Chapter Twenty-Eight

By Wednesday, my housemates stop asking if I’m getting up to go to work. I haven’t eaten since Saturday, but I’m not hungry. Most likely I have enough fat storage to hibernate for a few weeks.

But Sammi hasn’t given up on reporting to me about how Matt’s doing. Finally, I say, “I thought you were busy in app dev. Don’t you have to wrap up the new feature to be launched before Christmas?”

“Yeah, but I can multitask,” Sammi says. “He was in a navy pinstripe suit. It looked new. Maybe he went shopping. Extra cleanly shaved too. And a blonde came by the office to see him. They lunched together.”

A nasty pit forms in my gut, but it’s probably nothing. Olivia’s blonde. “The one from Carlos’s?”

“No. Emma Beane.”

I almost gasp at the searing pain. He wasted no time. They’re probably going to marry and have a baby. For all I know, they might’ve already started a baby registry. Now I almost resent my period. If I were pregnant…

Ugh. What the hell am I thinking? That’s the stupidest reason to want to be pregnant. Didn’t I decide to be Maria at an Austrian abbey? The Vatican must take applications over the Internet by now. I should apply for an open nun position online rather than sitting here wishing I were pregnant with Matt’s baby. Besides, do I want to have a child in this kind of situation? It seems pretty stupid. I don’t want to end up like my mom, running around with a kid nobody really cares for.

I firm my quivering mouth and look away.

“Anyway… Want to know the rest?” Sammi says. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she sounds gleeful. What the hell? She’s my best friend. She’s supposed to be mad on my behalf!

“No! Say one more word, and I’m evicting your ass!” I snarl, then pull the sheet over my head.

Sammi gets the hint. She isn’t a total idiot.

Michelle, who’s apparently heard my outburst, comes in—I can hear her through the sheet—and says, “Ignore Sammi. She’s antsy and upset that she doesn’t know how to fix this for you.”

Maybe. Sammi is a fixer…

“For your information, Matt looks like shit these days.”

“He has a new suit. Cleanly shaven. Dating Emma now,” I say through the sheet.

“The suit is probably not new. All his legal eagle suits look the same. And lunch is not a date. So what if he’s clean-shaven? His complexion is crap. I bet you he isn’t getting more than four hours of sleep a night.”

I take a tiny comfort over the news, since Michelle knows stuff like this. Then my insidious mind suggests maybe he isn’t getting much sleep because he’s too busy fucking Emma, and I want to sink into the earth and never come out again.

My aimless existence changes on Friday, though.

At around nine thirty, knocks come from the door. I ignore them. I’m not interested in salesmen or Jehovah’s Witnesses. I’m sure the latter doesn’t offer paid nunships to young women.

Besides, why should I get up? They’ll go away soon enough.

I turn over and pull the sheet over my head, then sigh when it rises over my feet. I hate it when my feet aren’t covered.

“Good Lord, Jan.”

What?

I blink, then push the sheet off my face and sit up. I’m definitely not hallucinating. It’s Alexandra. In my bedroom. She’s dressed for work in a sweater dress and cute flats. A sizable thermos hangs from her shoulder.

“Grandma… What are you doing here?” My voice is rusty and croaky. Damn it. I reach for the bottle of water Michelle left by my bed.

“When David said you were out sick again, I had to stop by.”

I take a swallow of the water, then say, “But it’s nine thirty. Don’t you have an important meeting or something?”

She looks impatient. “Nothing’s more important than making sure you’re all right. You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. I’m okay. Really.”

“Then why have you lost weight?” She comes over and places a hand on my forehead. “No fever, at least. You look absolutely wretched. Have you eaten anything? Michelle said you didn’t have much appetite.”

“Did she come by to see you?” If so, that’s just wrong. Friends don’t rat friends out.

“No, I dropped by her desk. Wait right here.”

She vanishes, leaving the thermos by my bed. I sigh. Guess she wanted to make sure I was still alive, but she shouldn’t have bothered. I’m a human cockroach that can survive anything, including a nuclear holocaust…which is what the breakup with Matt seems like. I feel utterly gross—understandable, if I’m really a cockroach—and I probably smell as bad as I feel. I haven’t showered since Saturday. The mirror in the bathroom shows how pathetic I am every time I walk by because the human body is a strange thing. Even though I’m not drinking much water, it still wants me to pee. You’d think that it’d want to hold onto every drop, right?

At least my period ended early yesterday evening. It’s like the universe is saying, Hey girl, I know your life’s become a total fuckstorm, so how about this to make up for it?

Yeah. Some consolation prize.

Alexandra returns soon with a bowl and a spoon. She opens the thermos and pours a small portion of chicken noodle soup into the bowl. “Here. Have some.”

I look at it, then take a spoonful. It tastes just like Mom’s, and a sudden longing and sadness spiral from a deep corner of my heart. To disguise the surge of silly emotions, I say, “This is good. Did Mrs. Jones make it?” That’s Alexandra’s housekeeper.

“No. It’s my mother’s recipe. I made it last night after I came home.”

I stare at her open-mouthed. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I’m your grandmother. It’s my job to take care of you.”

Right. Obligation because we’re family.

“Go on. Finish it up.”

And I do because that’s what granddaughters are supposed to do when their grandmothers bring homemade chicken noodle soup. I must admit, having warm food in my belly makes me feel almost human. “What’s going on, Jan?” Alexandra asks me when I’m done. “You’ve never been sick or taken time off from anything without good reason.”

“I have a very good reason, Grandma.” I sigh, and my entire body collapses like a marionette with its strings cut. To my horror, tears prickle my eyes, and I drop my gaze, turning my head away.

She scoots over, taking the spot right next to me at the edge of the mattress and puts an arm around my shoulders even though I have to be stinkier than a dog that’s been rolling in dead fish. But it doesn’t seem to bother her.

“Come on,” she says. “Tell me.”

“David said he put me up for a marketing analyst promotion, but I don’t want it,” I blurt out the least of my worries because I don’t know how to start with the big one. Baby steps, baby steps.

She blinks. “Then you don’t have to be a marketing analyst.”

“I also don’t want to go to San Mateo.”

“Then you don’t have to go there either.”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said, but I didn’t realize you were so unhappy about it.”

“But you want me gone…don’t you?”

Alexandra turns my head so we’re eye-to-eye. “Want you gone? Have you lost your mind?”

“Why else would you ask me to move there? Nobody from the family’s working in San Mateo.”

“Sweetie, I only brought it up as something you should consider. Lots of people on the app dev team want to be in the Bay Area. I didn’t realize you thought I was trying to get rid of you. Why would you think that?”

“Because…” I sigh. “I’m a mess. I know I’ve disappointed you all my life.”

A variety of expressions crosses her concerned face, but I can’t make out what she’s thinking. But then, she didn’t end up leading a very successful privately held app company by being an open book.

The silence is unbearable, so I keep going. “I can’t dance. I can’t sing. I know you were shocked when I got accepted to UVA. I was too. I didn’t think I’d get in, and actually considered getting an associate’s degree instead, and—”

“Jan, stop.” She squeezes my hand tightly. “Just stop for a moment. The only reason why you don’t dance well is because you inherited your mother’s coordination, or lack thereof. She was a terrible dancer, except she liked it anyway, so she did it, not caring what others thought. And if you ever heard your mom sing, you would’ve considered it cruel and unusual punishment. As for my shock, I was stunned you applied in the first place. I didn’t think you would because you’re always so hard on yourself. I’d resigned myself to sending you to a school far beneath your true abilities. You don’t understand how happy I was when you decided to attend UVA. I’m even starting a scholarship in your name at Comm School next year.”

“Really?”

“Sweetie, you’re so self-critical, it’s painful for me to watch. You’re such a perfectionist and can’t accept any flaws in yourself, even though you’re forgiving of others. Nobody’s perfect, even if they appear that way. Do you know your uncle Dan took cooking lessons for a year to prepare a gourmet dinner for his wife on their anniversary, but it was so awful they went out to eat instead?”

I stare at her. Uncle Dan is probably the most aggressive grill hoarder every time we have a family cookout. He’s the first to run to it and always argues with his brothers about who should do what.

“And Josh still can’t ski well, even though he pretends he’s a master skier and shares ridiculous selfies all the time.” She rolls her eyes.

If I weren’t so stunned, I’d roll my eyes too. My oldest cousin, Josh, always acts like the only reason why he didn’t compete in the Olympics is because he didn’t have the interest.

“And I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anybody,” Alexandra says.

“Okay.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I never show my teeth when I smile.”

I nod.

“I have a crooked upper tooth and a small gap between my two front teeth, and I’m so self-conscious that I just can’t smile like most people.”

“No way.”

“It’s true.” She inhales, then pulls her lips back in a smile, showing me exactly what she’s talking about.

Shamelessly, I peer at the teeth. They don’t look terrible. The “defects” she’s worried about are hardly even noticeable.

“See?” she says. “Hideous.”

“You have got to be joking.”

She snorts.

I pull back and look at her. “If they bother you that much, why don’t you do something about them?”

“Because.” She sighs. “My family couldn’t afford braces when I was little, and by the time I felt I could afford them, I was in my thirties, much too old for such things. They’re for kids—teenagers. So I’m stuck with teeth that make me self-conscious enough to affect the way I smile…” She shakes her head ruefully. “You see how silly this whole situation is.”

I give her a small grin. “But you’re still awesome, still Alexandra Darling. I’m…” I brace myself. “What if I’m really, truly, fundamentally…flawed?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t approve of my dad. And Mom never really talked about him much. What if… What if he’s somebody terrible? I mean, he could be in jail this very minute.”

Alexandra’s face crumbles, and she reaches out and holds my hand. “Jan, no. Your father… He was a good man.”

“You don’t have to make up lies.” I look down at my hands. “Even Mom was ashamed of him at the end. She put down ‘John Doe’ for ‘Father’ on my birth certificate.”

“But that was his name.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“Didn’t you know? He was an orphan, and nobody bothered to give him a real name, so he got stuck with John Doe. He didn’t care enough to change it.”

“But you disapproved of him. Why, if he’s such a good guy?” Then something else strikes me. “Is he dead?”

Alexandra nods. “Six months after you were born.” She sighs. “Let me tell you from the beginning, so you can understand all this.” Her hand tightens around mine. “When he started dating Mer, I didn’t think highly of him. He was a good-looking, smooth-talking young man. I hate to say this, but I had my own prejudices, and didn’t find him good enough for my only girl. But Mer was crazy about him. When I told her to stay away from him, she argued. I said he was beneath her, and she called me an arrogant old bat. She spoke of having his children, and that’s when I told her no child of John Doe would ever be considered my grandchild. She must’ve known that I would never change my mind, so she ran off with him. Then she had you. He did his best to provide for her and you, working two jobs. He died half a year later. ‘A simple robbery gone wrong’ is what I was told. He was working a second job in an unsafe part of town to provide for you and your mother.” Alexandra takes a moment to inhale shakily. “It’s my deepest regret that I wasn’t there for any of you. I should’ve been. You’re my family, and I love you.”

I sniff. Alexandra reaches over and swipes my cheeks with her fingers, and I realize I’ve been crying.

“It hurts me to see you not realize how lovely you are. You’re a miracle child, Jan. I’m not sure if you read your mom’s journals, but she almost lost you. But even without reading them, I knew you were something truly special when I learned your name was Jan.”

“How?”

“Because Jan was the nickname your grandfather used to call me.” She gives me a tremulous smile. “Bernie thought Alexandra was too formal a name and decided to call me Jan, short for January, which is my middle name. It was fitting, too—we met in January and married exactly a year later. So when I heard your name, I knew Mer was reminding me you were my granddaughter, and she was also telling me she forgave me for my harsh words. And every day I regret not having looked her up and reached out, instead of hoping she’d realize the error of her ways and come crawling back. I should’ve never been so arrogant. If I hadn’t, I might still have my daughter and son-in-law. And you might have your parents.” Her eyes are red-rimmed. “I’m so sorry, Jan.”

My arms wrap around her, and we hold each other, our tears mingling. My self-doubts and insecurity seem to melt with every drop we shed, and I wish I hadn’t been such an idiot—making assumptions about myself. Then I wouldn’t have wasted so much time and energy.

Eventually, we pull away, and she dries my face. “Feel better now?”

I nod. Then because she’s been honest, unflinchingly so, I tell her, “I’m dating Matt Aston.”

“I know,” she says.

“You do?” Grandma’s NSA strikes again.

“He came by to see me last week. He wanted to let me know and ask for my blessing.”

“He did?”

“I suspect he isn’t the type to indulge in interoffice dating, but since it’s happening and you’re my granddaughter, he wanted to make sure. Good thing he did, too, because I told him I wouldn’t tolerate any kind of fortune hunting.”

“Fortune hunting?” I choke out.

“Your inheritance,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

So Matt wasn’t just saying it. I am an heiress. I had no idea.

Because you don’t care about money and never once believed Alexandra would leave anything to you.

I didn’t think I deserved anything.

“I also warned him about breaking your heart,” she says coldly. Her eyes glint in a way I’ve never seen before. It’s a good thing the look wasn’t directed at me, or I might’ve peed in my pants. “Now tell me. Is he the real reason you’ve been neglecting yourself?”

“Uh. No. Well… It’s complicated.”

“Don’t overanalyze. Either tell him to make it right or he can prepare to resign.”

“Grandma!”

“Don’t you grandma me. I can forgive almost anything except you being hurt. I’m not going to tell you who to date. I’ve already paid a heavy price for that sort of arrogance. But I won’t let you suffer because some idiot can’t figure out how to make his woman happy.”

My jaw drops. “Matt is a Harvard-educated lawyer.”

“I don’t care where he got his fancy degree,” she scoffs. “A man who can’t make his woman happy is an idiot as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes, Grandma,” I say meekly.

“Now. You’ll shower, and eat all the soup I brought you, and take the rest of the day to pull yourself together. Then you’ll join me and the family for your birthday celebration on Saturday.”

“My birthday?”

“Yes. It’s today. You forgot again, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” I’ve never bothered to remember. It never felt important, even though Alexandra made sure to throw a bash every year.

“And starting next week, I expect you to resume your regular life. Living well is the best revenge. Nobody is worth neglecting yourself for. And don’t forget, you always have me on your side.” She gives me a tight hug. “Now I have to get back to work. Call me if you need anything, and if David bothers you, tell him to call me.”

“Okay.”

She leaves. I have another bowl of the soup, then shower, scrubbing my body with extra care. I even wash my hair twice to make sure I’m as clean as I can be. Since my clothes and sheets smell rank, I toss them all into the washer.

Then I slowly make my way down to the garage. I reach into the back and drag out the boxes of Mom’s things. They’re tightly duct-taped—four layers—to make sure nothing can spill out by accident. I pull at them, then give up and go to the kitchen for a paring knife.

With care, I cut the tape and open the first box. I find Mom’s journals. They’re old, the pages wrinkled in places where water somehow got to them. I pick up the first one and start reading.

Every entry is thoughtful, full of her inner dialog, almost too raw and honest for me to read without tearing up. But through them all, one thing’s clear. She loved my dad. She adored me. She never talked much about him because it hurt too much. She longed to reconcile with Alexandra, but she didn’t know how to do it because she was afraid I might be rejected, and the last thing she wanted was for me to feel unwanted. She chose to be on her own, cut off from the family and relatives she missed, than have me be rebuffed.

I dab at my eyes and blow my nose. It’s amazing how your perspective on life changes when you realize how wrong and blind you’ve been…

I’ve been loved all my life. Protected. Cherished.

And I’ve been the biggest damn idiot for not realizing that because I didn’t feel like I measured up to others. And look at me, wasting an entire week because I’m a self-indulgent fool.

It’s almost four now.

I get up and check my phone. It’s out of charge. After I plug it in for a while, messages download. David called me seven times, texted me fifteen. The last one came earlier today.

–David: Hope you’re okay. Take care of yourself.

My work email is bursting with new messages. The latest is from Tim from app dev. He wants to chat with me about the opening I applied for. My mouth dries, and I take a few deep breaths to slow down my unsteady pulse and wipe the sweat from my palms. The me from before would’ve responded by freaking out, then sabotaged it by telling myself I wasn’t good enough and Tim was only doing this because Alexandra asked him to or because he wanted to ingratiate himself with her. But not now. I know he’s doing this because he liked my application and thought I’d be a good fit. I type “Sure, what time’s good for you?” and hit send.

Then I scroll through for anything from Matt, but he hasn’t sent me a single text. Not a call. Nothing.

But then why would he? He made it very clear we were finished when he walked out on Saturday. I look out the window. He’s still at work, of course. It’s only four in the afternoon.

Matt’s right. I work hard. I’m not an idiot—Tim liked my comment at the meeting. Given his reputation, it’s highly unlikely he was just saying it to be nice. And David likes my work performance well enough to put me up for a promotion early. Did I screw up everything with my insecurity? Have I pushed away the most perfect man for me? Part of me wants to head over to Sweet Darlings Inc. and talk to him, but I can’t. Not right now. I have to get my head screwed on right first.

I don’t give a shit if Emma’s circling Matt like some starving vulture. I’m worthy of the man who told me he loved me…because I love him back just as much, and I’m smart enough—and finally brave enough—to fight for us.