Thirteen

I found myself back in my bath tub at home. I closed my eyes as I let the new memories fill my head.

I had gone to the diner, and taken a seat by the window where I could watch people entering and exiting the other storefronts around. My heart lurched when I remembered noticing a very cute man enter the sushi restaurant shortly after I’d seated myself at the diner: John. It hurt my heart to know that this would be as close as I ever came to him in this particular existence.

Right when my food came – a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup, Edie had called. I promised to deliver a pint of bubble gum ice cream within the hour, and she informed me that I would find her curled up on the couch with her soap operas as company.

Forty five minutes after hanging up with Edie, I’d arrived at her door stop, bubble gum ice cream secure in hand. I’d found her feeling a little under the weather, but she was genuinely excited to hear my news about quitting the job. I’d stayed at her house chatting for about an hour, and then had run some errands around town and finally came home for my celebratory bath.

I remember that I had been feeling very relaxed and proud in my bath. But now I just felt numb. My brain was having a hard time processing what had just happened. I did know that the bath was starting to get cold, though, so I got out and wrapped myself in my fuzzy bathrobe.

I wandered out to the kitchen. I looked at the fridge, half hoping to find John’s note still tucked under the New York magnet. Of course it wasn’t there, though. I had never met him. I never would meet him. A sob racked my body, and I realized that I’d been crying since I found myself in the bathtub after leaving Fatima.

Guilt mixed itself with grief, as I stood in the kitchen missing John with every fiber of my being. How could I let myself feel sorry for the loss of a man I’d only known for an hour. That was nothing compared to Edie’s happiness. Not to mention Jack and Fred’s. I was just being selfish, wishing that I could have it both ways. That just wasn’t in the cards for me.

He’s just a guy, after all. Besides, knowing that there is at least one person out there that can make you feel this way – that’s got to be a good thing, right? There must be more if there is at least one. Right? I tried to cheer myself up, but it wasn’t working.

I dragged myself into the living room, and fell back on my soft red couch. When the phone rang an hour later, I had not moved. I was just laying there staring at the ceiling. I let the machine answer the phone, as I did not have enough energy to talk to whoever was on the other end of the line.

“Hello, Hello! Betsy here. Actually, Betsy not here. Leave a message and she’ll call you back when she is here. Have a great day!” My voice echoed across the room.

“Betsy? You screening?” It was Sabrina. After a short pause, she continued, “I guess you’re out celebrating your major coup. Anyway. I have a major crisis! I can’t decide what to wear for my date tomorrow. The black cashmere sweater or the fun blue blouse I got in New York this summer. What do you think? Help! Give me a call as soon as you can. Love ya!”

In some ways, I felt good knowing that the most serious thing wrong in Sabrina’s life right now was the type of shirt she was going to wear tomorrow, instead of how to comfort her best friend after an actual crisis. It still didn’t revive me from my funk, though. I flopped over on the couch because my back was starting to hurt, but I didn’t get up.

At some point during the night, I must have fallen asleep, because I didn’t remember anything after Sabrina calling until my phone started ringing the next morning.

Still in a daze, I stumbled over to the phone.

“Hello?” My caller ID had been on the fritz for the last few months, so answering the phone was always a crap shoot.

“Where on earth are you, Santorini?”

“Mr. Boggs?” I did a quick inventory, running through what was actual memory and what belonged in another existence. No, I definitely did walk out on my job yesterday. That was right. So why was my former boss calling me in a huff this morning?

“Good to know you still recognize my voice. After that disappearing trick you pulled yesterday, I wasn’t sure if you’d know who I was. Thought maybe you’d lost your memory.”

“Maybe I am, Mr. Boggs. I thought I was fired yesterday. Wasn’t I?”

“Fired? Preposterous! Why would I fire the best female we have employed at Gallus Pharmaceuticals?”

“I’m the only female working there, Mr. Boggs. Besides Kerrie, that is.”

“Yes, well. Irregardless, we need your talent here. So, you’d better get your little butt in here right now.”

“Or what? I’ll be fired? If you didn’t fire me yesterday, then you’re never going to fire me. I’ve had enough, Mr. Boggs. I don’t know what little game you’re playing right now. I imagine you want to ensure that I don’t get severance pay. Well, don’t worry yourself. I quit. Effective immediately. And ‘irregardless’ is not a word, you fat tub of lard!” I shouted as I hung up the phone.

Anger still filled my veins as I stood glaring at the phone. How dare he! Jerk wad. As if I would ever go back to work for that awful person.

I started banging around my kitchen, trying to find an outlet for the emotion that was swamping me. I needed to keep busy to prevent myself from thinking about John again. It was good to have this anger at Mr. Boggs to focus on.

For once, I was able to channel my emotions into a useful endeavor: I did my dishes. First I had to clean up the broken glass from one of the bowls that I’d broken the morning after my sister’s wedding. My dishwasher had been non-functional since I moved in, but I had yet to call a plumber to fix it. I wasn’t sure if I was actually supposed to call a plumber, or a dishwasher repairman. The question had completely stymied me, so I just did my dishes by hand.

An hour later, my dishes were spotless. I put on some coffee, and sat down for a minute. As soon as I sat down, I started reliving my meal with John. Except that I’d never really lived it in the first place. I started to feel frustrated again, so I got up and started cleaning out my refrigerator.

The fridge was mostly crammed with take out boxes and condiments. There were several containers of yogurt well past their expiration date and a Tupperware container filled with some sort of brown sludge, that I think at some point had been lettuce. I grabbed a large trash bag and emptied everything except for some lemon juice, a case of Diet Pepsi and a six pack. Looks like I’d have to go grocery shopping.

But first, I decided that my bathroom needed cleaning. I climbed into the tub and scrubbed and scrubbed the whole thing until it sparkled. I cleaned the toilet, and threw away the 1000 Flushes cleaner that had been used up about 2000 flushes ago. I scrubbed the sink, and threw away several of the lotion bottles I had sitting on the counter that were empty or just awful smelling.

My bedroom was next. I stripped the bed and threw everything in the wash. I picked up and folded the clothes that had been hanging over the back of the chair for the last few months. I moved all the books off of the bookshelves, and dusted until I was constantly sneezing. I even alphabetized my books by author.

After the bedroom, I moved to the living room. I gathered up all of the magazines that had been piling up for the past year, and put them in a bag to take to get recycled. I gathered up all of the half-complete projects I had strewn about the room: a scarf I’d been crocheting for my mom’s birthday for the last three years; a scrapbook of my semester in Germany during college; Christmas cards from last year. I dusted, I vacuumed.

My unfinished projects found their new home in my office, after I cleaned the computer keyboard with a Q-tip. The office didn’t need much other work since I actually didn’t spend much time there.

My cleaning spree ended about six hours later, when I noticed the smell of the burning coffee coming from the kitchen. I stood in my kitchen, almost in shock, looking around at what I had done. My condo had not been this clean since I moved in.

I realized, too, that I was still in the bathrobe from last night. For some reason it was that fact that made me burst into tears. I went back into the living room and curled back up into a ball on the couch.

Sleep didn’t relieve me this time, so after a while, I scrounged around in the cushions for the remote – one area that had escaped the cleaning frenzy was the couch, whose cushions had a myriad of treasure buried beneath them.

I turned on the television and started flipping through the channels. I settled on some sappy romance movie, full of equal parts comedy and tragedy. Not particularly the best genre to cheer me up, but by this point I had decided that I was going to wallow.

Wallowing is a special art for me. I decided, years ago, that when push came to shove, it was just better to let myself feel miserable for a while. The more overly dramatic and pathetic I was, the sooner I’d have it out of my system. The watching of sappy movies and the eating of copious amounts of ice cream was always involved. I had never cleaned while I wallowed before, but I decided to attribute that to my anger with Mr. Boggs.

I was reveling in my perfectly poetic funk, when the phone rang again. I debated whether or not to answer it, as my bracelet jingled in time to the phone ring. I realized, with some surprise, that it was the first time I’d heard the bracelet all day long. I felt a bit guilty about that. I only had this one week to change my future. I had already seen what powerful things having this power of choice could do. It was a total waste of time if I wasn’t out there, living my life, and making choices.

It was time for my wallowing to be cut short. Normally I’d give myself at least another full day to let myself reside in the depths of despair. But not this week. This week I needed to get up off my butt and go out and live.

I answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Bets? Hon! It’s me, Hannah.”

“Hannah, just because you’re married doesn’t mean I am not going to recognize your voice.”

“I know. I just feel… different, you know? I’m not Hannah Santorini any more. I’m Hannah Burmeister. Mrs. Burmeister.”

“I don’t think I can call you that without laughing. Sorry, sis.”

“Oh, you’ll get used to it.”

“So what’s up? Why are you calling me a mere three days after your dream wedding?”

“I just want to make sure that you’ll be over here tomorrow night when I open my presents.”

I sighed. That was the last way I wanted to spend a good evening. I had a sneaking suspicion that she only wanted me there to take notes on who had given her what, and to clean up the wrapping paper. My pleas to our relatives to not bother wrapping the presents had gone unheeded. Leaving me to pick up the mess.

I could rebel and say that it should be Henry’s job to note who would need thank you letters, but we had to protect dear Henry’s fingers. Henry was a piano player. He had a regular gig at a jazz club down town. That was where Hannah had met him; she was out with some friends celebrating a birthday, but found herself spending more time by the piano than with her friend.

Henry had courted Hannah beautifully for nine months, then they announced their engagement last Thanksgiving. It was now less than two years after they had first met. Granted, it wasn’t the fastest relationship I’d ever heard of, but I felt like I’d be more cautious in my own life.

“Hello? Betsy? Are you there? I asked you a question.”

I had let my thoughts carry me away, and had neglected to answer Hannah. “Of course I’ll be there. That’s what big sisters are for.” Big spinster sisters who may have just thrown away their one chance at happiness.

Hannah squealed. “Betsy! You’re the best. See you tomorrow. Six thirty, okay?”

“Six thirty. Sounds great. Auf wiedersehen, Schwester, liebe.”

“Adios, hermana!”

After I got off of the phone with my sister, I motivated myself to get up and take a shower. It was actually nice to be using my newly cleaned bathroom. I’d have to get angry more often in the future, if it had this effect on my condo.

The shower left me feeling fresh and rejuvenated. I had noticed that the memories from the existences I chose to leave were generally not quite as vivid as the real memories, the ones that came to me after I had changed my decision. The incident in the hospital, with Jack and Fred felt like a dream now, but I could recall almost every word of mine and Edie’s conversation when I’d brought her the ice cream. The memory of John was still there, but the pain of knowing what I’d lost was starting to recede. I knew that I would survive this, too. Even if I did have to spend the rest of my life alone.

Now where did that thought come from? You’ve never been so pessimistic about your future in the past. What changed? It couldn’t be that meeting John has changed my whole outlook. No. Not possible.

I shook my head at myself, and went to grab the phone book. Tonight was a perfect night to order delivery. Chinese would be good. I picked up the phone book and headed towards my phone. On the way, I slipped and dropped the phone book on my foot.

“Ow! Fuck! That hurt!” I yelled to myself as I started hopping around the kitchen on my good foot. After a minute or so, I was finally able to bear some weight on the injured foot. I bent down to retrieve the phone book, but then I noticed what page it had opened to. It was an advertisement for St. Mary’s Hospital, including a listing of its newest practicing physicians. There, about three quarters of the way down the list, was “John Taylor, MD, Neurosurgery.”

I stood, looking down at the book in shock, the pain in my foot forgotten. I did not believe in fate. This experience with the bracelet was only confirming my beliefs that we are in charge of our own destinies.

But why did the phone book open to this page? Just when I had been thinking about John.

It’s merely a coincidence, I told myself, Look, there are at least ten other doctors listed there, and you don’t think there is anything special about any of those names. Nor is there with John. There can’t be. You haven’t even really met him.

Thus convinced, I picked up the book and flipped to the well worn section featuring delivery restaurants. I called my favorite Chinese establishment, and ordered General Tso’s chicken with two egg rolls and was promised delivery within thirty minutes.

I decided to sit and read until my dinner came, but I kept getting distracted, thinking about the phone book. Sabrina swore there was no such thing as coincidence, but she’d have to agree with me that this was totally coincidental. Fate was not playing a hand here.

There had been a number next to John’s name in the phone book. From the quick glance I’d taken, it looked like the same number that he had given me at the restaurant. Odd that he’d give me a work number, or, even stranger, list his home number in the phone book.

But that didn’t matter! I was not even going to think about calling John. I could imagine our conversation. I would call and say ‘Hi, John, you don’t actually know me, but in one of my existences, we had a very nice lunch together, and it really seemed like we could have something together, so let’s get together for drinks, okay?’ I don’t think I’d make it past the first few seconds before he hung up on me.

No, I was not allowed to call John.

Ten minutes later, I was on the couch with my phone clutched in one hand, and the phone book in the other. What harm could it do to just call? It was after most doctor’s clinic hours, and what were the chances that he would actually be the person answer, anyway?

I dialed the number, and sat listening to it ring. I was about to hang up after three rings, when he answered.

“John Taylor here.”

Oh my God, oh my God! He wasn’t supposed to answer! What am I supposed to say. His voice is so nice. It makes me think of his beautiful eyes. No! Stop it, Betsy. This is not healthy. You need to seek professional help. But before you do that, answer him for God’s sake. Say something, anything!

“Hellooo? Is anyone there? This is John Taylor, can you hear me?”

“Oh, umm, I’m sorry. I, uh, I guess, I mean, I think, umm. I got the wrong number. Sorry.”

“No problem! Have a nice night.” As he hung up, I could hear a girl laughing in the background.

Lucky girl. She got to be with my John. NO! Not your John. Very much not your John. Get over this Betsy. You’re starting to be a bore.

My Chinese food finally arrived, sparing me from the continuation of my inward battle. I popped in a movie and curled up on my couch with my white take out boxes and my chopsticks.

An hour later, I was completely engrossed in one of the Tuesday night soap operas. I tried to not watch too much television, but it was often a losing battle. When I was in high school, I watched a ridiculous amount of television, claiming that I could not get any home work done unless the TV was on. I had managed during college, mostly out of the necessity for good concentration, to ditch the bad habit. But after graduation, it had come back with a vengeance.

Just at the climactic scene, when Vivian and Lance were about to either slap each other or kiss passionately, there was a knock at my door. Several months ago, I had invested in DVR for this very reason. I sighed, and hit pause, freezing Vivian and Lance on the screen, glaring at each other.

I gathered up my empty take out boxes and tossed them in the trash on the way to the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but my guess was that it would either be Sabrina my neighbor Bruce wanting to borrow a cup of flour in a poorly disguised attempt to hit on me. Bruce came over at least once a week. It was very flattering to get this man’s attention, but unfortunately for Bruce, sixty one was a little past the age of a person I was willing to date.

I bent down to straighten the rug sitting inside the door. I had swept underneath it earlier, and it had been put back slightly crooked. There was another knock on the door.

“All right, all right, I’m here.” I said as I opened the door to find Sabrina holding a case of cheap beer and a video. She looked stunning in simple black pants and an ivory sweater, her hair back in a loose pony tail, just the slightest bit of make up on her face. How I hated her ability to look so good with such ease.

“Let me in! I’m full of righteous anger!” she pronounced, shoving her way past me and into the kitchen.

“Bad date?” I asked, following after her.

“No. Actually the date was going beautifully. Eddy was right on time picking me up, and he looked fantastic in his khakis and sweater. We went to this great little restaurant that I’d never heard of. It looked like a little hole in the wall, but once we were inside, it was like straight out of a movie. With the best pesto I’ve had in years.”

Another thing that made me insanely jealous about Sabrina was her ability to eat, even on a first date, with unembarrassed zeal. In the past, every time I’d been on a first date, I’d come immediately home and stuffed my face because I was so starving after merely picking at my food. Not with John, though. I ate normally with John.

I shook myself and tuned back into Sabrina’s monologue.

“…and he said that he loved that book, but thought the movie was better, just like I always have maintained, even though everyone else thinks I’m crazy.”

“It sounds like a great date, Brina. What went wrong?”

“What went wrong? What went wrong! Let me tell you.” She jumped up on to my counter and opened a beer. After a big swig, she continued. “When the waiter came over with our check, he and Eddy started chatting. Turns out Eddy came to this restaurant all the time, so he knew most of the people there. Anyway, the waiter is all like, ‘Is this your sister?’ referring to me. I laughed, thinking that Eddy and I looked nothing like siblings, and was about to introduce myself as his date, when Eddy said, ‘No, this is my friend, Sabrina.’ Friend! Not date or anything. Just friend.”

“What’s so wrong with friend? It’s better than saying ‘this is some woman I met at the dog park the other day.’” I was surprised to hear Sabrina complain about something like this, she was usually more understanding.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with friend. But then. Then!” she took another drink of the beer, “then Mr. Waiter asked Eddy how his wife was doing.”

“No!” It all made sense now. Sabrina had a strict, unbendable No Dating Married Men rule. Her father had run off with another woman when Brina was around ten, and she swore that she could never ever, ever do that to some little child somewhere.

“Yes! His wife! And the little rat said, ‘Well, she’s doing fine. She’s visiting her sister in DC right now.’ Oh, God, Betsy. It was awful! I just sat there smiling, acting like the good friend he’d claimed I was. But I was seething underneath. I was so, so mad.”

“What did you do?” Sabrina was not one to let such a thing pass without some form of retaliation.

She flashed me an evil grin, “As soon as the waiter left, I stood up, picked up my full glass of water and dumped it in his lap as I walked out. You should have heard him squeal! Hopefully that will make him think twice about cheating on his wife.”

I applauded Sabrina for her use of cold water. “You didn’t go for the throwing your wine in his face this time?” That was her main standard of leaving a date in a huff.

“Too easy to clean up. This scum bag deserved a more lasting punishment. Plus, I’d really liked the wine and there was only a bit left in my glass. Really, the restaurant was great. We’ll have to go there some time.”

She hopped down from the counter and took the case of beer to my refrigerator, pulling one out for me first. “Here, join me in some angry drinking and a good female revenge movie.”

“Which one this time?”

“Practical Magic. Nothing like Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock knocking off Dr. What’s His Name with some good old belladonna. Wish I could get ahold of some of that stuff.”

“Isn’t that a romance movie?”

“Yeah, well, Thelma and Louise was checked out and I’ve seen ????? too many times lately.” Sabrina opened my refrigerator, and seemed slightly taken aback at its spotlessness. “Wait a second. Something is going on here.” She looked around my kitchen, noting the clean dishes, the freshly mopped floor. “Betsy, oh my God, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t I tell you what?” I was completely baffled as to what had caused Sabrina’s excitement.

“You’re in love! Who is he? How could you have kept this a secret from us? Oh my God, tell me everything.”