Part 14 (1/2)

Below me, the same four cats I couldn't shake a few days ago are back, moving in and out of my stride as I try to walk. Jake notices and smiles. ”I love cats.”

”Must be a family thing,” I say.

”You don't?”

”Oh . . . they're so . . . loyal.” I trip over one of them and Jake catches me.

”They seem to like you.” He watches over his shoulder as they continue to trail us.

I change the subject. ”So. You've never been out of the office?”

”They exaggerate. Of course I go out.”

We walk by a homeless man I hardly notice. But Jake stops. I watch him pull out a card and hand it to the man. As the cats circle me (and not the homeless dude? seriously?), I vow to hold my tongue, but this is my point. A card? To a homeless man? I mean, what good is that going to do him? I mean, The Lord will keep you and make His face s.h.i.+ne upon you?

The dude needs a place to eat and sleep and an acknowledgment that- The man opens the card and a ten-dollar bill falls out. Jake smiles warmly at him and continues walking. I do, too, but I can't help but glance over my shoulder. The man has the money in one hand and is reading the card in the other. He smiles at something. I think there is a rainbow on the outside of the card, as best as I can tell. He closes it and stares at it.

”We are going to come up with something fresh for Valentine's Day.”

”To go with hearts, flowers, sunsets . . .”

”I don't know what I've been doing wrong.” He walks fast when he talks. I try to keep up. The cats even look drained. ”Maybe I've been forgetting to connect with people.”

Ah hah! ”I think you're on to something, Jake.”

He stops, turns to me. The cats come to a screeching halt, watching us. ”We'll hit every romantic hot spot in the city.”

”Oh, uh . . .” It all comes back to me at once, every romantic place Sam and I ever went. I blink, trying to shake all the images. Restaurants. The river. The barbecue pit (a risky one but it was so fun). Jazz concerts. A balloon ride.

”And we're starting with the Empire State Building!”

He hands me a note pad and pen.

If we weren't outside, I'd rush to the bathroom.

I realize I have no scientific evidence for this, but I think mothers have a special power over daughters. It comes in a lot of different forms, but perhaps the root of it stems from the same place-regret from their own lives.

It's like they can will things on their daughters that they wished for themselves. My mother-as strange as she is-is no exception. She and my father met on a farm, but I always suspected she wished she had a better story to tell.

Jake is asking me if I'm afraid of heights. Apparently I'm turning white and making tiny gasping noises that sound as if air is leaking from my belly b.u.t.ton. No, it's not the height I'm afraid of.

It's the irony.

Listen, I'm a fan of irony. And it comes in many forms. Verbal irony is sarcasm. I've got hundreds of cards based solely on verbal irony. It's probably way overused in my life.

There's dramatic irony, when a reader understands more about the events of a story than a character. Obviously that has nothing to do with me, but thought I'd throw it in there.

Then there is situational irony. That's what I'm knee-deep in right now. Situational irony is when what actually happens is the opposite of what is expected. To be blunt, I was not expecting to be at the Empire State Building writing love cards.

There's also a lesser-known irony-let's call it the crazy-cousin-n.o.body-invites-to-the-dinner-parties: cosmic irony. For me, that's the line between human desires and the harsh realities of real life. It's when you feel like you have control over your life when in fact you really don't. Call it G.o.d or Fate or whatever you will, but the fact of the matter is, there's an influence far beyond what you can perceive.

That's the kind of irony to avoid. When it comes knocking, lock the doors and windows and hide.

It's also generally helpful to avoid expectations at all costs.

I have learned this the hard way.

We board the elevator and zoom to the top of the Empire State Building. The elevator doors open. Everyone exits but me. I peek out. I'm not sure what I'm looking for or hoping not to see. Well, I guess I'm partly hoping against a cute guy looking for a girl to ask out. But I notice nothing but couples. Lots of them. I quickly follow Jake.

”Let's watch these people, imagine what they'd like to hear through a card.”

We both spot a couple nearby holding hands and gazing out at New York City.

”What do they need to hear?” I ask him.

”Write this down,” he says. And then he kind of slips into a weird trance. He stares forward, his eyes a little more open than normal, and he goes monotone on me. ”*Your hand is mine to hold for years. I'll never leave, through smiles or tears. And when mountains move our way-together we'll climb each step, each day.'” He turns to me, wistfully. His expression drops. ”You're not writing.”

”You're not serious,” I say, but instantly I know otherwise. ”You're serious? You want me to use precious and limited company ink in the midst of unpredictable finances to write that down?”

I bite down on the pen because instantly I know I have hurt him. Ugh. Why do I have to open my mouth so much, say exactly what's on my mind?

”You really don't like it, do you?” He gazes at me with eyes so vulnerable I'm afraid that they might fall right out of their sockets. I've already got a b.l.o.o.d.y emotional mess on my hands. I don't need this.

”Jake, no . . . seriously, I do . . . I love mountains . . . it's just-”

”You don't have to feign.”

But I can't help it, I continue to gush out a heck of a backpedal. ”Not many people can rhyme on cue. And you . . . you have the biggest heart. It's the clue department that needs a defibrillator.” Wow. That didn't come out right. ”Look, not every guy is ready to climb that mountain with a girl. Even if he buys her the card that says he will.”

I've said too much. I know he can see it in my eyes. There is a place deep in my heart where that is true and it's just come right out in my words. I'm forced to divert. ”Ah . . . yeah, see that couple over there?”

Jake looks.

A girl and a guy, in their twenties, stand nearby. They appear to be feuding. I try a playful approach. ”Go recite what you think they need to hear in a card. See how they respond. If it works, I'll give you a dollar.”

He smiled a little. ”A whole dollar?” He pretends to think. ”Hmm. You're on.”

Wow. Didn't see that coming. I was just trying to avoid a conversation about who didn't climb what mountain in my life. But I like the bet. Jake needs to see in real time what happens when he spouts off one of his poems, one of his grand proclamations of love.

He strolls over. I can hear the guy's voice rising as the couple argues. ”I'm not trying to be insensitive. I just can't win with you!”

Jake approaches. I want to duck and hide behind something, but the only thing available is an elderly couple I'm bound to spook if I huddle at their legs.

”Excuse me,” Jake says.

The couple stops arguing, looks at him, both with sour and pinched expressions.

Jake is very casual, not the least bit nervous. ”If there were a card shop up here, he'd buy one for you that expresses his love.”