Love and Miss Communication (30 page)

“I’m very happy with how things are going,” Evie said truthfully, and put her hand on his knee, trying to bridge the space between them. “I feel so blessed that you’ve come into my life.”

Edward looked relieved. She could tell because his dimple made an appearance for the first time in the conversation.

“Evie, I want you to be as happy as I am,” he said, and scooched over so he could put his arm around her.

“I am,” Evie said, “I promise. And I love you too.” She rested her head on his shoulder. To anyone passing by in the park, they were the portrait of bliss.

“And Jack?” Edward asked.

Evie tugged at her scarf, tightening the strings around her index finger until it puffed up.

“He has been in touch,” Evie said, not wanting to elaborate further, even though she had no right to keep it to herself.

“I figured as much. And?” Edward pressed her.

“And I think he might want me back. But I’m with you now, and that’s what I told him.” Evie exhaled deeply after uttering those words. They felt very final, which frightened her though she knew it shouldn’t.

“Good,” was all he said in response. Maybe that was enough for him, Evie marveled. It wouldn’t be enough for her. But Edward was her complement, not her mirror image.

“I want to explain a little bit more about why I quit the Internet. I gave it kind of short shrift at JAK and you deserve more than a half-assed version of the truth,” she said. She swiveled to face Edward squarely. “Like I started to tell you, I found out that Jack got married by looking at pictures of someone I barely know on Facebook. I ended up throwing up on my computer in the midst of trying to Google his wife. I was nervous about telling
you that he married someone else after he and I broke up. Like that would diminish me in your eyes. Let’s see what else. I lost my job because I was always sending personal e-mails instead of working. I researched the wrong guy before a blind date and got called out on it. An industry blog ridiculed me. I stalked ex-boyfriends. I measured myself against other women’s photographs and résumés. I relied on dating websites to meet people when it was really just an excuse for me to avoid putting the real me out there. I could go on.”

“I thought it might be something like that. Listen, Evie, I get it. My ex-wife and I battled over Twitter, inviting the world to take sides in our divorce. The Internet is a crazy place.”

“It certainly is.”

“There’s good stuff too, though. Olivia and I use FaceTime when she’s at Georgina’s place. Do you know how grateful I am for that? Plus I can review X-ray imagery from patients around the world. And when you’re ready for e-mail again, I have some pretty awesome forwards that have gotten passed around the hospital.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready,” Evie said and placed her hand on top of Edward’s. She pulled him to standing.

“Let’s walk a little,” she said. “I heard on the news the groundhog didn’t see his shadow.”

“Oh good,” Edward said. “I love spring.”

“Spring’s my birthday,” Evie said, unable to believe she was going to be thirty-five in a few months.

“I know,” Edward said. “We’ll do something special to make you feel better about getting so old.” He tickled the inside of her wrist playfully.

They started to walk hand in hand down the famous elm tree path, the personification of perfection. But the demons just wouldn’t quit.

“Edward, I do love you.” She stopped walking. “But I need some time.”

She broke her hand free and headed off in a different direction, leaving Edward and possibly her entire future behind her, surrounded by elms that were due to get their leaves back soon.

# # #

Sam Blumberg was everything you would want to find in an eighty-seven-year-old retiree living in a senior center and more.

Though Bette was due to return to Florida in a few weeks, Sam had flown up to visit her. Evie met him on the screened-in porch of Fran and Winston’s home. Bette was temporarily lodging there ever since her neighbor in the apartment building started a noisy renovation that was taking her “kishkes” out. Bette looked vibrant and strong, not at all like a woman whose life was upended by cancer months earlier. Her hair was newly frosted and her nails lacquered in a rich burgundy color. She tapped her ring when Evie arrived. Old habits die hard, Evie reminded herself.

While Evie reclined on the outdoor love seat, Bette and Sam sat on identical rocking chairs, swaying back and forth in the opposite direction so that they crossed at the midpoint.

“I’m so glad to meet you, Sam,” Evie said, after she released his wrinkly hands from hers. He was really a cute old man, his skin crinkled like an overripe peach and sprouting with patches of fuzzy white hair. Even in his seated position, Evie could see his stature was stooped. His body, like Bette’s, was a collage of soft-edged parts held together by a big heart.

“Evie, you’re every bit as gorgeous as your bubbe said you were. The Rosen women make me weak in the knees. Of course, that could also be my osteoporosis.”

“Sam, you must be killing it in Century Village,” Evie said.

“It’s either me or old age because they’re dropping like flies down there.”

Evie giggled.

Bette beamed. In the sunset of her life, with all the wisdom she’d amassed over decades, she was still proud to have landed “a catch.”

“Listen, Evie, I hear from Bette you’re spoken for, but if things don’t work out I’ve got a grandson for you in the city that would put all those other cards to shame. My Barry is tall, makes a nice living, and let me tell you, he knows how to treat a lady. You could do a lot worse. Such a shame he hasn’t found anyone yet.”

It was all Evie needed to hear to know Bette and Sam were perfectly matched.

“Thanks, Sam. I will definitely keep Barry in mind.”

“Maybe you have a friend for him?”

“You said he’s tall?” Evie asked. There was no harm in introducing him to Stasia, though the idea of Evie finding a boyfriend for her most desirable friend was still an unsettling reversal.

“Listen, he’s no basketball player, but he’s tall enough. You need a lightbulb changed, call the handyman. What’s with these girls today, Bette?”

“Don’t get me started, Sam.”

“Things were better in the old days. All right, beautiful ladies, I’m going inside to call my stockbroker. My new glaucoma medication has been working miracles and I want to pick up some Glaxo.” Evie watched Sam rise slowly, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair to lift all 120 pounds of his sagging flesh.

“So, Evie-le, vhat can I do for you?” Bette asked innocently once Sam was out of earshot, even though she knew damn well Evie was there for advice.

“I’m confused,” Evie said, prepared to elaborate. “I mean, since we last talked—”

“Let me guess. Jack’s a putz arriving just in time to screw you up and things vith Edward are too good. I’m right, no?”

Evie was done with dishonesty. She hadn’t taken the train out to Greenwich to share partial truths. She looked at her grandmother squarely and said, “I think that basically sums things up. Jack called me. And e-mailed. It’s such an about-face from where he and I left things.”

“Zat Jack did some number on you.” Bette sighed. “Of course zis is also your fault. You alvays vant ze unattainable. You don’t vant to be a part of any club zat vill have you as a member. But you’re not Groucho Marx.”

“I know that, Grandma.”

“So listen to me. You vanted Jack for so long. You can’t imagine letting him go after you pined and pined for him. But now you have Edward. A real mensch. Much better for you. Of course, it has come too easy. He doesn’t make you sveat vaiting by the phone. So naturally you aren’t sure he is good enough for you. You only vant someone you need to convince.”

“That’s really not true, Grandma. Of course I want someone who really loves me. Not someone I have to tranquilize to make sure he shows up to our wedding.”

“You know vhat you are doing, don’t you?” Bette took a deliberate sip of tea and then folded her hands together, like an aging Jewish Buddha.

“And what am I doing?” Evie asked, though she could hear the predictable answer in her head. “You’re being meshuga,” “You’re shmucking up your life,” or some variation on the same theme.

“Vhat you are doing,” Bette said, “is looking for lumps.”

“Looking for lumps? What in the world are you talking about? This has nothing to do with cancer. Nor my hypochondria. Which is getting better, thank you very much.”

“I’m not talking about ze cancer. Listen to me, bubbela. I
have spent my life vorrying. Looking for lumps. But you know vhat? I didn’t ever imagine I vould lose my son. Ve never know vhat really comes next, no matter how hard ve try to prepare or to predict. You are not really in control of how life vill unfold. So just live and stop being afraid to be happy.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe I do look for lumps, as you put it. But even if I can put my craziness aside, I’m not sure if Edward will still have me. His daughter just had her fifth birthday party and I wasn’t invited. He said he didn’t want to get her hopes up too much unless we definitively were going to have a future.”

Evie had called Edward the day after she left him in the park to apologize for her rash and confusing behavior. He took her call at work but was more curt than usual. She found herself stumbling over her words and not saying much of anything at all. She wanted to beg for his patience, to explain how hard it was to let Jack go a second time—even if she wasn’t sure he was even hers for the taking. But that would have sent Edward running for the hills, so instead she simply suggested they meet up that night for a drink to talk more. He listened to her patiently but said that he didn’t want to see her until she had sorted out her feelings for good. Bette winced as she listened to Evie recounting these details.

“Evie, please,” Bette said. “Don’t make me regret fixing you up vith him.”

Evie shot up. “What do you mean, fixing me up?” she asked, totally in shock. Evie told Bette months ago that she and Edward were dating and Bette never mentioned that she played a role in getting them together, beyond being the obvious source of their meeting.

“Evie-le, give me some credit, please?” Bette said. “Who do you think told Edward all the vonderful things about you? I
showed him pictures of you from your high school graduation party. I vanted him to see vhat you looked like vith a little blush. That’s vy I had you come to ze hospital all dressed up on ze day of my surgery. I vanted Edward to see how beautiful you are. Vhen you try, of course.”

“But I yelled at you when I thought you were trying to set me up with a married man. You knew he was divorced and didn’t tell me? I confided in you that we were seeing each other right after the first date. You could have told me then.”

Bette shot Evie a look that sent prickles down her spine.

“Vhat can I say? I felt it vas better you didn’t try to date him right away. He’s so handsome. And successful. I believed it vas best you vere yourself around him. Not too nervous, not all ze time trying so hard. And if you knew I vas ze one behind zis, you never vould have given it a chance. I’m only telling you now because you two have already gotten to know each other.” Bette took the blanket she had on her lap and tightened it around her chest. It was eerie to see any bodily frailty in a woman who was such a force of nature.

Evie wanted to be angry with Bette for deceiving her. She could have avoided the horror of asking Edward about egg freezing, among the other embarrassing things she shared with him. But what Bette was ultimately saying, albeit in a backhanded way, was that she knew if her granddaughter acted like herself around Edward, he would like her. The rest would fall into place, just like it did. That is until Jack came back into the picture, sending an otherwise smooth courtship into a tinderbox.

“And Edward?” Evie asked. “He was in on your little plan?”

“Not at all,” Bette said. “You vere both my pawns. I told him I didn’t even know if you had a boyfriend, who you vere seeing, etcetera. Spark his interest, you know? Things aren’t so different today zan zey vere in my day. But, Evie, I can’t tell you vhat to do.”

“You can’t?” Evie asked, wondering if the radiation treatments had somehow eradicated the part of her grandmother’s personality that entitled her to tell other people how to live their lives. She should tell Aunt Susan it was safe to move back to the East Coast.

She kissed her grandmother on the head and helped her out of the chair. Together, with linked arms, they walked back into the house, where Fran was waiting with a plate of cookies and fruit and Sam was, true to his word, on the phone with his broker. Evie had only a touch more clarity, but she was feeling very grateful for her loving family nonetheless.

On the train ride back to the city, Evie couldn’t stop thinking about Bette’s ruse. What her grandmother didn’t realize, being an octogenarian, was that her plan only worked because it coincided with Evie’s Internet hiatus. If she was still Googling every person she met, particularly every man, then she’d have known Edward was not married. She would have seen him as a potential mate and acted entirely differently around him, just like Bette said. Or she would have been turned off by his high-profile divorce and had the totally wrong impression of him. Their initial conversations were so comfortable because she wasn’t trying to ensnare him in her fishing net. Instead she was just herself, the good, the bad, and the ugly all in plain sight. And still Edward liked her.

But being off-line had also brought Jack back into her orbit. He copped to as much when he said that her ignoring his correspondence was driving him insane. Who would have thought chucking her computer in the reservoir might have helped him propose to her a year ago?

Most surprising of all was that disconnecting had helped her professionally—remarkable in a city where smartphones were more common than underwear. If she were still on the grid,
she’d have posted her résumé soon after leaving Baker Smith and would probably be grinding her way through another thankless big-firm legal job by now. Then when Caroline asked her to redesign Jerome’s office, she would have barked that she was knee-deep in some billion-dollar merger and didn’t have an ounce of spare time. There was no chance she’d ever have enrolled in the New York School of Interior Design.