Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

“I guess they did a major restructuring,” says William, grabbing the flour. “I was only the first round.”

It’s Friday. Tonight, Nedra is throwing a celebratory dinner (for friends and colleagues that won’t be at the ceremony-she even invited Bunny, Jack, and Caroline), and tomorrow is the wedding.

“What are you prepping?” I ask.

“Cheese puffs.”

“Sorry-I overslept,” says Caroline, walking into the kitchen.

Bunny follows her in, yawning. “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

Caroline pours two cups of coffee and sits down at the table with her pad, frowning.

“We’re never going to get all this done.”

“Delegate,” says William.

“I’ll help,” I say.

“Me, too,” says Bunny.

Caroline and William glance at each other.

“How I can put this nicely?” says Caroline.

“Right,” I say. “Our services are not desired. Bunny, should we retire to the deck?”

“I’m really very happy to peel something. I’m an expert peeler,” says Bunny.

“Fine, Mom, I’ll call you when we get to the potatoes,” says Caroline.

Bunny takes a sip of her coffee and sighs. “I’m going to miss this.”

“What? My nearly dead lemon tree? Living with the constant threat of earthquakes?”

“ You, Alice. Your family. William. Peter and Zoe. Having coffee with you every morning.”

“You really have to leave?”

“Caroline’s found an apartment. She’s got a job. It’s time for us to go home. Promise me we won’t fall out of touch again.”

“That won’t happen. I’m back in your life for good.”

“Marvelous. That’s just what I wanted to hear, because I’ll imagine we’ll be going back and forth quite a bit on this.”

“On what?”

“I read your pages. There’s some really good stuff in there, Alice, but I’ll be honest. It needs work.”

I nod. “Let me guess. People don’t talk that way in real life, right?”

Bunny chuckles. “Did I really say that to you? Oh, goodness, that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

“Is it still true?”

“No. You have a good ear for dialogue now. Now the challenge will be disclosure. Moving past your vulnerability. Your work is autobiographical, after all.”

“Some of it.” I make a face.

“I’m being too nosy? I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I need a kick in the ass.”

“A kick in the ass is the opposite of what you need. What you need is a cupping of the chin,” says Bunny, turning to me and cupping my chin. “Listen to me. Take yourself seriously. Write your goddamn play already.”

“You’re not going to believe it!” says William, an hour later.

I’m in my bedroom closet, attempting to figure out what to wear tonight. I rifle through my clothes. No, no, no. Too fancy, too outdated, too matronly. Maybe I could get away with wearing the Ann Taylor suit.

“I just got an email from Helen Davies.”

“Helen Davies?” I try and look surprised. “What does she want?”

“Do you remember she posted her firm was looking for a VP of Food and Beverage?”

I shrug.

“Well, I didn’t pay any attention to the posting because the job was in Boston, but she just wrote to me and asked if I’d be interested. They’ve decided to move the division to the San Francisco office.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. She thinks I’d be the perfect person to head it up.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Me either.”

“It’s unbelievable timing.”

“Eerie, isn’t it? It feels like fate. Like everything that happened twenty years ago is just circling back around. It feels good, Alice. Good!” He twirls me out of the closet and waltzes me around the room.

“You’re crazy,” I say.

“I’m lucky,” he says, dipping me.

“You’re a kook,” I say. He swings me back up and our eyes find each other.

I bury my face in his shirt, suddenly feeling shy.

“No, you don’t. You’re not allowed to hide,” he says, pulling me away from him. “Look at me, Alice.”

He gazes down at me and I think it’s been so long, I think there you are, I think home.

“We’re going to be okay. I have to admit I was worried. I wasn’t sure,” says William, tucking my hair behind my ears. “But I think we’re going to be okay.”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t hope so. Believe it. If there was anytime you needed to believe, it’s now, Alice.”

He takes my face in his hands and tilts it up. His kiss is tender and sweet and doesn’t last a second longer than it should.

“Whoa. I’m dizzy.” I untangle myself from him and sit down on the bed. “All that twirling.” And kissing. And gazing. And being gazed at. I feel breathless.

“I’ll need to make a few hires. I was thinking about Kelly Cho.”

“Kelly? Wow. Well, I guess that would be a really nice gesture.”

William goes on, musing out loud. I haven’t seen him so animated in months. He does a two-step around the bedroom. He doesn’t notice when I open my laptop.

From: Alice Buckle ‹alicebuckle@rocketmail.com›

Subject: VP Food and Beverage: William Buckle

Date: August 17, 10:10 AM

To: Helen Davies ‹helendavies@D &DAdvertising.com›

Dear Helen,

You are one class act.

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Alice

John Yossarian

Adrift on a little yellow raft

10 minutes ago

Lucy Pevensie

Mothballs and fur

15 minutes ago

You’re back in the wardrobe?

I’m afraid so.

Time passes differently in Narnia then IRL.

Look at you, using acronyms like IRL.

You’ll only have been gone for five minutes when you return.

A lifetime on the Internet.

Your husband won’t even know that you left.

That’s the hope, anyway. I’ll miss you, Yossarian.

What will you miss?

Your paranoia, your complaining, your salty brand of sanity.

I’ll miss you, too, Lucy Pevensie.

What will you miss?

Your magic cordials, your bravery-your ridiculous blind faith in a talking lion.

Do you believe in second chances?

I do.

I can’t help thinking it was fate that brought us together.

And fate that kept us apart. Forgive me for complicating things, for falling for you, Wife 22.

Don’t apologize. You reminded me I was a woman worth falling for.

GTG. I see land.

GTG. I see light through the crack of the wardrobe door.

I’m about to close my Lucy Pevensie account for good, but before I do, I poke around on John Yossarian’s wall one last time. It’s been such an intense couple of months and Researcher 101 has played such a big part in my daily life. Even though I’m ready to say goodbye, and I know it’s the right thing to do, I still feel bereft. It’s a last-day-of-camp feeling. I’m bittersweet, but ready to pack it up and go home.

On Yossarian’s information page, I see a link to a Picasa album, which contains his profile photos. Suddenly I wonder if he’s disabled his geotag function. I open the album and click on the yeti photo. A map of the United States pops up with a red pushpin stuck smack in the middle of the Bay Area. No, he has not disabled his geotag function. I zoom in on the pushpin. The photo was taken on the Golden Gate Bridge. I exhale with pleasure. This is dangerous. This is titillating. There’s a part of me that’s still curious, that will always be curious. Even though we had a certain kind of intimacy, in truth I know nothing about him. Who is he? How does he spend his days?