quick slash of her knife. “But don't tell Kathleen I said she was right.”
7.Unraveling
I
Kathleen woke up at seven a.m. on Thanksgiving morning and decided she'd been working in an office for too long-not since high school had her body been so trained to wake up early that she couldn't sleep in late, even on a holiday. But the end of all that early rising was in sight. One way or another, she figured her days at Porter and Wachtell were numbered. Maybe even in the single digits.
She hadn't decided yet if she would be leaving the company at some point soon because she was going to marry the owner's son or because she wasn't. The only thing she knew for sure about her future was that it wouldn't involve any more coffee pouring or errand running. Those activities had lost their fascination, as had the water cooler gossip.
It was possible, she thought now, stretching and yawning on her airbed, that her loss of interest in the job proved that she hadn't changed and that she was still the same old Kathleen, easily bored and in search of the next new thrill. But she preferred to look at it as yet another sign of her budding maturity, that she could now assess a situation and accept calmly and rationally that what had once suited her no longer did.
Which was definitely true about her job.
The real question was whether it was also true about her love life.
Did being mature mean you continued to work at a relationship that had lost its interest and its excitement, because you knew that ultimately the rewards of constancy far outweighed its disappointments?
Or did a fully realized human being cut her losses and move on when the glow had faded?
Kathleen hadn't been pursuing this goal of maturity long enough to know the answer. She was hoping that Thanksgiving at the Porter household would give her some clues-if not about what she
She lingered as long as she could in bed, but when she finally got up, it was still only eight-fifteen. She wasn't due at Kevin's parents until three that afternoon. Kevin was already there-his parents liked their children and grandchildren to spend the nights before Thanksgiving and Christmas at their more or less ancestral home. Spouses and children were included in the overnight slumber party. Girlfriends-even those invited to the holiday dinner-were not.
With nothing else to do, Kathleen decided to go for a long run. By the time she got back, she was dizzy from exercising without having eaten anything. She searched her kitchen but could only find an ice-frosted pint of ice cream and some cheese that had turned green.
She figured she'd have better luck upstairs.
Sam was still in his bathrobe and pajama bottoms. He greeted her with a scowl. “You don't have to beat the crap out of the door. I can hear you even if you knock like a civilized human being.”“I’m hungry,” Kathleen said.
“Good of you to come by to tell me.”
“Come on,” she said. “Get dressed. Let's go get something to eat.” She had showered and was now wearing torn jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. She'd change into something nice before dinner.
Sam shook his head. “It's Thanksgiving morning, Kathleen. Nothing's open.”
“I passed a McDonald's on my run and it was open.”
“I’m not going to McDonald's on Thanksgiving morning.”
“Why not?” she said. “Against your religion or something?”
“Just come in.” He stepped back with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll make eggs.”
“Good. I’ll go see if the Macy's Day Parade has started.” She headed toward the hallway.
“It's the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade,” he said. “There's no such thing as Macy's Day.”
“Whatever.”
“How you can waste your time watching that-”
She turned. “Oh, come on. It's an American tradition. Did you know my sisters were on a float one year?”
“Wow,” he said. “You must have been so proud.”
“I’ll be in the den,” she said. “Can you make my eggs sunny-side up? With the yolk runny?”
“You're not eating runny yolks on my sofa,” he said. “I’ll make them, but you have to come back in here to eat them.”
