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I bolted upright in bed and grabbed my phone. It was 5:07 a.m.
I dialed Mark as I glanced at his side of the bed. I ran my hand along our sheets and over the palm-print design of one throw pillow.
He picked up after one ring. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I sounded like I was gasping for air, which didn’t help convince him.
“What is it? Is it Ethan? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. It’s not Ethan. It’s, um, I’m sorry. Sorry for calling you like this. Sorry for... Well, I’m sorry for everything.”
“Okay. Uh, is that why you’re calling?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for calling. I’m going to go back to sleep now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I probably should have waited an hour, but I figured you were getting up soon.”
“Actually, no. I don’t have a commute anymore. I live in the city now, remember?”
“Right! Oh no, I’m so sorry, Mark.”
“It’s okay. Bye?”
“One more thing.” I tugged at a loose string on the edge of what used to be Mark’s pillowcase. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being a loving father and a decent man. For being a good person who would never hurt a fly. You have a tender soul, and it is a really admirable quality that isn’t valued enough in society, and—”
“Are you drunk?”
“No! God, no. It’s just, I realized we never had that really full, complete conversation. I just wanted to give you my own true, heartfelt apology. And I also wanted to say thank you. I am so grateful for all that you are and that you’ve been in my life. I wouldn’t take any of it back.” I wrapped the loose pillowcase string around my finger.
“You’re not going to, I don’t know, do anything?”
“No! I just wanted to say these things, and I couldn’t wait. I forgot you don’t have to catch a train anymore. Sorry.” I yanked the string free and rolled it between my fingers.
“Well, thank you for the apology. And you’re welcome.”
“Okay, then. Have a good day. Sorry again to wake you up so early.”
“Jada?”
I swallowed. “Yeah?” I braced myself for what he was about to say.
“It’s okay. All of it.”
Something about that caught me in the throat.
But before I could thank him for saying that, he said, “I haven’t been faithful either.”
My ears started to ring as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was like the little invisible person who’d been punching me in the throat was now punching me in the ear. “What?”
“Alana,” he said.
Alana. Of course.
“Have you slept together?”
“Only after I moved out.”
“Wait, that’s fairly recently,” I said, trying to piece it all together.
“We’ve been in love for a long time. Well, over a year. But it was never physical. I promise you. But we’ve been talking for a while about how to handle this.”
“How to leave me? And then I made it so convenient for you,” I said almost to myself.
I had been beating myself up about Todd. I made a fool of myself in front of everyone in a drunken confessional. And Mark had Alana the whole time. “I thought you thought our stagnant marriage was normal. If I’d only known you’d been plotting how to get out.” I kicked back the sheets and comforter.
“I did think it was normal. But then Alana and I would have these amazing conversations and talk late into the night, and I realized I didn’t want to go home—I wanted to stay with her.” I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel bad about bringing up divorce first,” he said.
I found my voice. “Yeah, what the fuck?”
“I became defensive. Even though that’s what I wanted too, it was still a rejection thing. I guess I’ve always kind of felt like you never thought I was cool enough for you, you never really liked me. You loved me maybe, at one time, but you never liked me. You thought I was a dork. And now you were rejecting me in the biggest way. It felt unfair. I should be rejecting you. Very immature, I know.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“I know. And now you know everything,” he said.
I flicked the pillow string that was still between my fingers to the floor. “Thank you.”
After we hung up, I stayed in bed, thinking, trying to wrap my head around what I’d just learned and all that had happened. Mark gets Alana. Todd will likely get to stay with Jessica. I get fired. And I get to have flashbacks of puking into a bag filled with wrapping paper.
Awhile later, when the sounds of Ethan “vrooming” came through the baby monitor, I walked to his room. But I also get Ethan. I sat on his bed. “What should we do today?” We’ve got all day, just you and your unemployed mother.
He didn’t look up from his trucks. “I don’t know.”
I called Joyce and let her know that we would be spending the day out of the house. Then I told her everything, including the fact that I wasn’t sure when I would find another job or how long we would be in this house. That all meant I wasn’t sure how long she would be working for us. I told her how sorry I was about that. It was a relief to let it all out but so hard to say the words to such a sweet lady who was the only person I trusted my child with.
“I see. I’m sorry to hear about all of this. Not just for me. I’m sorry for you too. You’re good people.”
“Are we?”
“Yes.” She laughed. “What you did for my mother, that was so nice.”
“That was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. You helped her. You helped me. The stress that was putting on all of us was killing us slowly. We think he was turning the breaker off. We know it. But no more, thanks to you. All the neighbors are so grateful. It was going on for too long.”
“I’m glad it worked out.”
“She has another neighbor in another building who is going through something else now.”
The old me would have said, “I don’t know if I have time, Joyce,” but I did have time. I had all the time in the world.
###
“DISHWASHA!” ROBERTA was in her seventies with hair dyed jet black and a cane with a crystal-encrusted handle. “How can ya rent a place to a person with a dishwasha that doesn’t work? But, ya know, hon, we’re just gettin’ stahted. Sit. What can I get ya?”
I sat down on her black couch, which she’d adorned with red pillows propped in each corner. “Water is fine. My mother has the same pillows.”
“Aren’t they beautiful pillows? Watah? I got soda. You don’t want a soda?”
“Sure. I’ll have a soda.”
“Ah-right. Hold on.” She disappeared into a pantry behind the kitchen and emerged with two cans of club soda in one hand against her chest, her cane in the other.
Over glasses of club soda and ice, I learned that Roberta was widowed. Her husband had died of a heart attack twenty years ago at age fifty-five. Her children were grown and had families, so she’d sold the house in Forest Hills to downsize.
“I mean, I didn’t wanna be callin’ my son every weekend. ‘Can ya mow the lawn? Can ya do this? Can ya do that?’ I thought a small apartment—ya know, it’s just me—would be perfect. But, oh Madonna mia, what a nightmare this has been.”
The dishwasher didn’t work, there was black mold along the windowsills, and when the sink was turned on, water seeped out of the pipes.
“Tell me about your landlord.” Don’t say Mr. Castilla. I think he’s probably blocked my number. Let it be another dirtbag.
“Oh! Forget it.” Roberta clutched her chest with her long red fingernails. “For startahs, he’s your age, a young man. But no time for me. No time to tawk when I call him. He’ll say, ‘Email me.’ And I don’t email. I don’t wanna be asking my kids to email for me. So I call him, and I can’t even get the words out before his secretary puts me through to his, you know, that recording thing. I leave a message, but then I never hear. He cashes my rent checks, though.”
“We’ll get him to respond,” I reassured Roberta.
“Aren’t you a doll?”
I pulled out my phone. “Do you mind if I take a few pictures?”
“Go to town, hon.”
###
ROBERTA WAS RIGHT. Her landlord did not answer phone calls and did not answer emails. And I left several. He was so elusive, like a scam artist who sells fake timeshares and then is untraceable.
So I dropped Ethan at my parents, telling them Joyce had to take the day off and I had to go to court in Queens. I still hadn’t told them about being fired. I planned to tell them eventually, but we still hadn’t talked about the party and all I’d revealed. One bombshell at a time.
Then I went to Roberta’s landlord’s office. It was on Queens Boulevard, above a nail salon and a taco place.
I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I knocked. No one answered. I opened the door. “Hello?”
The walls were wood-paneled, and the receptionist’s desk was black lacquer. There was no one there.
“Hello?”
From the looks of Roberta’s windowsills, I had a feeling I wasn’t dealing with an upstanding citizen. He could be the type to accuse me of stealing something from his reception area, so I shut the door and waited outside in the tiny hallway with stained carpet.
I sat on the top step, scrolled through my phone, and let an hour pass. Still nothing. I pulled out a pen and a page from my yellow legal pad.
“Dear Mr. Nadine, My name is Jada Marlone, and I am Roberta Russo’s attorney. I have left voice mails and emails about the things in her apartment that need to be fixed, but you have not responded. I have knocked and rang the doorbell, but it appears no one is available. I am downstairs at Tootie’s Tacos. Please come find me when you return. I am in a gray suit. Thank you.”
I knew he would probably not return any time soon and would ignore my note when he did. But why leave his door open? He must have just stepped out. Or maybe he was as careless about his office as he was about his tenants’ apartments.
At least I have all day.
I set up shop at Tootie’s and whipped out my laptop. To work on what? I have nothing to work on. Should I apply for jobs? Lawyer jobs? Where? How? I haven’t done this since law school. Is there a career services department for adults?
I scrolled through some job websites then checked social media, People magazine, and Vanity Fair, keeping my eye out for William Nadine. I had a vague idea of what he might look like from the ill-lit photo on his website.
I waited. I ordered tacos. I waited some more. Then I had an idea.
What am I best at? Being a lawyer? I wasn’t so bad. Standing up to people I feel have committed some wrong? Yes, and I’m trying to use it for good now. Internet stalking? Pro!
I went to Frontbook and found William Nadine in seconds, but his settings were private. I went to his friends list but couldn’t see anything. I studied the profile picture of him with someone who appeared to be his wife. They were arm in arm, standing on what appeared to be a boat dock. The comments were all the usual, “You guys look great!” I Googled each of the commenters’ names. None appeared to be a secretary or assistant.
So I examined his other cover photos. A generic sunset. A decorated Christmas tree. A boat in a dry dock. There was one comment on that one. “You’re not going to be able to park that on Queens Boulevard.” I searched the commenter’s name. She was a legal assistant. It was worth a try.
I searched her name again and “phone.” And just like that, I was calling Stacy Alina’s cell phone. I got her voice mail.
“Hi, Stacy.” I explained who I was and that I was looking for Mr. Nadine. I tried to sound friendly and vague enough for her to call back. After I left a message, I sat and waited some more.
Tootie’s had a clean bathroom, and Gerald behind the counter kept an eye on my things when I stepped away. He refilled my Diet Coke on the house throughout the day. But by the time it was dark, no one that looked like William or Stacy appeared to walk up the stairs to his office, and I was jittery from all the caffeine.
I was ready to give up. I used the bathroom one more time, and when I came out, Gerald was giddy. “The lady went inside.”
“Who?”
“Next door. Where you’re spying.”
“Oh! Well, not spying but... never mind. No time to explain. Thank you, Gerald.” I grabbed my things and ran out the door and up the steps. I had to grab the railing when I got to the top, just outside Mr. Nadine’s office.
I knocked and stepped in. “Hello?”
Stacy was startled. Her black hair appeared blue in the cheap office lighting, and her big brown eyes were wide with fear. “Who the fuck are you?”
What a warm reception, but who can blame her?
I caught my breath. “Hi. I’m sorry to scare you. I’m Jada Marlone. I’m looking for William Nadine. I left a note. And a voice mail. And emails. And I left you a voice mail, I believe.”
“Yeah, I got it. That’s why I had to come all the way here from Brooklyn. I’m sending her file to Mr. Nadine.”
“Great. Thank you. Please add a note from me that we’re holding Ms. Russo’s rent in escrow until the defects in my email are addressed. Do you want me to list them again?”
I waited for Stacy to grab a pen and a pad. I gave her all of the info and then said, “If all of the defects are not cleared by next Tuesday, I will be filing a complaint. If Mr. Nadine refuses to return phone calls or emails, the process server can just wait at Tootie’s and drink Diet Coke all day. That’s what I did.”
Stacy stopped writing. “How the hell did you get my personal cell phone number?”
It’s on the fucking internet. I shrugged and smiled. “I’m good like that.”
There was a bowl filled with green apples next to the Reception sign. Without taking my eyes off of her, I picked one up, bit it, and walked out. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I raced to the trash can on the corner to spit the apple bits out of my mouth. Ick. Knowing this landlord, they’re probably covered in dust and mold.
I drove to my parents’ house, and when I walked through the door, my mother quizzed me. “You had work to do until this hour? I fed Ethan. He’s watching TV. What is going on?”
“Sorry I’m so late.”
“You might as well sleep over at this point.”
“That’s okay.” I stepped toward the TV room. “Ethan, we’re going soon,” I called to him and then turned back to my mother. “But first, I have to talk to you. Sit down.” Then I called down to the basement. “Dad, can you come up here a minute?”
“You’re making me nervous,” my mother said. “My body can’t handle any more. What? What is it? You’re going to rehab?”
I sighed as my father walked into the room. “I barely ever drink, or I would have never gotten drunk like that after a few drinks. Listen, you know Mark moved out. He filed for divorce.”
My mother clutched her chest and shut her eyes. What did she expect?
“And I got fired.”
My mother dropped her head into her hands. My father nodded.
“I thought you recently got a promotion,” my mother said with her head still in her hands.
“I did, but something happened. I’ll tell you someday.”
“Please don’t.”
“Anyway, we’re going to have to sell the house for that reason, and because of the taxes, and Mark is paying rent in the city now. It’s a lot, and I was wondering if we could stay here for a little while.”
My mother lifted her head and opened her eyes. “With us?”
“Uh, yeah. You live here, don’t you?”
“Of course you can stay here,” my father said.
“Thank you. I’d like Ethan and me to be here, with you. Not forever, but just for some time. Maybe we’ll be moving back into the city, maybe back to Long Island.” If we’re going to move and be careful with money, why not be with family? It wasn’t like I had to pull Ethan out of a preschool he loved, though I knew he would miss Joyce. And he would miss Long Island at Play, but we could never return there anyway.
My mother glanced at my father as if making sure he was hearing this and then back at me. “I thought ya couldn’t stand us.”
“It’s that obvious?”
She shrugged.
“Well, I...” I tried to find the words. “I love you. And I’m sorry. And thank you,” I blurted out.
That was met with blank stares.
“I’m sorry if I’ve ever been anything but respectful to you. We have our differences of opinion and tastes, and I’m not always the most patient person—about some of the dumbest things sometimes, I know—but I’m sorry. And thank you. Thank you for everything. For raising me and putting a roof over my head, and uh, always cooking good food, and bringing meats and cheeses and pastry everywhere you go.”
“You’re thanking us for pastry?” my mother asked.
“You’re welcome, Jada. You don’t have to thank us,” my father said. “You can stay in the guest room.”
“I have all of Orly’s stuffed animals in there. On both beds,” my mother said. “All of those baby beanies.”
“Beanie Babies,” I corrected.
“Well, move them, Jo,” my father said. “They’re stuffed animals.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I guess I could put them in the other room.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”
“All right. I better get started on that,” she said. “There are so many.”
“I’ll move them, Ma.”
“No, no. They’re not heavy. And I’m not dead yet.”
“Thank you.”