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Perry took the lunch hour after mine that month. We had to alternate because unreasonable people can always be expected to act unreasonably. When she started at our workplace (whose name has been omitted to protect the innocent), I had the later lunch because her predecessor liked the earlier one, and I did not have the capacity to care. And if Perry–who seemed to prefer the later lunch–had asked me, I would have happily switched as this was before Ellie and I had started these periodic lunches, so I still had minimal reason to care. However, instead of asking me to switch, as would have been the typical custom between adults of our society, she first brought up the idea of us alternating in a meeting with our managerial team, codifying it into the workplace equivalent of law before I could lift my jaw off the ground.
Unfortunately, people like her sometimes get their way. We all hate that fact. We especially hate it when the idea is a terrible one. Our manager had almost given herself an ulcer trying to track who was eating when we could have switched permanently had Perry just asked me to.
Considering how easy it would have been for her to get the exact thing she claimed to want by simply asking, I could only assume that what she was truly after was misery. And to be fair, this schedule gave her that in spades.
Case in point: when I got back from lunch with Ellie, Perry was waiting impatiently for her turn because even though she got the later lunch, it wasn’t what she actually wanted. She thought she had wanted it because she didn’t have it. And wanting something she did not have and for which there was a genuine obstacle served as the only thing to bring her a sense of fulfillment and purpose. Certainly not joy. Because joy could not be had by those who have invested meaning in maintaining the absence of it.
On that day, Perry was mad that I got back to my desk exactly on time and not early. Because it meant that she could not leave early. Not that she would have left early. That would have reflected negatively on her, but she liked having the option. Until she had it, that is. Then she would not like it. And so she left her desk in her usual surly mood, thinking it was justified this time.
The whole thing was irritating, yes. Sometimes the absurdity was funny, but on that day, I wasn’t in the mood to laugh or to do much of anything. And she didn’t notice.
I looked away when Perry stormed off, not wanting the confrontation that would come from eye contact. But when I did so, I caught a glimpse of the ring on my finger: a large, round diamond set in white gold. The color made the skin on my hand pop as if I had anything close to an actual tan, but the size of the jewel made my fingers look stubby. My engagement ring was normally the farthest thing from my mind, but once I was looking at it, it became all I could think about. But those thoughts swirling in my head were largely incoherent and consisted mostly if not entirely of the panicked screaming of my indecisive soul.
As if I was trying to ground myself, I tapped the underside of the band with my thumbnail. The sensation intrigued me, somehow. It pulled me in, and in the privacy of a Perry-free cubicle, I fell into a headspace defined by that tapping. It was like a black hole or what the popular consciousness tends to imagine a black hole to be, accuracy of that image aside. It was an empty void that pulled me deeper into its endless embrace separate from the rest of the world, and yet this seemingly endless and infinite space was occupied by things I could not see, touch, or experience but moved in tandem with me into some unknown point. So I wasn’t actually alone. I had an abundance of company, and none of it was useful.
As I mused (not so) poetically like that, I heard an initially unrecognizable voice go, “Hey.”
And in response, I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Sorry,” Ellie quickly replied, placing a hand on my shoulder as an apology and brace.
“No, it’s my bad,” I stammered. “I wasn’t expecting...”
My voice cracked a bit, but that’s not why I didn’t finish that thought. There was a lot going on. There was the surprise of seeing her again so soon, the joy of that bonus sighting, and the dread of being caught in such a personal state, staring at my engagement ring and the void of confusion that it carried where love should have been. We had narrowly dodged the matter earlier, and now, I was vulnerable again. I was at her mercy. All she had to do was take one step forward with another question about George.
The matter was quickly forgotten, however. In favor of the one that was really on her mind. “You haven’t heard from your sister yet, have you?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“Ellie, it’s been like twenty minutes,” I replied, only to be hit by a barrage of self-doubt. “Wait! Has it only been twenty minutes?”
I whipped my body around to face my computer screen and its small clock lurking in the lower corner. As it turns out, it had only been nineteen minutes. Close enough.
“Poor phrasing on my part, but I realized something,” Ellie replied. “You don’t have to wait for her to call you to know about her. I don’t think you should be the one to make contact, though. She’s on a self-discovery journey, and you shouldn’t undercut that. But if you still have the number of the cemetery keeper, you could call him and ask if he remembers anything she told him about herself like her name or where she’s from. Then we could look her up online. And Bob’s your uncle. We can see what kind of person she is.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. However, I didn’t say that right away. Instead, I met what she said with a nod of my head as I tried to regroup. Nothing she said was wrong, but it was the expression “Bob’s your uncle” that threw me off because it made me think of one of my dad’s two brothers. He had died a few months prior to that conversation, and it had been a bit of a “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” moment. Despite hardly ever drinking alcohol, I couldn’t resist marking that occasion with champagne.
Though it was because I was distracted, my inability to immediately jump on board with this plan forced her to justify it. “Face it, with your luck, she’s as much of an arse as the ones you already have. Wouldn’t you want to know ahead of time?”
“I do, but ‘Bob’s your uncle?’”
The last bit was said with a poor replication of her accent which earned me a soft punch on the arm. To Ellie’s credit, I had that. But with that done, I was willing to go along with this plan. I reached for my phone kept in the reappropriated keyboard tray beneath the desk that I refused to use for its intended purpose. It was just too low for me.
“I mean, who cleans out their contact list, am I right?” I added as I started scrolling through the long sea of names that made up mine.
I certainly wasn’t. I had about five hundred contacts in my phone. 75% were people I didn’t talk to anymore, 15% were professionals of various sorts that I was no longer a client off, and 10% were actually pertinent to my life, which meant I only needed fifty contacts. Had I deleted all the excess, it would have been easier to sort through the list, but I could not guarantee the groundskeeper at the cemetery in a town I had no intention of being buried in would have made the cut. After all, Grandma and Grandpa were taken care of, which was all I had cared about before that moment. The lesson here is that you never know when you might need someone, so maybe it is better to leave your options open and your contact list full.
The cemetery keeper wasn’t at the bottom of the list where a few flicks of my thumb could have taken me in moments but somewhere towards the middle. It took me a while to find him, but when I did, I hesitated because of course I did. Of course I found some reason to put off this plan of action. Was I really going to make a call like this at my desk? It wasn’t the best etiquette to step away and leave our pod unattended, but I could do it. And the worst thing they could do was fire me, which would be a slight overreach and also was not a thing I was particularly concerned about. But then Ellie crouched down beside me, in a posture that was quite obviously uncomfortable. Neither of us were that young anymore. There was a risk of being too demanding with our knees and back. Those things would make us pay for it soon enough. And she was pushing it, right then. Consequently, I felt the (imagined) pressure to get this done as soon as possible, for the sake of her joints. And that was the only push I needed.
My thumb slammed on the call command, and I lifted the phone to my ear, trying to be as nonchalant as possible but failing miserably per the ongoing themes of the story of my life.
“The other idea, now that I’m thinking about it, would be to call Erika to call the PI,” I pointed out. “Information is his job.”
The phone rang. My heart instinctively sank at the sound. Phone calls were not something I particularly enjoyed.
“Except Erika never turns her work brain off,” Ellie replied.
And she was right. Erika wouldn’t be properly tuned into the personal and almost difficult nature of this matter, and instead, she would go on and on about business or trends or work or the many things she could do to help me write (which I was not doing). And that’s the only thing I would take away from the conversation: that I was not writing, and I should have been writing.
The phone rang again. “We should have thought about what I was going to say,” I hissed in a whisper, harsher than I had ever intended to be with Ellie.
“Well, didn’t we?”
Not enough for me, I wanted to scream. I need my handheld as much as possible, and this was not holding my hand. Ellie’s one fault, as far as I could find any, was her tendency to trust that I was a fully functioning person. But I was not one, especially on the phone. Ellie started to reach for the notepad and pen I kept on my desk, but right as she was about to throw me a lifeline for a task that should not have been so difficult, the ringing stopped. A familiar albeit gruff voice greeted me.
I thought he said, “Hello,” but really he could have said anything. He could have insulted me for all I know, but for once, I chose to go with the path that is both the most logical and will cause the least amount of offense. So even if I can’t prove it, in my mind, he said, “Hello,” and nothing more.
“Hello Mr. Myers,” I replied.
Ellie raised her eyebrow and mouthed back, ‘Meyers? Like the actor?’
I gestured for her to give me the notepad while I talked. While that made things a little difficult, multitasking gave me a perverse comfort. That small thing made me feel more like myself and more in control of the moment.
“It’s Mia Vogel, Sarah and Ernst’s granddaughter,” I declared.
“Yes, Sweetie, I remember you. Sweet child you are, looking out for those two. You know, the Hynes Diner down the street’s got your book on display. A few of them. Lining that little window ledge out front.”
I chuckled. “I heard. They did it without asking me. I could have gotten them a bunch of copies for free had I known. I feel so bad about them spending the money.”
Meanwhile I was writing to Ellie a note that pointed out there were multiple actors out there with variations of the Myers surname. It’s a fairly common one.
“Well, they wanted to support you, Kiddo,” he cheered. “Family’s family.”
They were like my third cousins, removed at least once or twice, but no one was really sure. My grandmother was born a Hynes, we all knew that much. When she came to live with my parents and I, she wrote back to them frequently. And Mom and I kept the tradition going to honor her and her legacy, however disjointed that legacy was and despite all the details missing.
“Well, on that note, I guess,” I started. “I heard that there were people asking about me.”
“Yep. Oh you are one popular little missy. Bell of the ball. But none of ‘em was a suitor, now were they?”
He chuckled. And I winced a bit.
“I thought you all knew I was engaged,” I found myself saying, “but that’s not why I’m calling. I’m guessing one of them was an investigator for a background check from my agent, and he mentioned another person. A woman.”
Mr. Myers cleared his throat, and I felt his mood shift over the phone. He wasn’t thrilled to be bringing up this ghost again, and I had to convince him to do it, which wasn’t easy because he came from a generation that liked to disregard the opinions of women, but whatever, I could make it work. I knew his game.
“The investigator overheard what she said, which I know is a completely different problem, but...” On the fly, in that split second between the part of the sentence I knew to say and a justification strong enough to pull the answers out of him without sullying this tie or my reputation in that town (and my grandparents’ legacy because apparently those things are actually pretty flimsy), I came up with what I thought might be the perfect lie. “My dad... Well, he thought a girlfriend, or fiancée I think she was at the time, got pregnant and ran off with what could have been his kid. She wasn’t faithful, which is why she ran, but the kid might have been his and didn’t do anything to him. So he tried to track her down but never did but wasn’t sure enough to get an attorney to take him seriously.”
Ellie studied me carefully as I spoke. Could she tell I was lying? Did I want her to? I wasn’t sure. Maybe it didn’t matter in a more objective sense, but it mattered to me. There just wasn’t anything I could do about it; I was trapped in an ill-thought-out phone conversation in which my conversant subscribed to views I struggled with by sheer virtue of my identity. But I couldn’t deny that lying came easily to me. That the speech hastily constructed in a moment slipped from my tongue with ease. I wanted to deny it, but I couldn’t.
“I just want to make this right,” I said with a convincing sigh. “And I know you’re worried about me, and maybe think she’s trying to take advantage of me because good fortune brings out the worst in other people. That means so much to me. But I have to make things right for my dad. If she’s my sister–”
“Oh she’s your sister alright,” he suddenly said. “Or that’s your niece she was carting around with her. I can say that much.”
“I heard there was a strong resemblance.”
“That Asian mother of yours is a fine woman, and it’s a shame you got so much of your dad’s ugly mug. But everything you got from your mother, that kid got from Sarah Vogel. Maybe her daddy’s your brother. Or cousin. Hell if I know. But that’s your niece. Somehow.”
“And I want to do right by them. Like my dad would have if he was still alive.”
Mr. Myers sighed. A moment ticked by. In the interim, my heart was pounding, and I stopped breathing.
“I shouldn’t have doubted you for a minute, Mia,” he finally said. “You're Ernst’s grandkid, through and through.”
I nodded. He couldn’t see it, but the movement stifled the resulting flinch. And that worked for me.
“Do you remember anything about her?” I asked.
He hummed thoughtfully as he pulled at the memory lurking deep in the recesses of his mind. “I wish I had more to tell you, Kiddo. But I didn’t realize Will knew what was going on. She said her name was Lynette and her husband Lawrence, I think. Guy had a bit of an accent. It was hard to make out. But he seemed nice enough.”
I furiously scribbled away, recording every word I could. His ramblings helped, effectively stalling for time while I caught up.
“Your niece, now she’s a good apple, too. Her momma is raising her right as rain, I’ll tell you what. She stuck out her hand and introduced herself. Caroline Rhees-Assen. I think it’s one of those hyphenated, new-fangled names.”
“How old do you think she is?” I asked.
“Maybe thirteen? A little less. They said they drove in from Rhode Island.”
Smallest state of the union, I mentally cheered. It felt like a victory even if it wasn’t actually. But I mean, that’s, technically or in theory, a smaller population to sort through. That was a small advantage. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing.
I looked down at the notes Mr. Myers was able to give me. “Not much but not nothing” was an ongoing theme.
“Wish I could give you more, Kiddo. Shame your daddy ain’t here to help you.”
This time, I flinched in such a way that I couldn’t hide. “Yeah, well, you could say that about a lot of things. But I’ve got to get to it.”
“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t be a stranger now.”
Curses, I thought, that’s exactly what I wanted to be: a stranger. But I could never truly be one. That’s the nature of the family tree I fell out of: no matter how far you get, your roots always reach back to that same plant. They always point to what other people call your home even when you don’t want them to. They always led back to the thing you and your dad were running from. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
When the call ended, Ellie stood up and looked over my notepad. “Is that how he spelled ‘Lawrence’ to you?” she asked. “I’ve seen a few ways of doing it. Depending on where someone was from. The Dutch spelling comes to mind. And an accent? Do you think her husband is European?”
I shrugged. “Dude just said ‘accent.’ That could mean anything coming from him. But I’m sure if the guy wasn’t white, he’d say something.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow, a beginning to an objection I didn’t want her to make.
“Look, this guy was born in that town, and he’s going to die in it with only a few trips to the surrounding cities to treat himself. And nobody goes to visit that town if they don’t absolutely have to. You pick up certain habits in a place like that. You might not mean anything by it, but it is what it is.”
That was harsh. I knew that even as I said it, but I was tired and frustrated, and my stomach was twisting because with Ellie around it didn’t think digesting the meal I had just eaten was a priority. All in all, this was not a good time for me, and even if it wasn’t enough to justify slips of my tongue like that, they were bound to happen.
I pressed my hands against my face and sighed. When that was not satisfying enough, I briefly considered groaning into my hands, but alas, that would have brought other complications. So instead, I let out the smallest squeak and lifted my head.
“Ellie, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I confessed with a heavy voice.
She put a hand on my shoulder. The touch sent a spark down my spine. I masked the shiver, and thankfully, she didn’t notice.
“Hey,” she said. “We’re closer than we were. And I’m here for you.”
“I’m here for you” is a phrase that gets thrown around a lot. And I understand that there is something inevitable about its overuse and nothing malicious about it, but it’s still a shame because that’s the sort of expression that hits some need deep within us. It’s an assurance that soothes like no other salve can, and now it gets used so often as to mean almost nothing. And I desperately needed something, some sort of human connection, some sort of lifeline.
I wasn’t completely adrift, though. Ellie was there with me. Whether or not I could believe it, I could smell the distinct odor of her perfume. It was overtly floral with a strong spice underneath. Actually, the spice might have been from the tea she frequently drank and not her perfume. I doubt a perfume manufacturer would take the risk. Then again, I haven’t worn perfume consistently since I was twelve, so I have no room to talk. But if I did, I’d tell them to make something like that. Because it was comforting, even if I was a bit biased because of who I associated that smell with.
I took a deep breath, seeking out that perfume. I found it, but once the satisfaction waned, there was a bit of guilt. It felt like a violation of her in some regard, to demand something of her like that. But I was too far gone to care.
“Bob’s not my uncle,” I suddenly said.
And even though she used the expression first, the reference wasn’t clear. She stared at me blankly.
“This is not so easy. Like, I mean... I don’t... Ellie, I don’t...”
“We aren’t at that point yet,” she told me in a sing-songy voice. “We’ve still got to hit the digital pavement. Your place tonight?”
I didn’t get it.
So she explained, “We can start searching tonight or we can wait. And since you live closer, you should host.”
“Tonight,” I answered. “I’m not putting this off.”
With a grin and a slight chuckle, she nodded. “Got it. I’ll get the wine. You get the pizza.”
I winced. “You sure you don’t want me to get the wine. I mean, you always get the wine, and wine costs more than pizza.”
Ellie raised her eyebrow. “Why would I want you to get the wine? You’re terrible at picking wine.”
“Okay, yes, but also I’ll be the reason we’ll be drinking a lot of it. It just seems unfair to put the burden of mass wine acquisition on you when it’s my fault.”
Ellie twisted her mouth a bit, biting in a harsher version of whatever comment she was about to make. Some of that bite was then turned into a frustrated sigh. “Mia, you are absolutely terrible at picking wine. I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
She was not wrong. One time, I accidentally grabbed a non-alcoholic prosecco substitute, and I will never live it down. Sure, before that my wine reputation was not great, but with that, I solidified my status as absolutely clueless.
“Fair enough,” I mumbled. “Fair enough.”