It’s been a week since I met Jamal on the basketball court, and I haven’t seen him again.  Several times I’ve heard someone on the basketball court and looked over, on my way to or from the parking lot, but it hasn’t been him.  I haven’t seen any signs of life from the blue house with the yellow door, but I’ve also been getting to and from my car very quickly, afraid to see him. 

The recent experiences with David and Sean—bad porn sex and the creepy masturbatory backup plan—have rattled me.  I feel like I’ve been allowed a glimpse inside the workings of men’s brains, where I’ve seen women getting chewed around and run through the gears like limp rag dolls.  Jamal seemed genuinely nice, but I don’t know that I have it in me to go through the steps with another person right now who will, in all probability, end up being a jerk.  Still… It’s hard not to think about how sweet he was to Binky, and his open, gorgeous smile.  And his hand touching mine.

I lock my apartment door and walk to my car, glancing over at the empty basketball court on my way.  The blue house across the street is quiet.  A white fence stretches around the neat yard, trimmed grass and hydrangea bushes.  Someone must be tending to that yard, but I’ve yet to see them out there.  

I’m on my way to Liz’s for dinner.  I’ve been trying to bring food over more often, or to show up early and do most of the cooking, but Liz fights me on this.  She has been overworked and tired, but still wants to be the nurturer.  I’m beginning to take the threat of this coronavirus more seriously just based on how much it’s stressing her out.  But Liz is so pragmatic.  There has to be something else stressing her out.  Maybe it’s Dr. Green.  I’ve been searching for an angle to get more information from her, but she’s been a closed book.  

When I get to Liz’s, she has dinner almost ready.  I sigh in defeat and set down the bread and wine I’ve brought over.

“Mar!” yells Binky, and runs into my arms.  She is warm and squishy and smells like soap.

“Why do you always bring wine?” Liz asks.  “You don’t drink.”  She is wearing her chicken apron.  It’s blue gingham with fat red hens on it and looks adorable on her, like everything does.

“Hello to you too!” I say.  “Can’t a sister bring something nice, even if it’s not for her?  Why do you always cook, if we’re accusing each other of being generous now?”

“I’m sorry,” Liz says.  “You’re right.  Thank you.  Would you like some mineral water?”

“Sure, I’ll get it.”  I practically have to body block her from the fridge so I can get my water myself.

Binky has fetched her latest favorite board game and is setting it up on the table for us to play.  

“How’s school?” I ask Binky, sitting down and helping her arrange the cards.  I don’t need to read the rules because Binky generally makes up her own way to play games.

“Meh,” she says.

Binky doesn’t like school very much.  She never has.  It bothers me because I don’t believe in spending time being unhappy.  Maybe this comes from fighting unhappiness so much of my life, often without success.  Liz is the opposite of me in that way.  She doesn’t believe in letting feelings rule your life.  She is constantly coaching Binky to get up and go, despite how she feels.  You simply have to compare my life to Liz’s to find which approach works better, so I zip it around Binky and try to just empathize with her boredom.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.  I had a ‘meh’ day, too.”

“You did?” Binky asks.  “What happened?”

I pause.  What did happen?  Nothing.  My day was just ‘meh’, nothing too bad, but nothing too good.  Why does this stand out to me?  I’m becoming used to my days being more exciting.  It dawns on me that, despite the morning grogginess and constant brain fog, my medication has changed my daily experience of just being alive.  

“I think it was just the weather,” I say.  “I’m ready for more sunshine!”  

It’s not the weather.  I’ve been listening to music much more, and really being moved by it.  I’ve been dancing in my apartment, and moved to tears sometimes, but with happy feelings instead of sad.  I’ve looked forward to meals, and I’ve been spending more time preparing food, actually finding energy to cook.  Smells are stronger.  Colors are brighter.  I think I’m happier.  I almost don’t recognize this state, it’s been so long since happiness was normal for me.  If only the quetiapine didn’t have the side effects, it’d be perfect.

“I think Mom’s coming out to visit,” says Liz, while we dish up.

“Grandma!” says Binky.

“Really?” I ask.  “When?”

“I don’t know.  Soon, I think.  I just talked to her before you came over.  I think she needs a break from Ray.”

Ray is our stepdad.  He’s loud and forgetful and very New York Italian.  Our mom, Julie, married him when I was in middle school and Liz was just graduating high school.  They had Frankie, our little brother, a couple years later.  Our mom is crazy about Ray.  He makes her laugh and dotes on her, but this year he retired and has been wandering around the house, a little lost.  “He hasn’t hit his groove yet,” is what I tell my mom when she calls to complain about yet another building project Ray started and abandoned partway through.  Ray doesn’t know how to build things, but it seems like that’s what he thinks men are supposed to do in retirement.  So he starts projects but then can’t figure out how to actually build them, because of course why would you look at instructions or ask anyone.  “Why don’t you just take him to IKEA?” I asked my mom last time we talked.  “Then he can feel like he’s building something and you’ll actually get bookshelves.” 

“That’s great!” I say to Liz.  “It’ll be great to see her.

“It will,” Liz says.

Liz and I have an agreement to only say positive things about our family around Binky.  We grew up hearing one disparaging comment after another about our own father, though our mom has legitimate reason to feel angry.  Our dad is completely MIA, and not in a soldier kind of way.  He left when I was a baby, and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.  All our mom has told me about him is his name, that he is French, that he was probably an alcoholic, and that he spent her inheritance behind her back.  I’ve never even seen a photograph of him, since she set them on fire long ago.  So it’s no wonder that I don’t feel fond of this man I have no memory of.  But Liz does.  Liz has some happy memories of him, memories she has been unable to share because our mom can’t stand hearing them.  Only recently, away from our mom’s ears, can Liz share with me the few memories she has.  From Liz I’ve learned that he could be silly, that he sang while he cooked, and that he smelled like tomato plants.  Sometimes I do an internet search with his name, but I have no way of knowing which Mathieu Beausoleil he could be.  I could ask Liz to look with me, but so far I haven’t worked up the courage.  I don’t know if she wants to look into that Pandora’s Box with me.  Not when he has hurt our mom so deeply.

Around Binky, we keep our family comments positive.  There will be plenty of time for Binky to learn about her grandma’s chronic denial of evidence, Ray’s veiled racism, my ‘neurodiversity’, Liz’s perfectionism, and that her dad isn’t the smiling man in the photo on the wall.  

We eat in silence and I smile at Binky, her lips smudged with broth, blue marker streaks on her chin.

“Hey,” I say.  “Did you hear about the three holes in the ground?” 

“No,” she says.  “What holes?”

“Well, well, well,” I say.

Liz rolls her eyes.  Binky pauses for a moment and then chortles.  

“Knock knock,” says Binky.

“Who’s there?” Liz and I say at the same time.

“Interrupting cow.”

“Interrupting cow w-”

“MOOOOO!” yells Binky, before I can finish.  

Later, I am putting Binky to bed.  She usually insists that I do it when I’m here, instead of Liz,  and Liz seems happy for the break.  Binky is working her way through the Harry Potter series.  I’m reading to her from the fourth book and scrutinizing it to figure out how someone earns a fortune off such mediocre writing, and wondering how come I can’t figure out how to do it, too. 

“I like Harry Potter,” Binky says. She’s wearing pink pajamas and flexing her toes back and forth.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  I relate.”

“Oh?  You relate to the book or to Harry Potter?”

“No, to Harry.  We’re both orphans.”

“Orphans?  Binky, you’re not an orphan.”

“I’m not?”

“No!”  I can’t help but laugh a little.  “An orphan is someone who has lost both their parents.  You have your mom, and…you never lost your dad.  Your dad is just a really kind person who wanted to help your mom have you.  She couldn’t wait to meet you.”

“I know all that,” says Binky, but she looks troubled.

“You know, I don’t have a dad either.”

“What?  Isn’t Ray your dad?”

“Well, he’s my stepdad.  But I didn’t meet him until I was 12, and he’s never really felt like my dad.”

“But he’s my mom’s dad, right?  He’s my grandpa?”

“Yes, he is your grandpa.”  I pause.  I feel like I’m doing this wrong.  “You know, families can be made of all kinds of people.  Some have two moms, some have one dad, some have grandparents, some don’t…”  I know Binky knows all this.  “Why do you think of yourself as an orphan?”  

“Because I don’t have a dad.”

“Alright, kiddo.  Let’s be orphans together.”  I hold up my pinky and she loops hers around mine.  We give our hands a little shake.  Binky nods her head, satisfied, and snuggles up under my arm.  

After I say good-night I go downstairs and sit with Liz on the couch.  I give my lap a little pat so she can put her feet up and let me rub them.  

“Binky thinks she’s an orphan,” I say.

Liz’s arm is resting across her eyes.  “I know.  She was telling me that the other day after reading Harry Potter.”

“We agreed to be orphans together.”

Liz shakes her head.  “You guys are so weird.”

“Ok.  Tell me about Gilbert Green!  I’m getting so tired of asking.  You clearly have a crush on him, and he clearly likes you.  So?  What’s holding you back?” 

Liz peers at me.  “I’ve acknowledged that he’s cute.  And yes, I do have a little crush on him.  But so what?  That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, come on Liz!  When was the last time you liked someone?  Alfonso from the bakery?”

Liz laughs.  “I remember Alfonso!  Aw, Alfonso.  Remember he used to put the little hearts on the bread?”

“Only on your bread.  Stop changing the subject.  I want to hear all about Gilbert Green.”

“Why do you always call him Gilbert Green?”

“Because Dr. Green sounds too formal, and I can’t think of him as a Gilbert.  What would you call him?  Gil?  Gilly?  Bert?  How about Greenie!  Or GG.”

“I like the name Gilbert.  But anyway, it doesn’t matter.  He’s just here to do his project, and then he goes back to Philadelphia.” She takes her arm off her eyes and squints at me.

“Or not,” I say.  “There are doctor jobs here.”

“I just can’t start dating someone!  I have a daughter.”

“Oh.  Right.  I didn’t think of that.  Of course.  That makes total sense.  I mean, how on earth would you possibly find a sitter so you could go on a date?  It’s not like you have family here to watch her.  And she’s pretty committed to this whole orphan thing.  You don’t want to mess that up.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t!  People with children date all the time.  They even get married.  They even become stepparents to each other’s children and it can be really really happy.”

“I’m not going to start something with someone who lives far away, OK?  So can we just drop it?”

We sit in silence for a while.  I finish rubbing her feet and she rolls onto her side.  

“Thank you for the foot rub.”

“Liz, not everyone is like Ginji.  You guys were young, he was starting his life out.  This is different.  Dr. Green has a career, and seems like a grown up.  I think you could work this out.”

“There’s nothing to work out, Mar!  There’s nothing there!  I think he likes Clarissa, and he’s probably just being nice to me.”

“Um, no.  You know none of that is true.  He’s probably just being nice to Clarissa, and he clearly likes you.  Has he asked you out?”

Liz is quiet.

“Liz?!?  Has he asked you out?”   She smiles.  “Oh my god!!  He’s asked you out?  Why don’t you tell me anything anymore?!”

“Shhh!”  Her cheeks are growing pink.  “He asked me to have dinner with him.”

“And??  What did you say?  I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this!  You’re going out with him, right?”

Liz buries her face inside her shirt.  “I said I was too busy!”

“Oh my god.  I don’t believe you!  Can I have his number?  No, seriously.  I’m getting his number.”  I stand up and go into the kitchen, where her phone is charging..

“What are you doing?”

I open the phone and send Gilbert Green’s contact information to myself.

“Mar?  What are you doing?  Mar, stop.”  She is laughing and panic-stricken at the same time.

“If you’re going to chicken out with someone like Gilbert Green, you clearly need an intervention.”

“Mar!”  Liz has stood up and is sprinting towards me.  “You are not going to call him!  Promise me!”

I stare at her for a moment.  “Ok.  I promise I won’t call him.”  I smile and nod, glad she didn’t make me promise not to text him.  For a scientist, she can overlook details sometimes.  “Here.”  I hand her her phone.  She takes it and hides it behind her back, glaring at me.

“If you call him, I am going to call that guy from the basketball court.”

“Jamal?  I don’t have his number.”

“Well, I will find it.”

“I don’t care.  I’ve decided men are jerks.  I’m going to be a lesbian.”

“Good luck with that—just switching to being gay at 34.  Anyway, it’s not any easier being a lesbian.”

“How would you know?”

Liz fills the tea kettle and puts it on the stove.  She rummages in the cupboard and pulls out a bag of Binky’s lunch cookies.  “I just have heard that from lesbians.  They have as many problems as straight people.”

“Yeah, except you can borrow each other’s clothes.”

“Are you going to post a dating ad looking for a woman who is your size with the same taste in clothes?”

“Pretty much.  And someone who doesn’t like sex, because I don’t think I could have sex with a woman.”

“Because you’re not gay!  Maybe Jamal would let you borrow his clothes.”

I laugh.  “Maybe.”  I’m quiet as she arranges cookies on a plate and puts teabags into mugs.  She wraps the string around the mug handles, and drips honey from a spoon.  “I really don’t think I can date anyone right now,” I say.  “That sex with David was so weird.  And hearing all that from Sean…I just feel like all men are sexist pigs deep down.”

“They’re not.  But they have grown up in a sexist society, so they need to unlearn some things.  We have to teach them.”

“We?  So are you thinking about teaching Dr. Green how to be a feminist?”

“Shut up!”  She throws a spoon at me that I don’t dodge in time and it whacks me in the shoulder.  “Oh, sorry.  I didn’t think that would hit you.”

“Ow!  Why would you think it wouldn’t hit me?  Hey, let’s make a deal.  I will take Jamal on as my Unlearning Misogyny student, if you take on Dr. Green.”

Liz shakes her head.  “No.”

“Why are you pressuring me to go out with someone if you’re not willing to, Liz?  What’s your reason, for real?  It can’t be Binky.  Is it just because he lives far away?”

Liz pours steaming water into the mugs.  She sticks her lower lip out and starts mashing it over her upper lip.  Uh-oh.  “It’s because…who would want me?” 

She hunches over the counter and starts to cry.  I go over and put my arm over her shoulders.  She hugs me and sobs.  I actually like it when Liz cries, which she doesn’t do very often.  I feel like I am the emotional wreck in our relationship, and sometimes wonder what I even have to offer Liz as a friend, besides hamming it up and hanging out with Binky. 

“It’s ok,” I say, and rub her back.  “You are so lovable, Liz.  Any guy would be so lucky to get you.”  This makes her cry harder for several minutes. 

“Then why didn’t Ginji want me?”  She pushes away and starts stirring the tea, the edge of her vulnerability reached.

“I don’t think it was like that,” I say. 

“No?  Then what was it?”

This is a conversation that Liz and I have every year or so.  I never have anything new to tell her, but circling around the rodeo seems to help her locate the heartbreak and make sure it’s all penned in.  We go through the steps together.

“He loved you, Liz, but you guys were young.  He wasn’t ready to marry and settle down.”

“We could have made it work!”

“You tried, remember?  You tried everything, besides moving to Japan.  But there was your career, and his family.  It was too much, Liz.  The pressure of it all was too much.”

Liz nods, remembering how this goes.  “And we just kind of…faded after being apart for a while.”

“Yeah, see?  Very few relationships can handle that kind of stress.”

Liz laughs bitterly.  “And now you want me to try that again with Gilbert.”

I twist up my mouth and carry the tea and cookies over to the table.  “I don’t want you to do anything, Liz.  But I do know that me and Binky, and your job, aren’t the same as a relationship.  You need love from a man!  Like Dr. Green!  Even if it’s just a little fling that doesn’t turn into anything.  When was the last time you had sex?  Wouldn’t it be great just to have sex?“

“Well, not according to you.”  She laughs and starts to eat a cookie.

“Hey.  Let’s not compare all sex to Conspiracy Porn Man.”  I think I’ve settled on a final nickname for David.

“Or Cheater Sean.”

“Yeah, but that sex was actually good.”  I sigh.  “I could go for some of that.”

“Ok,” Liz says.  “I’ll go out with Dr. Green.  I mean Gilbert!”

“You will??”  I stand up and do a little dance.  “This is great!  I’ll take Binky.  For an overnight, you know.” 

“Mar!  I’m not going to sleep with him on a first date!”

I smile.  First date.  That means she plans on more than one. 

…

When I get home I light the usual two sticks of incense to cover the smell of my neighbor’s pot that has flooded my apartment.  I love walking into Liz’s house.  Binky is there, running over to wrap me in a hug.  Even in her worst mood, Liz is happy to see me.  Coming home from Liz’s, my apartment always feels extra empty. 

I set my stuff down and pick up a pen and paper.  Quickly, before I can think too much about it, I scribble a note.

Jamal – We met last week at the basketball court.  Want to grab a coffee, or hang out sometime?
Mar

I add my phone number and then jog across the street to the blue house.  It’s after ten.  I open the low white gate slowly, but it creaks a little.  I tiptoe up to the door and look for a spot to stick the note, then fold it up and start to wedge it between the door and frame.  The door swings open a little.  Oh shit.  From inside, I can hear soft music and see a dim light.  What if he has someone over right now?  And I’m here, looking like I’m about to walk into his house?  I grab the doorknob and do my best to close the door quietly.  I see my note fall inside the house just before the door closes.

I turn around.  My heart is pounding.  He’ll find the note, surely.  And it’s sitting inside his house.  This is terrible.  I bury my face in my hands, not sure what to do.  Just then the porch light flicks on and the door opens behind me.

“Hello?” says Jamal.

I slowly turn around, my face burning. 

“Hi,” I say, grimacing.

“Mar?  Basketball Mar?”  He mimes throwing a ball.

“Ha!  I’ve never been called that before.”  The note slides across his floor as a little breeze hits it.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

I close my eyes, feeling as embarrassed as I’ve ever felt.  “I…I came to leave you a note, but then your door swung open and I tried to close it, but the note fell inside, and now it looks like I was in your house and I’m really sorry.”

He looks around on the floor and picks up the note.  He unfolds it and reads.  His face is overtaken by a beautiful smile.  “I would love to,” he says, shining his eyes on me.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!  I was disappointed when I didn’t see you again.  You knew where to find me.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I’ve been really busy.”

“With Binky?”

I laugh.  “Wow, you remembered her name!  No, just with work and other stuff.  So, I’m free every night this week.”  Ouch, that sounded dumb.

“Great!  How’s Wednesday?  Can I take you to dinner?”

“Oh!  Um, sure.  Yeah, that sounds great.  Do you want to text me your address?”  I pause, hoping he laughs.

He laughs.  “Sure.  I’ll text you very clear directions.  Let’s walk somewhere.  Want to meet right here at seven?  On Wednesday?”

“Yes.  And I’m sorry I almost broke into your house.”

“That’s ok.  I should have had the door locked.  Now I know to watch out for you.”

I laugh.  “Ok.  See you Wednesday.”

He smiles and nods. 

“Jamal?” a voice calls from inside.

I can’t help but startle a little.

“That’s my grandma,” he says.  “I better go see if she’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah.  Ok.  Bye, Jamal.”

“Good bye, Mar.  I’m very happy you decided to come find me.”

“Me too.”  I give him one last smile and turn and walk down the path to the gate, very aware of his eyes on me.  I hear his front door close and I exhale, embarrassed and thrilled.  So he’s close to his family.  I like that.  I wonder if his grandma lives with him.  Or his parents?  Do they all live together?  I get more excited as I near my apartment.  A date!  With Jamal!

I go inside and can’t wait to text Liz, even though she’s probably asleep.  I went and asked Jamal out!  We’re having dinner on Wednesday!

Liz texts back immediately.  Yaaaayyyyy!!!  DON’T CALL DR. GREEN!!!!!  Then a heart and a sleepy face emoji.

I go to bed, my heart still racing.  This will be good.  He seems good.  I smile, remembering his face when he read the note.  But still, beneath it all, a sense of dread snakes it way through the brightness of his smile.

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