Relief.
some news for russ
Sunday, April 11, 6:20 p.m.
I’m lying on my bed picking my face. It’s gross, but I don’t care. I need to. I can see the blood on my fingers. I look in the mirror and see how ugly I am. There are patches of raw, red skin on my chin, on my forehead, around my nose. Disgusting. Just how I feel.
The phone rings and I quickly pick it up. “Hello?”
“How is it possible that for the six months we were still dating you never once answered the phone and today you answer practically before it even rings?”
“Hello?” I repeat. “Who is it?”
“How do you not recognize my voice? It’s Sharon.”
“Oh, hi.” Her voice sounds so soft and I feel empty, and I realize how much I’ve missed her. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Hi. I didn’t expect to call you. How are you?”
“I’m all right.” I reach my hand back to my face and continue picking.
“That’s good. Are you coming back to Toronto this summer?”
“No, actually, I accepted a summer position in New York.”
Pause. “I thought that might happen now that we’re no longer together.”
“There’s a lot of opportunity in the U. S.,” I say. “And because of the MBA I have a visa to work here for a year after I graduate. But I’m having a few issues…” I want to confide in her even though I know I have no right.
“I need to tell you something. I don’t expect you to come home, but I hope you’ll contribute financially. It’s up to you how involved you want to get.”
What is she talking about? “Involved with what?”
I hear her take a deep breath on the other end of the line. And then, “Shit.” The next thing I hear is the sound of her puking.
What, did she drunk-dial me?
“Involved with your baby, Russ. I’m pregnant and I’m keeping the baby.”
jamie’s advice
10:45 p.m.
L ife’s a bitch and then you die.
Oy. Beer has made me feel even worse. Instead of drowning my pain, I’m now just drowning. Should have stuck to my nondrinking guns. Now all I can think about is how useless getting up in the morning is. What’s the point? What’s the point in anything? Why bother living when life is filled with so much unhappiness? I lean my head back against the leather cushion of the booth in the back of the Monsoon. Suddenly I have nothing. There’s now a massive hole in my life. An emptiness. What’s the point in going on with this kind of pain? I swallow another gulp of beer.
Why am I feeling so pathetically melodramatic? I’m all joked out. Even trying to lose myself in a movie doesn’t help. I can’t stay focused. I tried calling my sister, Amanda, but she wasn’t helpful. “You dated her for two seconds. Snap out of it.”
A blast of cold air blows in as the door opens. It’s Russ. He steps inside and looks around, confused, as though he has no idea how he got here. Kind of how I feel. His eyes are wide open like saucers.
He sees me, looks baffled, as if he doesn’t recognize me. Maybe he’s been hitting the bong too often. He orders a beer at the bar and then approaches the table, sliding into the seat across from mine.
“Oh, man,” he says.
Exactly. I don’t have much to say to him. I think what he’s doing to Kimmy is shitty. How he can take advantage of her makes me sick. I take another sip of the beer. Not that what I did was any better. Oy. Am I really no better than Russ? I lied to the woman I love. I used her to get what I want. Might as well drown in my own pain. I chug half of my beer and wave at Glenda for another. Then I go to work on the remaining half. I wonder if there’s a limit to how much beer a person can drink before exploding.
Russ runs his thumb around the rim of his beer. “I’m going to be a father.”
I spit the final mouthful back into the bottle. “What?”
“I’m going to be a dad.”
Holy shit. “Kimmy’s pregnant?”
“No. Sharon.”
Oy. “What did Kimmy say?” I ask.
“Haven’t told her yet.”
Glenda passes me a new bottle and I take a long sip. I don’t even like the taste of beer. “That might be something you’d want to consider letting her know,” I say.
Russ starts laughing and can’t stop. He drops his head onto the table and bangs it against the Formica. “I’m so fucking scared. I might get expelled and I’m going to be a father. I’m not ready to be a father. I can’t even floss properly. How am I going to be a father?”
Instead of feeling sorry for him, I feel envious. I wish the right thing to do in my life was so obvious. I wish I were the one becoming a father. He has everything and I have nothing.
“Once a night before bed and dig into those gums,” I offer.
kimmy’s ejection
Monday, April 12, 8:54 a.m.
My nipples are frozen. It’s so cold in here. Where is Russ? I’m sitting on a wooden bench outside the disciplinary committee boardroom in the Katz building, wearing my blue interview suit. At least it’s good for something.
He’s late. Surprise, surprise. I knocked on his door, but he didn’t answer. I assumed he’d already left. Although why he’d leave without me, I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell has happened to him in the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday he didn’t even come over. Called to tell me he wasn’t feeling well. Asked if he could borrow my laptop. Said his was broken and he wanted to finish an assignment. Hope he didn’t stay up too late. Hope he doesn’t sleep through this meeting. That would essentially be academic suicide. He has to be here in person to plead his case. He still has a few minutes if I go in first. Apparently we have to go in separately.
The clock above the hallway says eight fifty-eight. He has two minutes. Maybe I should have knocked harder. Louder. Tried calling. If he doesn’t show up, it will be entirely my fault. I’d better call him. I whip out my cell and am about to dial his number, when Russ appears in front of me.
“Kimmy,” he says. “I have to tell you something.” Even though he has thick bags under his eyes, he looks calm, like he’s just had a smoke, or a bath. (Do men take baths? I long for a bath. The sublet I got for the summer has a bathtub. Probably not a great one, considering it’s in Manhattan, but still a bath is a bath.)
I can’t tell if he has good or bad news. “What is it?”
He takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand.
“Russ?” The door opens and a second-year student who always reminds me of Bart Simpson because of his spiky blond hair, pokes his cartoon head into the hallway. “We’re ready for you.”
My heart plummets right down to my work pumps. “Good luck,” I say.
He kisses me on the forehead and disappears inside.
We’ve rehearsed our stories. We’re going to say that we talked about the assignment, but then each wrote our own report. They might buy it. I compared Russ’s to mine and they aren’t exactly the same. Pretty much, but not identical. I think we can get away with it. And if not? We’ll take the course again. Not a big deal. There’s no way they’ll expel us both. Even if we lose the O’Donnel jobs, it’s not the end of the world. We’ll still be together. Sure, I think I’d like working in strategy, but I’ll get another job eventually. What matters is that Russ and I stay strong and together.
I wish I could hear what’s going on inside. Would it look weird if I put my ear against the wall?
Ten minutes later, the door opens, and Russ kisses me on the forehead again. “How’d it go?” I ask.
“Perfectly.”
“Good.” I stand up and straighten out my suit. “My turn, then?”