Calm, Cool, and Adjusted (6 page)
My father leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “You may not want to go back to Santa Cruz, but that skirt does.”
I flare it out, looking at the bright purples and turquoise, now faded into muddied gray versions of themselves, and I look up just in time to see Jeff’s eyes fall on the material. I feel my face flame red. Simon, too, looks at the skirt with new eyes and for once, I wish I’d worn something else. So this is what embarrassment feels like. I definitely need a spa weekend. I’m getting delusional.
My friends diss me.
Desperation scale: 6
W
hen the work day is over, I brace myself for the evening with my father. He’s retiring in Arizona. How utterly clichéd and corporate. He couldn’t even surprise me by separating from the pack just this once? He couldn’t go to Montana or Chicago?
I hear myself sigh. The house is mine now. It’s my burden to bear and he knows it. I’m certain he’s happy to be rid of the trouble and the pain. It’s amazing how our lives can get so intertwined with a material possession. That house represents so much more to me than just a domicile, and I suppose it’s the same for him. The difference is he got to be done with it before the hard part started.
I turn up the music, Third Day, and try to erase my thoughts. The lead singer’s voice is sheer heaven, and I start to dance around my office putting it back to rights. While I try to keep my office a peaceful environment, after a long day with whiny executives who don’t want to wait a second throwing their magazines around, its neat appearance diminishes.
I realign all the bottles of elixirs and enzymes on the shelves that my patients have haphazardly rearranged. Rearranged, touched, fingered, but not resigned themselves to buy. Why is investing in health such a big deal to these people? They’ll spend four hundred dollars on a pair of shoes, but they won’t spend twenty dollars for better digestion. It’s unfathomable. Unreasonable. Ridiculous.
My cell phone rings and I turn down the stereo. I see, by caller ID, it’s the bride: Morgan. My feelings are mixed, as I know she’s leery of inviting me, one of her best friends, to the wedding for fear that I’ll offer free health advice. I know she’d never actually uninvite me, but even the warnings and threat of a blind date don’t exactly evoke warmth. After all I’ve done for my friends, this is my final thank you before their foray into married life.
“Hey, Morgan,” I say without inflection into the phone.
“So you’re looking for a spa date? You? Why don’t you just take a rosemary bath or swallow one of those green drinks? If you’re needing a spa date, we’re all sunk. You are, in fact, peace personified.”
How I wish that were so.
“Not today. The reality is coming upon me. You’re leaving me. This is one of the last times I can call and we can still play. Lilly’s having the baby soon, and you’ll be married with an instant son of your own. I’ll have to find new friends.” I don’t say the last thing nearly as despondently as I feel it. Currently, I’m Eeyore, packing my own rain cloud. Even I don’t particularly want to be around me.
“We’re not abandoning you, Poppy.”
“All friends say that, and then they always end up abandoning. Their lives get busy. Their husbands don’t like to see them turn into giggly girls, and the single friends are left to shop for a new pet. Soon, the single friend’s grocery list consists of cat food and fiber, and my grocery list already reads that way so I’ve got nowhere to go but down. Then I start hanging out with the other people who haven’t found love, and we get stranger, and our dreams evaporate into nothing.”
“You are having a day. Poppy, I’ll make the reservations, but in the meantime, you’re making me nervous. Can’t you take a vitamin or something? Maybe go visit the trees.”
The trees are a nearby grove of eucalyptus I often run to on my lunch hour. The scent brings my mother to life and a peace just descends upon me there. When I was a child, we would play hide-and-seek amongst the trees near our home. I always feel her nearby and my problems farther away when I smell eucalyptus or redwoods. But yeah, the trees aren’t happening right now.
I try to put on my best front. “I think the spa would help. The office has been so busy, and with training, I haven’t had much time to play. My father just had a bit of news too. He’s going to Arizona, of all places. See? You are all leaving me.”
“You are the only one I know who actually needs to schedule fun, Poppy, but I hear you. Can you go this weekend, then? I’ll call Lilly.” Morgan still has that nervous lilt to her voice, and I’m sorry I transferred my angst energy. Not a great friend thing to do. And definitely not like me. It’s probably the plastic surgeon. He’s got me all out of sync. He probably emanated bad silicone vibes when he entered my office, knocking over my energy with his plastic meridians.
“I can go this weekend. I’ll just have to cancel all my dates.” I giggle, without feeling, but I’m hoping to infuse much needed humor into the moment. I feel relief knowing I’m just going to get away from it all for a time. But as soon as it’s confirmed, I start to stress about all I’ll need to do while there “relaxing.” “I’ll have to run while I’m there. I’ll swim when I get home to the condo, but I can’t stop training or I won’t make my goal for the Hawaiian triathlon.”
“Poppy, you need to let it go, girl. You are a control freak and it’s scaring me.”
“See, that’s the thing. Control freaks get a bad rap. I mean, even the word
freak
—how rude is that? God is a God of order,” I say calmly. “Not chaos. When people operate under chaos, how can they possibly not want to improve upon that? If people could feel the endorphins that I get running . . . If they could know the power of going to the cupboard and finding exactly what they needed immediately . . . If they could feel the energy of a really good diet . . . I’m telling you, there would be no Atkins, no Jenny Craig—just people running and jumping with all their excess energy. I mean, I have the answer, and I’m just supposed to keep it bottled inside? When you eat badly, your body’s rhythm changes. Your organs cry out for balance. I just can’t understand why people don’t embrace these truths. I’m not talking out of ignorant opinion. I’ve studied this in depth and—”
“Poppy.”
“Yeah?”
“It took you a minute and a half to tell me that story. I timed you.”
“Why?”
“Because a minute and a half of conversation, without stopping for the other person’s comments, is why we’re getting you a wedding date.”
I think I’m offended.
“I was just saying that control freaks get a bad rap after you called me one.”
“There’s a reason for that. Prove to us you’re not. Let the skirts go. You know, it was sort of cute back in college. Now it’s scaring us.”
What is it with the skirts today?
I look down at my current version. “Well, next time you need your shoes placed in an orderly fashion in a new closet, we’ll see who you go to. It won’t be Lilly. You love my order. What if I just became haphazard and commercialized?”
“Poppy, you know we love you, but you’re getting to be like a telemarketer. It used to be just the weird skirts and the digestion of inhumane health drinks. But now . . .” She pauses dramatically. “Now, it’s just getting odder by the minute. Lilly told me you organized my twenty-four-hour shower according to the acupuncture clock?”
“That was a surprise!”
Morgan continues, “Do you like it when you tell a story and your audience starts backing up?”
“I just assume they’re not open to the idea of their health yet. I just tell them the truth,” I cry.
“It’s just not really dinner conversation, Poppy. That’s all we’re saying. There’s a time and place. In your office, people pay for your advice; they want to hear it.”
I feel an ache in my stomach. “So what are you saying? You don’t want me at your wedding?”
Morgan couldn’t be rude if she tried, but right now she’s on the hairy edge of offensive, and I realize this obviously means a lot to her.
“I couldn’t get married without you, Poppy. You’re one of my very best friends in the world. You’ve been there for me when no one else was—do you really think I could get married without you there? No, I’m saying that Lilly and I think you have gone a little over the deep end lately. We want
our
Poppy back, not the one so obsessed with health that she’s not living. You know, Lilly grew up eating pasta and sausage and she looks every bit as healthy as you.”
“Looks are deceiving. If you could look at her arteries, you’d see the difference. Sure, she’s thin—God made her that way. But still, she needs to take care of her temple. See, in the beginning, God created light. Light is energy and energy heals. It was God’s first building block, the power He instills in His children if they only respect the creation . . . creation of . . .” I peter out about here.
Man, I do sound like a weirdo.
Morgan sighs loud and long. “Don’t you see? People don’t want to eat bark for lunch. They don’t want gritty drinks the color of that stuff that grows on a frog pond. People want to enjoy life. To eat, drink, and be merry. They want to dine in outdoor cafés and sip fine wine with fancy cheeses.”
“Outdoor cafés!” I’m horrified. “You know, birds just walk all over the tables, and how often do you think they get cleaned? I’m not even talking about a good bleach clean, just regular spray cleaned.”
“I don’t care and neither does anyone else. Poppy, what’s happened to you? When did you stop enjoying life?”
“I enjoy life,” I say meekly. But I have to admit, fun to me has become staying on top of my to-do list and counting my body-fat ratio. “I’m looking forward to the wedding. I’ll enjoy that. Why don’t you tell me about my date?” I encourage Morgan to do the talking.
“He’s a runner, Poppy. Max met him on the San Francisco Beach 5k.”
“You got me a date off the street?”
“The beach, and no, not exactly. Max brought him to dinner, and Lilly and I interviewed him for the prospective job.”
I’m not even going to comment on the word
job
. “Is he a Christian?”
“Of course he is. And he likes to dress comfortably and he’s into his health. He even has a good body-fat ratio. He told us what it was, but I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean he’s into his health?” Granted, I’m afraid to ask. That could mean a plethora of things, and considering what Lilly and Morgan currently think of my health topics, it could mean I’m in for a world of hurt.
“He feels perfectly at ease discussing his small intestine at the dinner table. He’s you in pants, actually. We were delighted to find him.”
“You know I can hold my tongue at the wedding. Why are you setting me up? I am capable of finding myself a date.”
“We know that. It’s just we think you’d really like this guy and there might be some magic here.”
The only magic I’m thinking of is how to make this guy disappear. “You know, if I want magic, I’ll go to Disneyland, Morgan. You either want me at the wedding, or you don’t. If you could tell Mr. Health, ‘Thank you for the mercy date but I’m busy that day,’ I’d be most appreciative.”
“Poppy! You wouldn’t dare miss my wedding.”
I slam shut the phone, which, granted, isn’t a big deal on a cell phone, but it makes me feel better. I know when Morgan has had a chance to cool off she’ll realize forcing me into a date with a guy from the beach isn’t her best moment as a friend. I take off a sandal and throw it across the office. At that very moment, Jeff Curran comes in the door, his eyebrows raised.
“Well, I didn’t know you had it in you. So this beatnik peace thing—is that just an act?”
“What do you want?” I ask rudely. Sort of my standard tone with Jeff, and I catch myself for my continuous rudeness. Even if he does represent in human form all that’s wrong with the world.
“I’m knocking off early, and I wanted to know if you wanted to have dinner with me, but now I’m worried I’d get in the way of flying shellfish.”
“I don’t eat shellfish. They’re bottom feeders. Not that this is relevant. My dad is taking me out tonight. Didn’t you overhear that?” (I’m sure he did. Could he be looking for an invite?)
“So tomorrow night, maybe?” he asks, ignoring my question.
I know he heard my plans. “Jeff, I don’t mean any offense asking this, but what’s up?”
“I’ve been wanting to do this since I opened my practice, but today’s the first day you actually spoke nicely to me. I thought we might be neighborly when I moved my practice in. I see you at church. You see me at church. Maybe we could get beyond ignoring each other. You know, be big enough Christians to overcome our little differences.”
This makes me laugh. “It’s a little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” I’ve sort of grown accustomed to ignoring him with style. And vice versa.
My cell phone starts to ring. It’s Morgan again.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” he asks.
“No.” I see him eye me as though I treat everyone with this anger. “It’s my best friend. I’ll call her back.”
It keeps ringing, even though I try to shut it down so I stuff the phone into my oversized skirt pocket.
“Let me guess: you’ve actually got another guy you’re torturing on the phone, but you want to finish with me first? So how about that dinner?” He crosses his arms in his elegant suit. He’s a young version of my now-corporate father. Granted, he probably makes money, though.
“You know, I really don’t believe in plastic surgery.” I tell him. I mean, let’s nip this in the bud immediately. “It’s all about vanity and pride and the Bible is pretty clear on that, so how is it you justify what you do?” I cross my arms, and yes, I’m probably taking my anger toward Morgan out on him. But he is here, after all.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Plastic surgery does a lot of good in the world. In fact, I’ll bet my profession is more respected than your New Age garble. Listen to the music you have playing. What is that supposed to be about?”
I purse my lips at him. “It creates an air of peace. What did you do today over in your office? Besides inflate women’s mouths to the size of those wax lips we wore as kids?”
“I don’t have to justify what I do to you, Poppy. I’m proud of it.” He crosses his arms, and I watch as his blue eyes flash at me. “Today, I didn’t have surgery. Mostly, I did consultations for a few patients to get all the extra skin removed after their gastric bypass surgery. It’s painful, you know, all that skin. Burning, chafing, irritation. The skin loses all elasticity when it shrinks so quickly.”