Attachments (26 page)

CHAPTER 79

From: Beth Fremont
To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
Sent: Tues, 02/29/2000 3:48 PM
Subject: I told Derek about Chris …

And now the entire eastern third of the newsroom knows that I’m single. Melissa came over and patted my hand for, I swear, 20 minutes. She said she’s going to take me to this totally hot club—“wall-to-wall boys”—where you can get half-price appletinis after 10 o’clock on weeknights.

I told Derek that if I get cornered into drinking appletinis on a weeknight, I’m dragging his big mouth with me.

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What do you have against appletinis?

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I just don’t understand why everything has to be a martini. I don’t like drinking out of martini glasses, you have to pucker your mouth all weird to keep from spilling.

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How are you ever going to meet another man if you’re not going to drink martinis?

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I’m not, apparently. The last time I went on a first date, I wasn’t old enough to drink.

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Are you even interested in dating yet?

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I don’t know. In a way, I don’t really feel single. My life hasn’t changed substantially since Chris left, which shows, I guess, how little I’d been seeing him. I could almost go on pretending that I’m still in a serious relationship. Derek thinks I should take down all the photos of Chris in my cubicle. (Or in his words, “Jesus Christ, Beth, even I’m tired of looking at that asshole.”) What do you think?

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I think it’s up to you. Does it make you sad to look at them?

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Yeah, it does. I should take them down.

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Your Cute Guy is never going to ask you out if your cubicle is full of photos of another man.

Seriously …there’s nothing keeping you from making contact with YCG now.

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I can’t have a real relationship with him. I’ve already been pretend-dating him for months. If we started dating, I’d have to eventually tell him about the time I followed him home from the movie theater. That doesn’t seem healthy.

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But he’s so nice.

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Are you saying that because he gave you French fries?

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I’m saying it because he seemed really, really nice.

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I need to date a guy I haven’t already contaminated with a nickname.

CHAPTER 80

EMILIE STOPPED INTO
the IT office Thursday night between editions. She did that now, a few times a week, just to say hi. Well, not
just
to say hi, Lincoln knew she was interested in him. But he hadn’t decided yet what do with that knowledge.

He was interested in feeling the way he felt around Emilie. Like the brightest, shiniest thing in the room. Tall. And smart. And funny. When Emilie was around, he never fumbled his Christopher Walken impression. But he couldn’t see anything in her eyes past his own reflection. And now that Beth was back, he couldn’t make himself want to.

Emilie was twirling her ponytail around her fingers. “So, a few of us are going to do karaoke tomorrow night, there’s a cheesy bar in Bellevue, you should totally come, it’s going to be fun …”

“It sounds fun,” Lincoln said. “But I play Dungeons & Dragons on Saturday nights. Usually.” He’d missed some more games lately, he’d wanted to have the weekends to himself in his new apartment. “It’s been a few weeks, so I really can’t miss tomorrow night.”

“Oh, you play Dungeons & Dragons?”

“Yeah … ,” he said.

“That’s cool … ,” she said.

That made Lincoln smile. Which made Emilie smile even wider. Which made him feel kind of guilty.

DAVE ANSWERED THE
door Saturday night. He looked at Lincoln and frowned.

“Either you’re in the game or you’re not,” Dave said, after Christine had set Lincoln up with a plate of homemade tacos and a flagon (an actual flagon) of beer. “You can’t just drop in now and then.”

Dave pointed to Troy, who was trying not drip taco juice onto his faded Rush T-shirt. “Troy has been dragging your unconscious dwarf on an earth sled, just to keep you in the campaign. You’re a constant drain on his magic.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Troy said formally. “I’ve owed ’Smov a life debt since we battled side by side in the Free City of Greyhawk.”

“Troy, that was seven years ago,” Dave said, pained, “and that entire adventure was outside of continuity.”

“I wouldn’t expect a halfling like you to understand the nature of a life debt,” Troy said.

“Thank you, Troy,” Lincoln said, bowing his head.

“It’s an honor, brother.”

“I’m trying to run a campaign here,” Dave said. “This isn’t improv. It takes planning. I need to know who I have to work with.”

“Maybe Lincoln has had a good reason to stay close to home,” Christine said. She smiled at him, hopefully.

“We all have good reasons not to be here,” Larry said, frowning. “Do you think I don’t have anything more important to do?”

“I could be at the hospital, saving lives,” Teddy said flatly.

“I could be at my high school reunion,” Rick murmured.

“You guys aren’t helping,” Christine said. She looked back at Lincoln again, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“Well,” he said, swallowing. “Actually, I do have news.” Christine clasped her hands. “I moved into an apartment.”

They all looked up.

“You moved out of your mom’s house?” Troy said.

“It’s about damn time,” Larry said.

“’Smov,” Troy said, leaning in for a sandalwood-thick hug, “I’m so proud of you.” Lincoln hugged him back.

Rick smiled.

“And
I’m
so proud of you,” Christine said. “That isn’t even the good news I was expecting.”

“I don’t know,” Dave said, rubbing his beard. “If I could go back to living rent-free, I would.”

“I never thought you’d do it, Lincoln,” Larry said. “I thought you were one of those guys.”

Lincoln winced.

“I never thought he’d move out of the dorms,” Dave said.

“Okay,” Lincoln said. “Enough.” He’d wanted them to be happy for him, but not this happy. Not this surprised. He hadn’t realized that everyone—even Troy, who lived in a studio apartment above an auto body shop—felt sorry for him. It was like getting congratulated for losing  weight when you didn’t think anyone else had noticed that you needed to.

Christine was grinning at him across the table. Even the baby in the sling was smiling. Lincoln decided to smile, too.

“Are we going to play or not?” Teddy said. “My shift starts in six hours.”

“Now, we just have to find you a woman,” Troy said, thumping Lincoln on the back.

“Enough,” Lincoln said, “let’s play.”

“
And with a crack of thunder,
” Dave said, “
black clouds swept over the hills of Kara-Tur …
”

CHAPTER 81

From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Mon, 03/13/2000 3:08 PM

Subject: This message was almost about Doritos.

But I don’t think I have it in me. I don’t have it in me to be trivial.

<>
Hush your mouth, what could you possibly mean?

<>
These days, I’m using up all my energy on matters of life and death. Everything else feels like a waste of time. Last night, I watched
60 Minutes
instead of
Grease
. I even listened to NPR this morning on the way to work.

<>
Wait,
Grease
was on? Damn.

What do you usually listen to on the way to work?

<>
Flame 98, bringing today’s country hits straight to the heart of the heartland. I really like Kat and Mowzer in the morning. At least, I used to. Lately, I can’t stand listening to them—or any of the other morning shows. They’re all sound-and-fury, tale-told-by-an-idiot, signifying-nothing.

<>
That’s got to be the first time someone has almost quoted Shakespeare in reference to Kat and Mowzer.

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I feel like I don’t have time for anything trivial. Every night, when Mitch comes home, I drag him into excruciatingly deep conversations—usually about whether we should try to get pregnant again and what it means to be a parent and whether it really is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about that last thing myself.

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Are you holding up okay?

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Yeah. Mostly. I had a wobbly moment at the grocery store last night when I realized I was buying a single banana. There’s nothing sadder than buying bananas one at a time. It’s like announcing to the world that there isn’t a soul in the world who’ll be breaking bread with you anytime soon. I don’t even buy bread anymore. There’s no way I can get through an entire loaf of bread before it starts to mold. I can’t decide which is more dejecting: grocery shopping for one or sitting alone in a restaurant.

<>
You should come eat with us. Mitch always cooks something healthy and delicious. We had shrimp tempura last night.

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Plus, I hear the dinner conversation is scintillating.

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You’re welcome anytime. Truly, why don’t you come tonight?

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Only if you tell me the Dorito story right now.

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It isn’t much of a story: I went to get some M&M’S from the break room today, and ended up in line behind the publisher at the snack machine. I was sure he would choose a conservative and traditional snack—perhaps mixed nuts or a great American Hershey’s bar—but, no, he went right for the Salsa Verde Doritos.

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This is at odds with everything I thought I understood about our editorial policy.

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I know. How can someone who eats Salsa Verde Doritos so vehemently oppose gay marriage?

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And affirmative action.

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And traffic roundabouts.

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I can’t believe you thought that was trivial.

<>
So …do
you
have any interesting break room stories to report? Have you been cruising the beef jerky machine even when you’re not hungry?

<>
Uh, no. And since when do you advocate that sort of behavior?

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I told you. I’ve totally reversed my position on Your Cute Guy. You’re single now, and he’s the kind of guy who helps damsels in distress. Seize the day, I say. Carpe Cute Guy!

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It’s still too weird. And I’m not ready to date anybody. I’m not even ready to rebound. I’d feel like I was hitting on someone at my husband’s funeral.

<>
He wasn’t your husband, and nobody died.

<>
Still.

CHAPTER 82

THAT NIGHT, LYING
in his new bed, staring at his new ceiling, Lincoln thought furiously. The same thoughts over and over again, until trying not to think them was like trying to get a song out of his head.

Hi, I’m Lincoln. I’ve seen you in the break room …

Hi, I’m Lincoln, Doris’s friend …

Hi, have we met before? In the break room? I’m Doris’s friend …

Hi, I’m Lincoln. I work downstairs in the information technology office …

Hi, I work downstairs, in computer support, my name is Lincoln. Look, I know this might seem out of the blue, but would you like to have coffee sometime?

Would you like to get dinner sometime?

Would you like to join Doris and me in the break room? My mom cooks for us.

Would you like to go out? For a drink? Or coffee? Or dinner?

Before we go, there’s something I need to tell you.

I think, before we go, I should confess something.

I have secrets, Beth, secrets that I’ll never reveal, and you’re just going to have to be okay with that. That’s just the kind of guy I am.

What if I told you that I have a secret, one secret, that you must never ask me to share with you? Because if you ask, I’ll have to tell you the truth. But if I tell you the truth, we’ll never be happy. It’s kind of a Beauty and the Beast/Rumpelstiltskin/Crane Wife thing …

Hi, my name is Lincoln, I work downstairs. Would you like to get together sometime, maybe go out?

LINCOLN HAD AN
apartment-warming party that weekend. Eve had suggested it. “It’ll be like your coming-out party,” she said, “you know, your cotillion.”

“Jesus,” Lincoln said, “don’t put either of those on the invitations.”

His mom brought dinner—lasagna and stuffed artichokes and honey ricotta pie—as well as a complete set of silverware, world music CDs, and fresh flowers. She insisted on answering the door when it buzzed.

“She’s acting like she owns the place,” Eve complained.

Lincoln smiled. He was already eating an artichoke. So was Eve. “Isn’t it enough to know that she doesn’t?”

Doris was the first unrelated guest to arrive. She brought a date, a retired pressman, and a pan of brownies, and she greeted Lincoln’s mother like they were old school chums. “Maureen! Look at you!”

Chuck came. With his practically-not-estranged-anymore wife. Justin and Dena couldn’t come, they were going to Vegas for the weekend. But most of the D&D players came, and Dave and Christine brought their kids. (As well as their dice, you know, just in case.)

Everyone said nice things about Lincoln’s apartment and even nicer things about his mom’s lasagna. After Doris and Chuck left, the party did in fact turn into a D&D session. Jake Jr. was mesmerized. He wanted to stay and learn how to play. Eve was horrified. “You’re too young,” she said, “and too socially adept.”

“I’m buying him dice for his eleventh birthday,” Lincoln said.

His mother stayed until almost midnight. She and Christine did the dishes together and had a two-hour conversation about natural childbirth and raw milk. They exchanged telephone numbers.

“Your mother is so wise,” Christine said later. “There’s so much I can learn from her.”

When the last guest left, Lincoln imagined what it would be like to have someone standing next to him at the door. He imagined Beth gathering up glasses in the living room, falling into the bed next to him.

Hi, my name is Lincoln, we’ve almost met a few times in the break room. Look, I know this is kind of out of the blue, but would you like to go somewhere, sometime? And talk?