Chapter 28
“
M
onica?” Joe said, stepping into the house. “What’s all this?” The dining room table was set with their best china. She even ironed the tablecloth, one she bought years ago but never took out of its packaging. Candles were lit, a Wynton Marsalis CD was playing softly in the background. Monica wore a black silk nightgown that barely kissed the top of her knees. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with the exception of a few soft tendrils hanging long and loose. She wanted to scream, “What the hell does it look like, you idiot,” but she was worried it might ruin her romantic mood.
She hadn’t seen Joe in weeks; Lacey had actually sparked the idea. It had been so sweet, watching her propose to Alan. So romantic. That’s when she realized she could do the same thing. It was time to stop fantasizing about a certain sculptor whom she didn’t even know and who hadn’t even called her, and start paying attention to the one who loved her. The simple gold band she bought at the mall was sitting in a little box in the middle of the table, next to the vase of roses. She had bought a new nightgown and made his favorite meal: wild salmon with a lemon caper sauce, rice, and broccoli steamed on the side. They would eat, hopefully get a little drunk, and she would ask him to marry her before clearing the table and throwing herself down on it. She wanted, more than anything, to seal the deal by having sex on the dining room table. If he said yes, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
And this new approach to life wasn’t going to stop with Joe. She was going to go back to the workshop circuit, but this time things were going to be different. Enough with blueprints and visions and planning out every little step. She was going to urge people—no, inspire people—to be impulsive, take chances, grab life by the reins. Or horns. Or whatever they can grab. Because her new motivational mantra was simple:
Someday, we’re all going to die.
So we all deserved what we wanted out of life. Love. Laughter. Connection. Sex on the dining room table. She’d been too timid to ask for any of it, too shy. No more. And instead of waiting around for Joe to make an extraordinary move like a kidnapped victim waiting to be rescued from the trunk, she was going to take matters into her own hands.
Monica walked over to Joe, conscious of the wiggle in her hips, her slow smile. She threw her arms around him, kissed his neck.
“Did you miss me?” she whispered.
“Of course,” Joe said in a normal tone of voice. He pulled back and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Why are you dressed for bed?”
“You don’t like?” Monica twirled around. “Well, I can rectify that.” She started pulling the nightgown over her head.
“What are you doing?” Joe sounded truly alarmed. He came to her side and pulled the nightgown back down. Monica brushed her hair out of her eyes and stared at him.
“Most men would be helping me take it off,” she said.
“I thought we were going to eat.”
“I can’t wait. I want sex. So drop your pants and let’s do it right here, right now.”
“Or what?”
“I don’t know. There’s not supposed to be an ‘or what.’ ” Joe pulled out a chair, sat down, folded his arms.
“I thought we were going to have a nice dinner,” he said. Monica nodded and left the room. She took the stairs to their bedroom two at a time. Her suitcase was still on the bed. She rummaged around in it until she found the jeans and shirts she’d taken from Lacey’s closet. She took off her nightgown and put them on. She went back downstairs, took the salmon out of the oven. She stirred the rice, steamed the broccoli, and started plating. They ate in silence.
If she stayed with Joe, this would be her life. Nothing daring or spontaneous. A short while ago, she wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with it. A solid man, who’d basically earned her parents’ stamp of approval, a man who’d helped her launch a successful career. A short while ago, that would’ve been worth more to her than a boring sex life. Didn’t that eventually go downhill anyway? So what if they practiced the same missionary position, with few exceptions? So what if they never talked about sex, or flirted with each other, or ripped off articles of clothing in the heat of passion? So what if he always came and she rarely did?
“I know you’ve been through a shock,” Joe said, putting down his fork for a moment. “I can’t imagine what it’s like finding out you’re a twin.”
“Don’t forget finding out your parents have been lying to you your entire life,” Monica said. “Lied to us, I should say,” she added.
“Us?” Joe asked, the familiar line materializing on his forehead. “When have they lied to me?”
“Not you,” Monica said. “Lacey. Lacey and me. Me and Lacey. My sister. My twin. I can’t believe you found a way to make this about you.”
“That’s not fair, Mon. It’s just—I’m not used to this—suddenly everything is you and Lacey. What about the rest of your life? What about a little balance?”
“My mother told me Lacey was stillborn,” Monica said. “Do you call that balanced?”
“Look, you don’t know their reasons—”
“Excuse me?” Monica slammed down her fork and pushed her plate away. “Whose side are you on, Joe?”
“Let’s not get dramatic. Please?”
“I quit,” she said. She threw down her napkin.
“You quit what?”
“Us. I quit us.” Joe continued to eat.
“ I don’t need this tonight,” he muttered. “I have drawings to pore over, I have a site meeting in the morning.”
“I’m not happy, Joe. I no longer want to be in this relationship.” Monica hiccupped. Then she started to laugh. She couldn’t help it, it was just such a relief to finally say it.
“You think this is funny? You really think this is funny?”
“I was going to propose to you tonight,” Monica said. “I think that’s kind of funny.” The look on Joe’s face made her laugh even harder. He finally put his fork down.
“You are really worrying me now,” Joe said. “I think we need to look into professional help.” Monica pushed away from the table and stood.
“I don’t know the protocol,” she said. “Should you move out or should I?”
“Are you drunk?” Joe asked.
“Not yet,” Monica said. She picked up the bottle of wine from the table and drank straight out of it. Then she slammed it down. “I should have stayed in Philly,” she said. “I’m going back.” She stared defiantly at Joe, waiting for him to challenge her.
“You need professional help,” Joe said. “I’m sorry to say it but you do.” Monica giggled. Then curtsied. She just didn’t care anymore. She took the wedding ring box from the middle of the table.
“Things might have been different if you’d fucked me on the dining room table,” she said.
If she had examined all the reasons she went straight to Lacey’s art studio, she might have stopped herself. Lacey didn’t want her here. Lacey had kicked her out again. She didn’t want Lacey to know she had moved here, at least not yet. She was so relieved when she heard the sound of welding coming through the door, she could have wept. She pushed the button for the flashing door lights and waited. Minutes later the welding stopped and she heard heavy footsteps approach. Mike pushed up his goggles and smiled.
“Hello, Monica.” He looked at her suitcase. She started to cry.
“Please don’t tell her I’m here,” she said.
“You look so lost,” he said. His voice was soft and comforting. “Come in. I think I have just the thing.”
It was screaming loud and a little hard to hold the wand in her hand, but it was exhilarating. Sparks flew in every direction as she aimed the blast at the large piece of steel in front of her. She didn’t really know what she was doing, but Mike said it didn’t matter, it was just scrap material anyway.
Like me,
she couldn’t help but think.
I’m scrap material too.
Lacey probably would have challenged her on that thought. From now on, no matter how close they got, Lacey would always have the orphan card to play. It wasn’t fair.
“Thank you,” she said. “That was so cool.” The smile was back.
“Anytime,” he said.
“I should go,” Monica said. “I need to find a place to live.”
“This might be weird,” Mike said. “But—”
“I’ll take it,” Monica said. Mike laughed, and the deep richness of it filled Monica with an inexplicable, childlike joy.
“I have a spare room,” he said. “I’d been thinking about taking on a roommate. But it’s nothing fancy. I’m sure with your book money—”
“Nothing fancy is perfect,” Monica said. It was true. She needed time to think, to plan. Living with Mike would be perfect, as long as she could keep her hands off him. Mike scribbled down his address.
“I still have work to do,” he said. “I can give you the keys, or you can leave your suitcase here, run around town for a bit, and meet me back here this evening.”
“The latter,” Monica said. “I want to go check out some things in the city.”
“Great,” Mike said. “So meet me back here at seven?”
“Is Lacey coming in today?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can we meet around the corner or—I just—she’s not really ready for this,” Monica admitted. “She’s not ready for me.”
“I don’t want to get in the middle of anything,” he said.
“And I don’t want to put you there,” Monica said. “I promise.”
“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t like you,” Mike said. “If I didn’t think you had Lacey’s best interests at heart.” Monica nodded, afraid that if she spoke, she’d burst into tears. “I’ll call you closer to seven. If Lacey’s here, we’ll meet at the pub around the corner.”
“Thank you,” Monica said. Then she threw her arms around him and kissed him. It was another long kiss, one he, once again, returned. Monica felt everything inside her pressing, as if she couldn’t get close enough. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such need. It wasn’t romantic; she was like an animal. He felt so good against her, she could feel the muscles in his arms and back; soldering steel did wonders for the man. She pulled back first, her lips felt raw and abused. They stared at each other, as if knowing one more kiss like that and they’d be naked and on the floor. It was tempting. But it would be a mistake. Monica couldn’t afford the distraction; she had a sister to win over.
“Later,” she said as if it had been nothing more than a casual peck on the cheek.
“Later,” he said with a smile that almost made her wish her sister would disappear.
Chapter 29
B
ig news. Let’s meet!
Robert texted Lacey. She glanced away from her BlackBerry, pondering what to answer as she stared at the half-finished portrait in front of her. A golden retriever with a petite Asian woman, proving all pets and owners didn’t look alike. She did need a break. Getting back to work was exhausting. Besides, it had been a while since she’d really talked to Robert. He didn’t know about her engagement, breaking into her parents’ house, or thinking a gardener she met at the house was her father. Monica had been all too happy to give Alan the scoop. It was kind of funny, she supposed. But also a letdown. Here she thought she’d finally met one of the breeders and came out unscathed. The gardener. Who has a gardener?
Seven,
Lacey said.
Dillions?
She named the little English pub around the corner, where they both liked to sit and secretly mock all the drunk hearing people at the bar.
C U there!!!
Robert replied. Lacey smiled to herself as she clicked off. Then she frowned as she glanced at her BlackBerry again. No messages from Monica. It had been at least a week without contact. In a way, Lacey kind of missed her persistence. In another way, it was a huge relief that she was gone. Monica was too clingy. Lacey had the feeling all she had to do was say the word and Monica would be at her doorstep in an instant. She could ask Robert his advice on this matter too. She picked up her brush and finished highlighting the retriever’s golden ears.
Lacey had to ask Robert to repeat his news several times. It didn’t click the first time or the second, and she wasn’t having any easier a time with the third.
“She’s what?” Lacey asked again. Robert smiled, not minding the repetition, seemingly enjoying every second of the shock he had delivered to his friend.
“She’s taking ASL level one!”
“Here? In Philadelphia?”
“Down the street. At the community center!”
“Are you sure?”
“I heard from Tony who heard from Gary who talked with Marjorie who’s friends with Remy—know Remy? Remember? The woman with the curly hair shaved in the back, moved from Cali? She’s teaching the class on Saturday and she ran into Barry at his birthday party—how come you didn’t go to that party?—tell me in a minute—he teaches the class on Wednesday. Tony texted me and said—he said—‘Did you know that Lacey is pretending to be hearing and she’s taking sign language classes with Remy? ASL level one?’ I died,” Robert said, slamming his fist on the bar and laughing. “I told them I was the same when I saw you two—except I saw you together—I was like, I’m seeing double! So I told Tony you had a twin, and I think half of them know that now and the other half are totally confused about why you’re pretending to be hearing and taking beginning ASL from Remy. They think you might be a lesbian, because Remy is hot for a gay woman.”
Lacey let her head drop onto the bar. Robert started tapping her on the shoulder. Tap, tap, tap. Lacey finally lifted her head.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t worry. I told them you’re straight.”
“I don’t care,” Lacey said. “She’s stalking me!”
“Who?” Robert looked around the bar. “Kelly?” he asked.
“No. Monica.”
“You didn’t know she was here?”
“No.”
“My God.”
Lacey finished her beer in one long drink. She signaled the bartender. When he looked at her, she pointed at the tequila bottle and mimicked doing a shot. Then she put up two fingers. He winked at her and poured the shot.
“Lime?” She nodded. He put one of the shot glasses in front of Robert. Lacey moved it back over to her.
“You’re drinking both of them?” Robert said.
“I’m not responsible for getting anyone drunk but myself,” Lacey said.
“I hate tequila,” Robert said, eyeing her over his cosmopolitan.
“Good,” Lacey said before drinking the second shot. “I’m engaged. Did I tell you that?” Robert choked on his cosmopolitan, then slammed it on the table as he reached over and practically lifted Lacey off her stool in his approximation of a seated bear hug. Then he grabbed her hand and searched for a ring.
“We’re going to have them made,” Lacey said.
“This is great news! Great news!”
“It would be,” Lacey said, sliding off the stool. “If she weren’t ruining everything. Seriously, Robert—she’s totally crazy! She’s stalking me.”
Robert shrugged. “If I had a twin stalking me,” he said, “I’d make him do my laundry. And make him interpret for me. And send him on blind dates. And make him be my stand-in when I’m bored with a play.”
“You can have mine, then,” Lacey said. “Because I don’t want anything from her. Where is she even staying?”
“I’ll ask around,” Robert said, taking out his Sidekick.
“I broke into my parents’ house,” Lacey said. “I thought I met my father.” Robert stopped texting. “But he was really just a gardener.”
“You suck,” he said. “I had a hot date to tell you about. And look at you. My twin is stalking me. I’m engaged. I broke into my parents’ home. I met a gardener. Spill. And then I don’t care if you screwed the gardener in the middle of the tomato plants. Actually I do. If you did, I definitely want to hear about that. But, even if you found a dead body in the bathtub, it’s my turn after that.” Lacey laughed and started to sign her story. Anyone watching who didn’t know sign language would have no idea that the movements she was making in the air were describing a large man holding a rake and a bush, a summer cabin that was really a mansion, and an innocent bowl of Jell-O in a refrigerator that Lacey just had to molest. When she was done, Robert asked her to tell it again.
“Do you have Remy’s e-mail?” Lacey asked.
Robert nodded and started scrolling through his phone. “Why?”
“Oh, I just haven’t talked to her in a while,” she said.
“Lacey.”
“And you never know when she might need a substitute teacher for that beginning ASL class.” Robert’s eyes widened and he broke into a big smile.
“You are bad,” he said. “Very, very bad.”
“I know,” Lacey said.
“Got it right here,” he said.
“Every country has its own sign language,” Monica said. “But American Sign Language originates from France because in the 1800s a man named Gallaudet went to Paris and learned their system of signing for the Deaf, then brought it back to the United States. And even though it’s evolved into its own language since then, French Sign Language still has similarities to ASL.”
“They taught you all that in your first few classes?” Mike asked. They were walking through Rittenhouse Square park with Snookie. The park was teeming with other dog walkers, students, and lovers. It was the perfect blend of nature, plopped in the middle of an urban environment. Still, it was hard for Monica to pay attention to her surroundings; she couldn’t stop talking about her classes. Mike was probably bored to death, and would have probably been pointing out all the sculptures and other commissioned artworks in the park; instead he was patiently listening to her ramble on.
“No, but they recommended some books on Deaf Culture and I’ve been reading everything I could get my hands on.”
“Impressive,” Mike said.
“Have you ever heard of Gallaudet University?” Mike shook his head no. “It’s in Washington, D.C. It’s the only liberal arts college for the Deaf. I wonder why Lacey didn’t go there.”
“I don’t understand why they call it Deaf Culture,” Mike said. “I mean—I’ve never heard of a blind person talk about blind culture or a person in a wheelchair talk about wheelchair culture.”
“It’s because culture is intrinsically linked to language,” Monica said. “Language, history, and a shared experience.”
“So there’s Deaf history too?”
“Absolutely. From a history of oppression such as—did you know back in the day, some Deaf people were put in mental institutions?” Mike shook his head. “Some had their hands tied behind their back so they couldn’t sign. Called them Deaf and Dumb, the works. There was a Deaf population on Martha’s Vineyard—the history of the education of Deaf people—sign language first, then came the oral method. Did you know a lot of Deaf people hate Alexander Graham Bell?”
“Because they can’t talk on the phone?” Mike said.
“No,” Monica said. “Because he was totally against sign language—even though his wife was deaf. He thought Deaf people should be forced to speak and read lips. That’s when what’s called the “oral” method was brought about and sign language was forbidden in schools.”
“Wow,” Mike said again. Monica stopped talking, and they stopped walking. She had been living with him for over a week now, and although they took walks together every single night, they hadn’t kissed again or mentioned the other kisses. Still, it was a constant presence, a slight giddy pressure every time she looked at him. And the way he was looking at her now, Monica wondered if they were about to do it again, and her body was gearing up to give its approval. “Tell me about your book,” he said instead.
“Did you know that ninety percent of deaf children are born to hearing parents?” Monica said.
“Nope,” Mike said.
“And sometimes it takes years before the parents know their child is deaf. By then, they’ve missed out on years of language. They haven’t been able to learn by hearing their parents talk, listening to the television or radio—so then they’re put into a school where, if they’re lucky, the teacher is fluent in sign language. But often they’re not. You have to have a firm basis in one language before you can learn another—”
Mike put his hand on Monica’s shoulder. “Monica,” he said. They looked at each other again. Monica felt a little thrill run down her spine.
“Am I talking too much?” she said. Mike laughed and held up his fingers in a pinch.
“It’s fascinating,” he said. “It really is. But to be totally honest, I’d rather hear about you.”
“I’m sorry,” Monica said. “I feel like everything I learn brings me closer to knowing Lacey.”
“Fair enough,” Mike said. “But I’m trying to get to know you. Do you not want to talk about your book?” He gestured to a nearby bench. Monica scooped Snookie into her arms and they sat.
Mike stroked Snookie’s head while Monica talked.
“I didn’t write that freakin’ book,” Monica said. “Not really. Most of it was Joe’s idea.”
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” Mike said. Monica’s first instinct was to be defensive, but when she saw the look on Mike’s face, she just laughed.
“Did you totally hate the book?” she asked.
“I totally hated it,” he said. Monica leaned back on the bench and closed her eyes.
I could totally fall in love with you,
she thought.
“You look lost again,” Mike said.
“My parents,” Monica said. “They’ve been lying to me my entire life. And I’ve spent years promoting a book I didn’t really believe in for a man I didn’t really love. I’m a total mess. And I don’t know what to do next. And I don’t want to even imagine what I’m going to do if Lacey doesn’t want to be a part of my life. That’s me in a nutshell. I’m a motivational mess.” Mike reached over and held her hand.
“Or,” he said, “you have the soul of an artist. You have to make a mess before you’re finished. It’s just part of the process.”
“Tina would kill me if she knew I was here with you,” Monica said. “And Joe. Maybe even Lacey.” She hadn’t planned on saying it, especially not directly to Mike, but it was true. And she felt guilty.
“We’ve certainly had a strange beginning,” Mike said. “But if someone is going to kill us, let me do this one more time before we die.” Leaving Snookie curled up under the bench, he rose up and brought her with him. He grabbed her and kissed her. He walked as his lips pressed down on her, moving her backward. She didn’t know where they were going, he simply let him guide her. Soon she felt the rough bark of a tree behind her back, and his body was full on hers as they kissed beneath it. When he finally pulled away, she felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her body. “I’ve been dying to do that all day,” he said, gently moving a strand of her hair off her mouth. “You are so beautiful.”
“Let’s do it right here,” Monica said.
“What?” Mike said. It was a hesitation, but it wasn’t the judgmental way Joe would’ve said it. It was “What?” as in “Tell me more.”
“I want you to take me right here, right now.”
“There’s a grandmother on the bench behind us.”
“I don’t think her eyesight is very good.”
Mike laughed. His hand caressed her leg. “I know of a little spot, it’s a ways on, but it’s a lot more private.”
“Take me there.”
“Do you mean—show you the spot. Or do you mean—take you there?”
“Both.”
It was private. But she was still in the great outdoors. They tied Snookie to a tree several feet away. The sky of Philadelphia above them, tall trees with green stretching branches, the quickest quickie she’d ever had, urged on by the fear of someone coming around the corner at any minute. Clothes barely taken off, just pushed down or up, Mike took control, shielding her body with his, so that if anyone did come up on them, it would be his poor backside taking the shock. Luckily, they were unseen. Monica laughed as Mike hurried to pull up his jeans, and she adjusted her skirt and her bra. Snookie glanced their way, thoroughly disgusted. But Monica didn’t feel guilty, she felt great. If someone had told her she’d meet a guy who could give her an orgasm in a public park, she would have called them crazy. Life was truly surprising.