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Please Wait “I’ve known it since the beginning. You don’t like anyone in my family,” Kathy was saying. “Well, except your mother. I like her,” Tom answered. It was a lie. He hated the whole family but there is an unspoken rule that you can not dislike somebody with cancer. “You do?” Kathy, his ex-wife, asked. “Well, sure. She did send those marvelous fruit-cakes on Christmas. God, I didn’t know anybody really sent those things.” “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” she said, putting her hands to her ears. They were in Kathy’s bedroom. Tom was dressing. He noticed she had a tacky alarm clock shaped like a bird that he’d never seen before. He wanted to ask her about it but he was afraid that it had always been there. “Listen Kathy,” he said instead, “we’ve got to figure something out.” “There’s nothing to figure out.” Kathy pulled her clothes on underneath the covers and stretched out on the bed with her head hanging over the edge, arms dangling at her sides. “If you don’t like my family, you don’t like them. I don’t mind too much anymore.” “Yes,” Tom said, blinking, “there is something to talk about. It’s nothing to do with your damn family. It’s about us. You and me. We can’t just keep meeting up in your bedroom like this.” He had had this on his mind for some time and he thought it was time to talk about it. “The world looks different this way, upside down, you know,” Kathy answered. “Pay attention. What are we even doing here?” Kathy didn’t answer. They weren’t doing anything. Since the divorce, they met once in awhile in her apartment and ate dinner together. Sometimes, they lit a tall white candle in the center of the table. Sometimes, there was wine in milk glasses—Kathy didn’t believe in owning special glasses for wine. They’d put on a record and dance around the room and then go back into Kathy’s bedroom, undress and fall asleep on opposite sides of the bed. In the morning, Tom would dress slowly, pulling on his blue jeans and buttoning his flannel shirt. Usually, like this morning, Kathy would stay under the covers because she had become shy and didn’t want him to see her naked. What it was, Tom had begun to realize, what he needed to tell Kathy, was that they were caught somewhere in the middle of time. When they first started dating, they used to have candlelight dinners and wine in milk glasses. They’d been much younger then; Kathy had long brown hair tumbling down her back and his hair wasn’t receding yet. Soon after they married, they’d settled into eating on the sofa, sometimes with the TV on, sometimes off. Dancing, now that had lasted a bit longer. If Tom wasn’t too tired from his day and Kathy was in the mood, they would both know it and somebody would head for the record player. Back then, it used to end with passionate lovemaking that lasted through the night. But the way they slept now, naked without touching, was most familiar to both of them. He’d started dating a woman at the shoe department in the mall and she’d taken up with a mailman or something, he couldn’t quite remember. They’d both preferred sleeping naked and they each wanted personal space, so he took the left side of the bed and she the right. Tom could remember the exact moment the marriage had ended. Kathy had gone out with some of her feminist girlfriends to some workshop on empowering women. She came back ready for a fight and when Tom refused to answer her questions—something about gender roles in society—she had thrown a glass of water, a lamp, and a cold iron, in that order. She’d thrown them at the wall and there was still a chip in the paint from the iron. Finally, breathing heavily but calming down, she had looked him in the eyes and said, “This marriage is dead.” “We’re caught in the middle of time, Kathy,” Tom said, looking at her. She had moved her head back to the pillow and her eyes were closed. “Are you sleeping?” He went over to her and tapped lightly on her face. She did not respond. “Wake up,” he practically shouted. She didn’t. There could be a fire burning the house down and she wouldn’t wake up; she’d never get out alive, Tom thought. He felt suddenly that he needed to protect Kathy, to take care of her. He lay down and put his arms around her. She groaned a little in her sleep but didn’t move. Next Tom kissed her on the lips. Kathy woke up to his mouth on hers and, maybe out of an old forgotten habit, she kissed back. Kathy called a week and a half later. “I’m pregnant,” she said without even saying hello. “That’s impossible. Try the test again.” He had been making a bologna sandwich when she called and what he really wanted was to get back to making it. He hung up. She called back a few minutes later, just as he was putting the jar of mayonnaise and loaf of bread back in the fridge. “I did another test. It can’t be wrong twice.” He drove to her house with half a bologna sandwich in his front shirt pocket. He’d left the other half at home because it didn’t fit. During the drive, he thought about it. If she was having a baby, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. No, he began to get excited, it would be the beginning of a new life for them. They could find a solid place in time; they could get re-married. He rang the bell and she answered the door in a bathrobe. She had been crying. For a moment he wanted to take her in his arms. But he didn’t want to squish his bologna sandwich. “It’s okay,” he said. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out flat but it did. He followed her into the house and then sat on the edge of the couch. He picked up a car magazine off her coffee table and put it down again. He flicked on the TV and began switching through channels. He started to tap his foot on the floor. Kathy took the remote away and turned the TV off. Her new “chic” haircut and dye job looked forced on her tired face. “Look, Tom, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to ask you to marry me or anything. We’ve tried that.” “Are you sure it’s mine?” “What kind of question is that? Of course I’m sure,” she said. “Well, I don’t know,” Tom answered, even though he did. Neither he nor Kathy had been with anybody else in the two years since the divorce. It had been so easy while they were married but suddenly, when they were supposed to be free, they didn’t remember the nuances of dating or the bar scenes. Alena from the shoe department was making up with her husband and Tom had never thought to ask about the mailman. “It could never work. You don’t like my mother,” Kathy said bitterly. “I like her. I told you the other day I like her.” “You’re the biggest fattest liar in the world,” Kathy said. “You’re only saying you like her because she’s sick.” Then she began to cry. Tom sat watching her and wiping sweat off his forehead. It was hot for May and she didn’t even have a fan on. Then he remembered he was hungry and sneaked into the bathroom. He stood over the yellow porcelain sink eating his sandwich and watching the crumbs fall. He carefully brushed the crumbs that had landed on the sink’s rim onto the floor and under the bath mat. When he got back into the living room, Kathy wasn’t crying anymore. “Fuck you, Tom,” she said. Trying to be funny, Tom said, “I think that’s what got us into this mess.” Kathy gave him a death stare. Then the phone rang and Tom, who was sitting beside the table, answered. He listened for a minute. “It’s for you,” he told Kathy. When she hung up the phone, Kathy looked empty. “My mother is dying and I’m having a baby with my lame ex-husband.” She went to her room and Tom followed her. “I’m so sorry, Kathy, I really am. I liked your mother, you know. I really liked her.” Kathy was pulling things out of her closet and packing them into a small black suitcase. Tom sat down and watched her. She was yanking and pulling and things kept dropping to the floor. First came a tight black dress that Tom remembered from when they were first dating. Next a pair of overalls that Kathy used to wear when they worked together in the garden. After that, a pair of pajama pants fell and Tom realized the flannel bottoms belonged to him. He remembered that Kathy used to wear them around the house on Sundays while they read comics and straightened the kitchen. He wondered if she still wore them. He saw a sundress, one that he’d given her but she’d never once worn. It was blue with big sunflowers printed all over it. Tom felt a tenderness wash over him as the dress fluttered to the carpet. He looked at Kathy, who seemed suddenly very young with the light falling over her from the windows and the robe slipping from her shoulders. Without glancing at him, she slipped off the robe and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. She had chosen another pair of jeans and a t-shirt to stuff into the suitcase. Then she tossed in a pair of sunglasses and a bottle of Advil. She picked up the book she’d been reading and put that in the bag too. She threw in four pairs of underwear and a change of socks. On second thought, she added a t-shirt. Then she zipped the bag closed and walked out of the room. A moment later she came back in as though she had forgotten something but, after standing in the doorway for a minute, she turned and left. Again, Tom followed. “Kathy,” he said in a voice he’d never heard himself use before, “Kathy, please wait.” She was standing still but didn’t turn around so Tom added, “Please.” “Stop that,” she said. “Will you marry me?” Tom asked. “What?” Kathy asked. “I want to marry you. I want to have this baby. I want to try again.” The words tumbled out of Tom’s mouth and then halted abruptly when he realized he was still talking. Kathy just stood there for a moment, staring at him blankly, and then she went to the coffee table and picked up a pack of cigarettes. She took one out for herself and handed one to Tom. He took it. Then she lit them both and said “I love you.” He loved her too. That, at least, could not change. “I have to go see about my mother. When I get back, we can figure something out,” Kathy told him. She took one more awkward drag off her cigarette and then stubbed it out in the ashtray. The cigarettes belonged to Tom and she didn’t usually smoke. When she had gone, assuring Tom that she would be okay alone, Tom went back into her bedroom and began to pick up her clothes from the floor and hang them back on hangers. He felt that they were remarried already, that the baby was sleeping the next room over, that Kathy had stopped aging and so had he. He got to the blue sundress and held it in his arms, cradling it there, absolutely certain that from then on things were going to be okay.
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