Rachel Cantor - Good on Paper

But wait, I said, you want to move there? To Connecticut ?

I’m hoping, assuming , that you’ll join us … me there. There will be lots of room.

You’re assuming what ? I asked. We’ll move to Connecticut ?

What’s Connecticut? Andi asked, having finished her cake.

A stupid place very far from here, I said. Nowhere you’d ever want to live.

A wonderful place very close to here, Ahmad said, looking at me in disbelief. With lots of kids, plenty of room in which to ride your bike …

I don’t have a bike.

We’ll get you a bike.

You’re not getting her a bike! Ahmad, that’s enough!

I want a bike! Andi cried.

Jesus, Ahmad! I understand that you might need … space, but Connecticut? We are not moving to Connecticut. You can find a bigger place here. What about the university?

They’ve already given me three bedrooms. If the number of my, uh, dependents goes up, technically we’d still only need three bedrooms. Given that you and I are …

I get it! We’ll figure something out.

I can’t buy an apartment big enough for us all, not even on my enormous professor’s salary. And last I knew, you weren’t able …

I get it! I said. We’ll rent. I’ll contribute.

In Forest Hills, maybe. If we have to go that far, I’d rather buy. Something nice. With space out back for a studio. And a pool, he added, looking at Andi.

A pool! Andi said.

Ahmad, we can’t just pick up and go!

I don’t think you’re trying to understand my situation.

I understand your situation but aren’t you acting a bit rashly, considering …

Ahmad’s face went hard.

Say it.

Nothing, Ahmad. Sorry. I didn’t mean it.

Considering I don’t know the outcome of current events ?

I hope it works out, really I do! Why doesn’t he take my study?

Why doesn’t who take your study? Andi asked.

Ahmad shot me a warning look.

We’re just talking options, sweetie. Ahmad, we have a life here.

You have a life here. If you can call it that.

If you can call it that? What’s that supposed to mean?

SuperTemps has a branch in Fairfield County, Ahmad said. I checked.

I stood, glaring. To Ahmad, I would always be underachieving Shira, Shira-going-nowhere, never-realizing-her-potential Shira. When I published stories, Ahmad didn’t like how I portrayed his precious Jonah. When I temped, he said I’d earn more translating for the UN. Nothing was good enough for his high-achieving highness, not even translator to the stars.

When do I get my bike? Andi asked.

We’ll talk about this later, I said, and began bringing dishes to the kitchen. No seconds for anyone — I was too angry.

Ahmad followed me to the kitchen.

That was snide of me, he said. I’m sorry. But you can’t actually expect Hassan to live in a pantry.

You’re not sorry, I said, slopping Tibetan takeout into bowls and bringing it to the table.

Andi, Ahmad said after we’d passed the food in silence, tell us a story from school.

So Andi talked about Pammy, who’d insisted that if Andi didn’t start wearing a bra very soon, her bosoms wouldn’t grow. Andi concluded that Pammy wasn’t quite “right in the head,” but she’d put up with her “for the moment.”

Ahmad laughed in all the right places.

Mo’ momos? he asked. Andi giggled.

Dump me momo dumplings! she exclaimed.

I got up with my plate; I’d had enough. Celebrating with an Oh Happy Day cake, as if it were a done deal! Did he no longer even feel the need to consult with me? Apparently not, because he knew what I’d say: Connecticut? It was unthinkable!

Moving was easy for Ahmad: he was attached to people, not places. Well, bully for him! With the exception of a few sad years in Suffern and some sadder years in Rome, I’d lived my whole life in Manhattan; it was the only home I’d ever known. I had no family left to speak of, other than what I’d managed to create for myself; I had only this city: New York was witness to most of my past, and the only place I could imagine myself — packing Andi’s lunch for Bronx Science, organizing Bloomsday pub crawls for the Translators of Note, bringing grandchildren to the planetarium, watching the lively world from Slice of Park, eventually joining the alte kockers on the Broadway island. When I tried to imagine going back to the ’burbs, I felt panic, as if the world had run out of air. As if I were still married, still oppressed by my husband’s unimaginative good intentions, anxiously comparing lawncare products at Herb Groh’s UGrohIt, saying silent prayers over stunted shrubbery. What could life offer me there, what could life offer us? A place where each day, if we played our cards right, would be just like the day before. I could never let Andi live like that, her horizon no farther than the next picket fence. Could I afford to support her here on my own? Of course not. Is that what Ahmad was counting on? Undoubtedly.

What were you thinking! I said, when he arrived in the kitchen with more dishes. Making a decision like that without consulting me! I am not a child — I have a life here!

We’d be better off there; Andrea would be better off there.

Why would you say that? Why would we be better off there?

Why wouldn’t we? he said, opening the dishwasher.

I started counting reasons on rubber-gloved fingers: museums, the Film Forum, the Balalaika. What’s in Connecticut? Lyme disease, off-road vehicles that never leave the road …

Good schools, Ahmad said, counting on his fingers. Parks not overrun by rats …

Connecticut ? Connecticut isn’t ready for the likes of us!

That’s bollocks, and you know it. I’d think you’d be willing to do this one thing for me. After all I’ve done for you.

All you’ve done for me? You did me a favor by letting me give you a family?

It’s time for a change, Shira. You’re in a rut! We both are. Andi needs role models who can show her how to change, take risks.

You think living in Connecticut is a good example of risk-taking? I shouted.

Ahmad was maddeningly calm. This was how he worked his opponents into a lather. I was no exception. As if on cue, Andi arrived in the kitchen wearing her Supergirl pajamas and clutching Tamika, her African American Orthodontist Barbie. Ahmad growled and chased her around the kitchen. She squealed as he picked her up and held her upside down by the ankles.

Six points if you don’t laugh, he shouted, and she tried, with Supergirl resolution.

Good night, Angel, I said, kissing her feet, then turned half upside down to kiss her nose. Who’s going to give you your story tonight? I asked, thinking, Pick me! Pick me!

Ahmad! she shouted. Get me down from here!

Ahmad flew her out of the room like a 320 Airbus, my little flying girl, and I stayed behind and cried: big tears, plop, plop into the Palmolive.

Over oatmeal the next morning, Ahmad explained Andi’s options: she could hang out all day doing nothing or she could have extremely good fun with him on an outing .

This is what’s known in the kid business as a no-brainer.

What should she bring? Andi wanted to know. Bag lunch? Shovel and pail? Should she wear play clothes or dress up, should Mommy curl her hair or braid it?

Ahmad put down his cup, appeared to concentrate. Wear the Gap Kids overalls I bought you, and that green and pink flowered T-shirt. Sneakers. Braids, no curls. Ritz Bits in a baggie. One Ho Ho, pre-wrapped. Two dolls, your choice. And books for the car.