The Book of Jane (3 page)

“That's so wonderful,” I say. “Wow, soon you're going to be a real, published writer. I'm going to say I knew you when.”

He smiles and blushes a little. “I'm sure it will only sell two copies.”

“Are you kidding me? I'm going to buy a hundred of them myself so you'll at least sell one hundred and two copies.”

He laughs for a moment, but then he looks down at the table and picks at a hangnail. “Jane, do you ever wonder what would happen if my book were to…” His voice fails and he blushes again.

“What?” I ask, studying his face.

“Take off,” he mumbles.

Tyson is so gifted and smart. Sometimes our relationship feels like a downhill, out-of-control slide, but Raquel says that's what love is. All I know is that I can never see him enough. I can never kiss him enough. There isn't enough of him in the world. I'll always be on a quest for one more look from him, one more laugh.

“Of course I've thought about it. It's going to be a bestseller.”

He shrugs and smiles. “Well, no matter what happens I'll be getting my final payment for the book in a few months,” he says.

“Wow,” I say. “That's so wonderful. We'll have to do something fun.”

He smiles, a little lopsidedly, and takes a long drink of water. “Maybe. I might save it instead…for a big purchase.”

My heart swells. A ring! A ring! He's saving for the ring. “That's a great idea,” I say. I burst into a big, wide smile.

“Like an apartment or something. I've been thinking of buying a little place to call my own.”

Even better. Our place. I don't want to burst his bubble by reminding him that even four of his books won't be enough for a one-bedroom apartment here in Manhattan. “That's right. You just keep saving, and one day you'll have enough for a down payment,” I say, and then add in my head, Especially when we sell my place and pool our money. How responsible of him.

He looks down at his tea for a minute. I wonder if we should have a fall or a spring wedding.

“Jane,” he says suddenly. “What do you think about New York?” He looks intently into my eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you're from around here, but could you see yourself settling down here?”

He's definitely going to ask me soon. Why isn't he using his money for a ring? Did he already buy it? No. I'll bet it's a family ring. That would be very special.

“Oh yeah. I'd love to settle in New York. In fact, I always imagined myself bringing up my family here.” He looks at me and plays with his fork. He's nervous that I'll want him to move to the suburbs once we're married. He's a writer. He needs to be right here in the heart of the city. I get that. “I'd never want to be one of those moms out in the 'burbs. I mean, all the best schools are here in the city, right?” He shrugs and coughs. “Exactly. And my family's right up in Westchester so if I had kids”—I change that to “if we had kids” in my head—“then I could just leave them with Grandpa and Grandma when I go away on vacation. It would be perfect to never leave here. Just like I always dreamed.”

He nods and smiles. “Right. That's how I thought you felt. Just wanted to make sure.” He smiles back at me his patented crooked grin, and we just sit and stare at each other a moment. I'm so excited at the way our lives are finally coming together.

Chapter 3

J
ane, can
you hand me that olive oil?” Raquel says just as the timer on the oven starts to buzz. She whips around, opens the oven door, peers in, and takes the chicken out.

“Mom?” Haven yells from the living room. “Where did you put my sunglasses?”

“Why do you need your sunglasses now, Haven?” Raquel yells. Without missing a beat, she grabs the olive oil from me and sprinkles some over the spinach leaves she has poured into a bowl, then tops it all with goat cheese and apples. I stand by, trying to stay out of the way. Raquel looks at the back of the house again and belts out, “It's almost dinner time. Can you go grab your sister?”

“But I need them,” Haven yells. We hear the thud of toys being thrown on the floor of her bedroom, and Haven singing “This Kiss.”

“Would you mind bringing this to the table?” Raquel asks me as she shoves the salad into my hands. I shake my head and walk to the dining room. I see Haven has set it tonight. The forks and spoons are reversed, and she has given her father a giant serving fork instead of a regular fork.

“Jack, where's Olivia?” Raquel yells to her husband, who is on the computer in the living room. Olivia is their younger daughter and a real live miracle. When she was born, she was completely deaf. Raquel and Jack were devastated when they found out, and their doctor was not optimistic that Olivia's hearing could ever be improved. After visits to several specialists and a lot of prayers, they heard about a new and somewhat experimental surgery that might be able to help. Their insurance didn't cover it, and though it cost them their savings, Raquel and Jack never thought twice about getting Olivia's cochlear implants put in. Now except for a small square pack she has to wear in her pocket every day, you'd never be able to tell she is deaf. Olivia is as talkative and outgoing as any two-year-old.

“She's probably with Haven, honey,” Jack calls. It will never cease to amaze me how hard it is to keep track of a two-year-old in a two-bedroom apartment. There just aren't that many places she could go.

“Haven, bring your sister to the table,” Raquel yells, placing the grilled asparagus on the table. “I'm so sorry about all this,” she says to me, shaking her head.

“I'm almost ready,” Haven calls from the room the girls share. “Olivia, stop touching my things,” she shrieks, and we hear a crash, followed by the high-pitched crying of a toddler.

“Don't ever have kids,” Raquel says under her breath before rushing out of the room.

I look around at the photographs on the wall, framed Christmas portraits of the family. Jack and Raquel have to be the hottest couple outside of Hollywood. With his blond hair, huge build, and blue eyes, he looks like an old-fashioned superhero. She is a taller Salma Hayek, and was elected homecoming queen her senior year in an unprecedented landslide. I always wanted to be her, but eventually I realized I was never going to have a mother who danced to salsa music or a cousin who starred in a telenovela. I am just Jane. Plain Jane. I look at the picture a little closer. Their daughters should really model, though I know Jack would never go for that. They practically radiate wholesomeness, their light-brown curls springy above their lacy dresses. Olivia even got Jack's blue eyes, which are just stunning on her. They're all so perfect. It's hard not to envy Raquel.

“You are not wearing that at the dinner table!” Raquel yells over her shoulder as she comes into the room.

“I just want to show Jane,” Haven whines, coming into the room, followed closely by little Olivia. And God forgive me, but I can't help it. I burst out laughing. Haven is dressed in a rolled-up denim skirt, a tight pink shirt, and patent leather Mary Janes. She has pulled her hair into a high ponytail and is wearing giant dark sunglasses. She is also wearing bright red lipstick and has blue eye shadow above her eyes, around her eyes, and, inexplicably, on her left cheek. She has dressed Olivia in pink leggings and a pair of her mother's heels and has painted her face in a similarly clownlike fashion. “Do we look cool, Jane?” Haven asks, putting her hand behind her head and sticking out her left hip.

“Very cool,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh. Raquel glares at me. “I mean, not too cool.” Haven's face falls. “I mean, um…” I look at Raquel.

“Are we ready to eat?” Jack asks, coming into the room, and Raquel just shakes her head and collapses into her chair.

 

“Are
you okay?” I ask. Raquel is loading the last of the dishes into her dishwasher while Jack gets the girls ready for bed. “You look very pale all of a sudden.”

“I'm fine,” she says, smiling weakly as she straightens up. “I'm just tired.”

“I know what will help,” I say, pulling down the box of cannoli I picked up at Veniero's from on top of the refrigerator. “You want some coffee to go along with these?”

“No coffee for me,” she says. “I think I'll just sit down for a bit.” She walks to a chair by the table.

“Raquel, I've known you since we both ate boogers. Tell me what's going on,” I say, pulling out a chair next to her.

“This can't be happening,” she moans.

“You're freaking me out, Raquel,” I say, leaning in to her. “What's up?”

“I'm pregnant.” She looks at me blankly.

“You're what!? That's so great,” I say, clapping.

“Shhh…” She hushes me. “I haven't told Jack yet.”

I cock my head at her. “Why?”

“You couldn't tell?” she asks, turning to show me her profile. I had noticed that she'd put on some weight lately, but I had attributed it to her passionate embrace of snack cakes. Having young kids around the house isn't easy.

“No way,” I say. The truth is not what a pregnant woman wants to hear. “Why haven't you told Jack?”

“I'm in a little denial, I think.” She rubs her stomach, which is definitely a bit domed. “My cycle has been somewhat irregular for years, so it took me a while to realize it. I'm three months already, and I just got up the courage to tell you.”

“But this is great news.” I lean in to give her a hug. “You should tell him.”

She purses her lips and slowly exhales. “It's not the best timing,” she says, shaking her head. “Things are really hard for Jack at work right now, and there have been rumors of downsizing, and with Olivia's medical bills, he's just worried sick about it. And look at this place,” she says, gesturing around at the laundry pile on a chair in the corner and the toys scattered across the floor. “Do I look like I can handle another child right now?” A tear leaks out of her eye, and she wipes it away.

“Oh Raquel,” I say, leaning in to give her another hug. “I'm sorry.” And then, because I can't think of what else to say, I add, “God will take care of this too.”

 

“Honey
, do you want some more lemonade?” Mom asks as she walks by.

“No thanks, Mom,” I say, looking down at my glass, still half full. I stretch my legs out on the patio, enjoying the sunshine. I love Saturdays in Westchester. All my friends are back in the city dodging cabs and pooling sweat on the grimy streets, and I'm lazing on a lounge chair under towering sycamores about to enjoy my dad's famous burgers.

“Ty?” she smiles at him, lifting her chin and winking. “One for you?”

“No thanks, Mrs. Williams,” he says, flashing her a sweet smile.

“Tyson? What have I told you about that?” She turns to him and puts her hand on her hip.

“Oh, sorry. No thanks,
Elizabeth
.” He grins at her again.

“That's better.” My mom blushes. I make puking noises in my head. She's so funny. She has a complete crush on Tyson. In fact both my parents do, but I guess I'm thankful. After all those years of bringing home boyfriends that they hated, it's something of a relief.

“I want one,” Jim yells from a raft in the middle of the pool. Jim is technically my older brother, but he acts like he's five. He's currently applying to an alternative medical program where he'll learn ancient Chinese medicine, but this summer he's living in his childhood bedroom again and playing World of Warcraft. He says he doesn't want to be “on the great hamster wheel of life” like me. He has already tired of being a volunteer firefighter, a real estate man, a tennis pro at the club, and a food co-op produce manager, but not one of them made him “want to get up in the morning.”

“Are your legs broken?” Mom says to Jim over her shoulder as she laughs and strides away. Mom's happy to have Jim home, but she's also hilariously sharp-tongued.

“Jane, get me one,” he says from the center of the pool. “Please?”

“What, am I your slave?” I laugh. “I'm nobody's slave. Except maybe Zac Posen.” I take a sip. “But you're no Zac Posen. Zac Posen has a job.”

“Aw, come on,” he whines, paddling his raft slowly to the edge of the pool. “She comes home for one day and suddenly she's royalty?” he yells, grabbing the pool wall.

“We've got a crown we're presenting her with later,” Dad says from behind the grill. He's wearing a very tall, white chef's hat and an apron. He's grilling today with a new birthday present—an electric meat thermometer.

“Why is she so special?” Jim huffs as he gets out of the pool. “Because I'm employed,” I say, as he passes by me, dripping wet.

“You've really lost that old humor I used to love in you,” Mom says to Jim, who is wrapping a towel around himself and pouting.

“That's why I'm home,” he says. “To get it back.”

“Really? And here I thought it had something to do with Patrice Lovell next door,” I laugh. Patrice, our next-door neighbor, was Jim's first girlfriend.

He rolls his eyes and walks inside. I look at Ty, who is turning a gorgeous bronze in the sun. “Aren't you glad my family just lets it all hang out when you're around? I mean, some families might actually try to be normal around guests.”

I look back at Mom and Dad. They still make a handsome couple, after all these years. My dad has the über-blond hair my brother and I inherited, although his has turned a respectable snowy white. My mother keeps her chestnut hair in a fashionable low ponytail. Mom always stayed home with us when we were kids and took us to church every Sunday, but since we moved out (in Jim's case, for the first time), they've reinvented themselves. Mom now works part time at the church, and Dad retired last year. They're happier than they ever have been, and they're more in love. But they're still completely dorky.

Tyson gets up and walks over to my father and the two men begin chatting about sports, and Mom comes over to take his chair for a moment.

“I'm so excited about your World Aid thing,” Mom says.

“Thanks,” I say. “I still can't believe they agreed to my proposal. It's going to be such a big account for me.”

“I can believe it,” Mom says and nudges me. “You're the best publicist in all of New York. They're lucky to have you. And you'll be working with that Matt Sherwin, right? I can't wait to tell everyone I know about that little tidbit.”

“Yeah,” I say and blush a little. It's still sinking in that I am now the official publicist for World Aid and will be spending a lot of time with an A-list celebrity. Matt Sherwin is as Hollywood as it comes. And World Aid is doing so much to feed the developing world. It's the opportunity of a lifetime.

Squinting into the sun, I look at Dad and Tyson. They seem to be in a serious discussion and their voices are low.

“What's that all about?” I point at them.

Mom looks at them and then shrugs. “Beats me.” We both watch as Dad offers his hand and Tyson shakes it. Tyson looks back at the two of us over his shoulder. I could be crazy, but I think…did he just ask for my hand in marriage?

Dad turns around with the biggest grin on his face. “I propose a toast,” he says. He waits as we all raise our glasses. “To the Williamses.”

“To the Williamses,” we echo. Except I'm pretty sure I hear Jim say, “To Captain Morgan.” But as I say the words, a chill runs down my spine.

 

“Come
on, Charlie. Let's go. Ring the bell.” Charlie looks at me holding his leash and then rings the bell by the door. We're off on our scheduled evening stroll. I have Charlie penciled into my calendar for a walk every evening for the rest of his life. As I descend the stairs I hear a loud commotion below. It sounds like Lee is moving his furniture around inside. I knock on his door.

“Who is it?” an older lady's voice calls, and then I can hear Lee's muffled voice, tight and strained.

“It's Jane,” I say. I wait a moment longer and then the door swings open. “Hi,” I say to Lee, who does not look like himself. His eyes are puffy, he has a bandana tied on his head, and he's wearing cutoff denim shorts and a sleeveless Bon Jovi shirt. “What in the world?”

But before Lee can answer, a slim woman comes from behind him, pushing him out of the way, startling Charlie, who starts to bark.

“Shhh. Shhh…Charlie. This is a nice lady. She's our friend.” I pick him up, and he calms down but continues to eye the woman.

“I'm Mary Sue Colbert, Lee's mother. Just call me Mary Sue, shug,” she says and presses my hand in some kind of old-fashioned, dainty handshake.

I snap out of my shock. “Oh. Hi. Nice to meet you. I live upstairs. I'm Jane Williams, and this is Charlie.”

“Oh. We're going to be neighbors then,” she says. She reaches out, lets Charlie sniff her fingers, and begins to scratch behind his ears. He starts wagging his tail and squirming to get down, so I let him down, and he practically leaps into the arms of Mary Sue. “Aren't the little 'uns the best?” she says and scoops up a very happy Charlie. “Come on in, Miss Jane,” she says and opens the door to Lee's living room. Lee's apartment is even more cluttered than normal, but this time every available surface is covered with boxes.