What Would Oprah Do (19 page)

“You think it’s too far gone?”

“No, it’s not that at all. In case you haven’t noticed
lately, everything I touch turns to shit. I don’t know how I could help. I’d probably do more harm than good.”

“That’s not true…”

“Yeah, it is.” I interrupted. “Really, all I want to do right now is order a pizza and watch reruns of Gilmore Girls on Lifetime in my pajamas, but I can’t even afford to order a pizza.”

It seemed watching Gilmore Girls was more troubling than my desire to be a hermit. “Why would you watch Gilmore Girls?”

“Because even though the way they talk irritates the crap out of me, they have a nice cozy life, with good food and old movies. And even though it makes me sick to hear Lora Li go on and on about how she doesn’t want her parents’ money, it’s a ridiculous fictional world that I can get lost in. A world where financial relief is available to someone, and there is the option to refuse it because of some principles, misguided or otherwise.”

“Aye, aye, aye.
Cate, let me help. We can help each other. Why don’t we make a list and see what we can fix together?”

“It’s too late for me. I have no options, nothing left. I realize that life is going on for you
, and not to be dramatic, but I’m at the end of my rope. Everything is more than overwhelming; it actually is too much for me.” As soon as I said it, I felt relief. My shoulders relaxed, and I let out a deep sigh. It was as if my despair was the truth, coming out after months of faked optimism. This was it, the real deal. I was an absolute mess, and it felt liberating to drop the charade.

“And I’m sorry Lainey, I know you came over wanting a solution, but I can’t pretend that I’m ok anymore. I have to tell you, it feels good to admit it.”

“Cate, I’m not dismissing or ignoring anything that you just said, but you do have an option. You can go back to marketing.”

I took a long slow sip of my wine and shook my head. “I wish I could tell you that I won’t do that, that I am out here on faith, but while I’m being honest…I’m not a Gilmore Girl with her principles. There aren’t any jobs out there. I already looked.”
I relaxed further. Every piece of honesty was more liberating. It was like I had been weighed in front of the world, and could finally quit sucking my stomach in, pretending to be a size I wasn’t.

“I’m sorry to dump all of this on you, but I have to finally be honest. You know, after everything happened with James I told him I’d rather have the ugly truth than a sweet lie. Then when he told me everything, why he cheated, I thought the truth was worse, but I was wrong. This, the truth, feels so much better.”

Lainey finished her glass of wine and went home. I apologized again, but she said there was no need, that she shouldn’t have barged in on me like that anyway.

I felt deliriously refreshed. Really I just felt refreshed, but thought I was probably delirious since it didn’t seem possible that I could feel anything but devastated. I had done more than look at marketing positions, I had looked for any job. The job market was scarce; despite all the time I worked in various restaurants in college, I couldn’t even get a job waiting tables. I had nothing of value to sell. The things I had supposedly bought, my car, my condo, were worth less than I owed. Without a job, I couldn’t get a loan, or a line of credit.

There was nothing I could do about my situation tonight, if there was anything to do at all. It occurred to me that maybe the reason I was finally at peace with my situation, was that I was officially unraveling. The only unpleasant thought that accompanied letting myself lose it, was worrying the people who cared about me and imposing on whomever would let me sleep on their couch. As I enjoyed my new found ability to let go, I realized that what I had finally lost was my pride. Maybe I had bowed under the pressure of it. But now that it was gone, when it seemed I had everything to lose, the very release of it made me realize that I had everything to gain.

I opened another bottle of wine and turned the TV on. I soaked it in, only mildly aware that at the rate things were going, I wouldn’t have cable much longer
. I watched the ridiculously so-called reality shows, where girls don’t have to have a job, a function. I laughed to myself about the irony: these girls were getting paid more than what used to be my annual salary per episode, to live their fake lives, going out carefree in the evenings, and with endless “job” opportunities in front of them.

One show led to another, until it was time for The People’s Choice Awards. I opened another bottle of wine, not caring that I was already drunk. When the award show came on, I saw the excess of it all. One celebrity after another strolled down the red carpet, the same celebrities who were making hundreds of millions of dollars a year according to People Magazine.

Beyonce
performed. I knew the song, and caught myself doing my own version of her video as a couch dance, moving only from the waist up. She made being a single lady sound so much better than it actually was. When she won an award, I clapped for her. I’ve bought all of her CDs, and thought she definitely deserved to win. “Thank you so much” she said, in that honey voice of hers. “This is such an honor, and I wouldn’t be here tonight, if it weren’t for you, supporting me.” She gave a small bow with her head before exiting the stage.

I had supported her. I was one of the people she was thanking. It hit me that what little money I once
had, had gone to support others. I had loyally supported Belvedere Vodka, Firestone Vineyards, and Victoria’s Secret. I had supported the entire cast of Friends. When the show first came out, I had the wall calendar and a coffee mug. For years after I supported Jennifer Aniston at ten dollars per movie. I personally advertised for Virginia Slims every time I had my cigarettes sitting out on a bar. It dawned on me that I wasn’t just a consumer. I knew the wine was coloring my thoughts, but it seemed a fact that I had indeed been a supporter.

Here I was, supporting all of these entities, not always getting much in return. How many times had Victoria’s Secret let me down, promises of sexiness that only resulted in my wearing an uncomfortable, unflattering contraption? I thought of all the CDs I bought that only had a few good songs, the bad movies I had sat through, the bottles of wine that had been acidic.

I got out my laptop and wrote a letter to Beyonce. I had supported all of these people in their endeavors, why wasn’t I asking them to support me? It was perfectly logical. I couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to me before. I couldn’t stop myself. I sent letter after letter to celebrities, outlining my support and asking for a little in return.

I told Jennifer Aniston how
I had always been on her side and added that she was superior to Angelina Jolie. I went from website to website, easy to navigate since my shopping loyalty was evident by the websites saved as favorites.

I poured another glass of wine, squinting to make out my own typing. Jennifer Aniston made me think of Brad Pitt, and I grew indignant on both of our behalf. I found his fan website and sent an email to him too.
Although a lot of his movies have been subpar, I was only asking that he return what I had paid for Meet Joe Black. This is the last thing I remember doing that night.

Dear Oprah,

I have no idea what to do with my life, but this is for certain: I’m going to need Bob Greene to get my ass in shape. I’ve had so much wine and frozen food in the past two months that I can’t fit into any of my jeans. And at the rate things are going, if I’m going to keep anything, it will have to be my looks. They never seemed like quite the prize before, but I certainly can’t afford to lose them if they’re really all I’ve got left.

Regards,

Cate

Ps. I realize that I may not seem like the most likable choice for an adoptee, but I am still available.

I awoke the next morning on my couch with a pounding headache. As I strained to focus my eyes, it wasn’t hard to figure out why. The empty bottles were on the coffee table. I got up, trying to collect my thoughts and repair the disaster area that was my condo. It was official. I had become a complete mess.

The smell of the red wine left in my glass made me gag when I poured it down the drain. I didn’t feel like showering, but between the empty pint container of Ben & Jerry’s on my coffee table, and the stickiness in the ends of my hair, I gathered that I didn’t have a choice. I looked at the carton in a haze, vaguely remembering that I had written a letter to Ben about my loyal support of his ice cream.

I had voicemails, another from Rachel from my old office, reminding me that I had never called her back. Kay had called, twice. It was only noon
. Since when was I so popular? There was a voicemail from Vivian too, checking on me.
Shit
, I thought, remembering I told Vivian I would be over early today.

Oprah leaves her houseguests water, aspirin, and Gatorade by their beds. This definitely wouldn’t have happened there. I took some Advil, my gag reflex kicking in again as I tried to swallow them, and got into the shower.

When I walked into Vivian’s I could smell something fried, the way grease lingers in the air. She was standing at the stove, Buddy sitting at her feet, eager to catch anything that might drop. “Hey, honey,” she greeted me, not a trace of irritation that I was three hours late. Before I could apologize she said, “Don’t be sorry, you’re such a big help, I only called to make sure you were alright.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”
I said, remembering how badly I used to feel on the rare occasion when I would come home late in high school and see that my mom wasn’t able to sleep because of it.

“I wasn’t worried, just wanted to check. I thought you might need a break and want to stay home today.”
Her eyes surveyed me slowly, undoubtedly noting the circles under my eyes, the water retained in my face. She asked me to hand her the plate she had on the counter with the paper towel on it. She took it from me and starting lifting lovely little breaded circles out of the pan and placing them on it.

“Fried green tomatoes,” she said, “
Have one, you need to eat something. I make them every spring, when the tomatoes get big, and I can’t wait for them to ripen to start picking!” We ate a few, and then went out back.

Normally this is when Vivian and I talk about life, but today she handed me a piece of paper as soon as we sat down. Her hand writing was small, dainty, and I couldn’t figure out if it was hard to read or if that was a result of my hangover. “Pardon my chicken scratch.”

There they were, the elusive secrets on paper. It outlined all the vegetables and flowers in the garden, with detailed instructions on how to tell when something was ready to be picked. By the line that read ‘sweet potatoes’ it simply said, ‘You’ll know, they’ll start to push the ground up beneath them.’

I smiled, despite my state, “You finally decided to write some of this stuff down,” I said. She nodded. Buddy came over to where I was sitting and licked my hand. Even though bending forward made my head throb, I hugged his thick fuzzy black neck. He muzzled his wet nose into my neck.

When we went into the garden she showed me where she had placed more of her copper garden markers. The garden looked organized, labeled, and as beautiful as ever. I knew why she loved spring most. It was incredible to see all of our hard work coming up through the ground. I began tending to my moonvines. Before too long, I was so glad that I had come, grateful that I had something to help me forget.

I stayed until dinner time. Vivian was having Betty over for supper and I didn’t want to intrude on their mother-daughter time. I knew I needed some sister time, so I went to Kay’s, who luckily was happy to have me. When I walked in I was surprised to see Lainey sitting on her couch. It was only a fleeting thought that I was going to have to apologize everywhere I went that day, before I realized that I should be glad Lainey had Kay and wasn’t relying on the likes of me for support.

“Lainey, I’m sorry.” I said, “I don’t know what happened to me last night. I guess I had to let go, regardless of what was going on around me.”

She got up and hugged me, whispering “
Thank you.” in my ear.

“For what?”
I asked, wondering if she had somehow missed how unhelpful I had been.

“You told me exactly what I needed to hear. You were right, the ugly truth is better than a sweet lie. Today I told the ugly truth. I did it. I told Michael everything. I didn’t make a single excuse for what I did, even when I explained why.”

“Oh shit.” I said. Lainey sat back down on the couch, and Kay sat beside her.

“It was the right thing to do.” Lainey said. “He didn’t tell me that it was ok, and his lawyer will probably have a field day with it, but that’s fine. Maybe someday he’ll forgive me, but it felt better to tell the truth. It didn’t feel good, but it felt better.”

Kay made dinner, and Lainey and I spent the night. It felt like a slumber party for family, for the people you need to have around you when it’s too hard to be alone. And sometimes that is all you need.

The next morning I reluctantly went home. Lainey had to go to meet with her divorce lawyer; bracing him for the nail in the divorce coffin that Michael’s divorce attorney would soon deliver. I made my coffee from a can, realizing that I needed to be grateful to have any coffee at all. I tried to make a list for the grocery store, since my pantry and fridge were bare. I couldn’t bring myself to clip coupons, like I had been.

There is a level of broke where every penny counts. You will do whatever you can to save twenty cents here and seventy five cents there, knowing that every single cent matters. The greater level of broke is when there isn’t a penny that matters. You could spend a nickel or a hundred dollars. If you have neither, there is no difference between them. I had one month to get my shit together, and there was no way to ration out any of it for more time.

I checked my email, before heading to the store, resigned to the defeat of my situation. For a split second, I remembered the drunken emails I had sent, and had a flicker of long shot hope that there would be some grand response saving the day. Of course, there was none. My inbox was filled with sale offers for things I wouldn’t be buying, and the usual spam for honeymoon contests that I had entered. As I checked the little boxes to delete them, I noticed that I had an email from John, from my old office.

Even as I read the good news, I couldn’t muster more than a little sigh of resignation. God had made a way. It wasn’t what I had thought it would be. I didn’t find my purpose after all, but it was something. In the five months since I had been laid off, they had discovered that Barbara was taking credit for my work. She had been using my old projects as her new ideas, and had only been able to peddle them so far before it was obvious to him. They were letting Barbara go and offering me my old job back.

I tried to feel good about it. I would have a job. I wouldn’t have to go into foreclosure and get kicked out of my condo, or spend the next month trying to find odd jobs to make ends meet in the off chance I could prevent that from happening. It was disheartening to think I had done all of this to end up where I started, minus my savings or 401k, but I knew I had to be grateful. Sometimes you accept that you don’t have to see the lesson to know that you have learned one.

With a little hope in my heart, I skipped the store and went to Vivian’s. With spring came daily watering, and if my time was going to be limited soon, I wanted to enjoy what I had left. I was surprised to see Betty’s car in the driveway. I guess you’re never too old for slumber parties. When I walked in, Buddy ran to greet me. His tail wasn’t wagging, but he almost knocked me
over with the force of his weight when I bent down. I sat on the floor, rubbing his head before I noticed that the house was eerily silent. I got up to find Betty sitting at the kitchen table. There was a box of Kleenex in front of her.

I think you know which moments are going to matter to you, because you take stock of all the details, like what you’re wearing while they’re happening. I had on baggy green cargo pants and a white tank top, worn thin and dingy from wear. I could smell the coffee, and it felt like slow motion as Betty’s head turned to look at me.

I knew the second she made eye contact. I had already felt Vivian’s absence in the air. Even though she is Vivian’s daughter, I knew I wouldn’t be taking anything away from her grief as I sat back on the floor and cried. She knew I loved Vivian too. In a gesture that let me know that I was one who hadn’t expected this, she came over and hugged me, sitting on the floor beside me. As soon as her arms wrapped around me, I began to sob. I knew I had lost the person who had become my dearest friend, my Vivian. Betty let me sit on the floor until my tears ran dry, my heart wrenched.

After what seemed like hours, Betty asked me if I wanted to go smoke, and led me out back to the deck.

She handed me Vivian’s lighter and said, “You should have this.” As my fingers traced over her engraved initials, new tears formed, and Betty let me cry in silence. Buddy came and sat on my feet. I realized that he needed comfort too, and tried to assure him it was going to be fine.

Betty brought me coffee, and I fought to compose myself, feeling sorry for her, that she had to deal with me on top of the death of her mom. “She knew it was her time…she’s been making arrangements for a while.” she said. “She left you a letter.”
Betty handed me an envelope. I opened it slowly. I was desperate for one last word from Vivian, but knowing that as soon as I read it there would be no more last words from Vivian. My hands were shaking, so I pressed it down on the table to steady the page.

There in her dainty print it read, “Dear Cate, You have been such a blessing to me. I feel lucky to have had you in my life, and have enjoyed every minute of our time together. You remind me so much of myself and that makes me feel good, because you are a wonderful person. Things look different at the end of your life than they do at all of the beginnings. You can see the forest through the trees. I wanted to tell you some time ago that I figured out what you should do with your life, but it never felt like the right time. I didn’t know if you should come to it on your own. You’re a plant girl. The peace you feel in the garden, that’s your sign, honey. You don’t have to make a life out of it if you don’t want to, but it’s yours if you’d like it. I love you. Vivian”

As soon as I finished I read it again. “She left it where all you have to do is sign to have the house and business transferred into your name.” Betty said. “We talked about it some time ago. She asked me how I felt about it, and I thought it was perfect. If you don’t want the house and the garden…”

Betty didn’t get to finish her sentence. I hugged her hard, and said “I want it.”
There was nothing to think about, only questions, which I was too overwhelmed to ask.

“She did have a favor to ask you.”
Betty looked down at Buddy.

“I want him too!”
I cried, wondering how that could ever be a favor, or a question.

“Don’t you want it, the house, the garden…?”
I asked.

“No.”
Betty shook her head. “This isn’t my life. It never has been. It was mom’s. She wanted you to have it, and I do too.” She squeezed my hand, and I knew she meant it.