Part 24 (2/2)
”I'm really sorry about all that.” It was the best she could do in the moment.
”It was an interesting night.” Edward leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ”Good luck with your electricity situation.” Evie wondered what happened to ”We'll deal with this in the morning.”
”Thanks. So we'll talk soon?” Evie said, hating that her voice climbed about eight octaves.
”Of course,” Edward said, waving from the door to her bedroom.
When she heard the front door close, she let out a guttural ”Arghhh.” It was a h.e.l.l of a way to start the new year.
After tearing apart every cabinet and drawer looking for correspondence from Con Ed, she finally found a letter confirming activation of a new account buried deep in her night table. After a torturous ten minutes on hold listening to Donna Summer's ”Bad Girls” on repeat, the customer service representative explained that their system had been hacked and everyone's stored credit card information lost. Her power was shut off because she hadn't paid a bill in three months.
”Why didn't you call me to get my payment information? I deserved a warning,” Evie demanded.
”Ma'am, it says in your file you specifically refused to give us your phone number. You asked to be contacted only via e-mail.”
”I see,” Evie said, shrinking on her end of the phone.
”And, ma'am, did you not receive the letters we sent you in the mail?”
Letters? She must have dumped them along with her junk mail. She'd never needed to open anything before to have light in her apartment. Maybe she didn't have Internet service either. She had no idea. Just six months earlier, an Internet outage would have sent her scaling rooftops in search of a signal. Now she was truly unaffected.
”My neighbor steals my mail. Can you turn my power back on?”
The lights flickered moments after she gave the representative her credit card number. Relieved, Evie went to the kitchen in search of carbs to soak up the alcohol residue. Luckily she found a box of English m.u.f.fins on the counter. As she chewed her way through the nooks and crannies, she thought back to the day she moved into her apartment.
Paul was there. He was helping move her stuff out of her Columbia Law School dorm and into a new rental apartment, the place she still called home today. After three long years. .h.i.tting the books in Morningside Heights, Evie was moving to the Upper West Side, arriving in the ”real” Manhattan a single girl with a J.D. on the wall, a sophisticated job, great friends, and members.h.i.+p in the twenty-something club. The threshold of her new abode lay rife with possibilities, and Paul was there to help move her into the next chapter. It was a quid pro quo for Evie setting him up with Marco, who at that point Paul was still calling ”the guy with the hottest body I've ever met.” Nowadays Paul referred to his husband as ”Mr. Love Handles,” even though Marco was at most three pounds overweight. In some ways that day seemed light-years away from her current station, but in other ways it was very much the same-she was, again, finding herself at a crossroads.
Move-in day had been exhausting. She remembered sprawling out on her new couch with a dish towel spread over her eyes. Paul was still bustling around, shelving her plates and hanging her clothes (the latter with ample commentary). It was a boiling hot summer day and both of them were drenched in sweat. The strong AC promised by the building's in-house real estate broker was not showing its best self.
”Now we need to set up your cable, Internet, and electric, okay?” Paul said.
Evie had just groaned and pa.s.sed Paul some paper that had come inside her lease package.
”You want me to do this?” Paul asked, incredulous.
”Marco,” was all Evie said, to remind him of what brought him to her apartment in the first place.
”Fine,” he grumbled and got to work. ”But not because of Marco. Because you are a great friend and I love you.”
The memory hurt.
She suddenly needed to see Paul at once, to wrap her arms around him and offer a heartfelt apology for her lukewarm reaction to his baby news. She still hadn't met Maya. The Edward situation may have gone haywire, but that didn't mean she couldn't right another wrong today. She reached for her phone.
”Paul, it's Evie. I know you're p.i.s.sed at me, but I really miss you and want to meet the baby. I'm coming over,” she said to his voicemail. Sending a contrite e-mail would have been a million times easier, but a one-way conversation would have been a cop-out. Whether Paul would have accepted it was beside the point. He deserved an apology face-to-face.
She grabbed her coat and headed downtown in a cab. The streets of New York City on January first were the perfect tableau of heartbreak. Singles walked with heads hung low, dressed in their party attire from the night before, cursing themselves for already breaking their top New Year's resolutions: (1) cut back on drinking; (2) no more one-night stands; (3) get eight hours of sleep a night; and (4) exercise every morning. Couples too looked out of sorts-fighting about where to have brunch or gossiping about the other guests at the New Year's Eve party they attended out of obligation. Almost everything was closed on New Year's Day except for restaurants, and the city dwellers didn't know what to do with their free time except gorge themselves and overthink their lives.
When she arrived, Marco answered the door of their third-floor walk-up carrying a swaddled infant in his arms. She was more blanket than baby at this point.
”Hi, Evie,” he said. ”Happy new year. Meet Maya.”
She melted at the vision of the newborn baby girl wrapped in her pink cashmere coc.o.o.n, eyes closed and rosy cheeks puffed out, crimson lips in the shape of a rosebud.
”She's gorgeous,” Evie gasped, and threw her arms around Marco.
”Thank you,” he said through a big smile and motioned her inside.
”My G.o.d, I haven't been here in a while,” she said. Their apartment had been transformed from a sleek and modern oasis into a shrine to Buy Buy Baby. Everywhere she looked, she saw baby swings, bouncy seats, playmats, blankets, toys, and books all in the brightest shades of pink, purple, and yellow.
”We went a little overboard,” Marco said, registering Evie's look of horror.
”No, no, it's great. It's just a big change.”
”Let me show you the baby's room,” Marco said. ”Paul went to the hardware store to bribe someone to help put the crib together. He won't be back for another hour at least. Transitioning Maya from her Moses basket to a proper crib was our New Year's resolution.”
Maya's room was bright and cheerful, the walls painted in Pepto-Bismol pink. But bags of unopened toys and adornments lay everywhere, including a lamp shaped like a lamb and a tall stack of animal decals still in their shrink-wrap. Evie never understood why jungle animals were a part of every baby's early education. How often in real life were most kids going to encounter a giraffe? The large pieces of furniture, a changing table, a sweet love seat in crushed ivory velvet, and a rocking chair in chocolate brown suede, were situated oddly in the center of the room.
”You said he'll be gone for an hour?” Evie asked, looking at Marco as he adjusted the blanket to cover Maya's exposed toes.
”At least. He didn't even know where to find a hardware store. Come to think of it, I doubt they're open on New Year's Day anyway.”
”Take Maya for a walk, okay? I've got some stuff to do here,” Evie said, gently pus.h.i.+ng Marco out of the room and toward the stroller.
”You sure?” Marco asked.
Evie nodded.
”One hundred percent. I owe this to Paul,” she said. ”Let me do this for him. And for you.”
Marco just whispered thank you and set off with a well-bundled Maya.
Closing her eyes in the style of Julianne Holmes-Matthews, she took a moment to visualize the room taking shape. Behind closed lids, she saw the glider gravitate to the window and the crib migrate to the west wall. The stuffed animals took their positions, the oversize giraffe standing sentry by the door. The toy chest found its way into the closet. Opening her eyes with a plan in mind, she got to work. Evie resituated the furniture and hung the decals around the room in a thoughtful, but not overly stylized, fas.h.i.+on. She a.s.sembled the lamp and rolled out the area rug and put the tiny toys and board books out on the shelves. It was like doing exactly what Paul had done for her move years earlier, but with miniatures.
The work proved to be an effective distraction from her New Year's date with Edward (and her hangover) until she recognized an oversize plush Minnie Mouse similar to one in Olivia's room. It had been over a week since their horse and carriage ride. She longed to cool Olivia's hot chocolate with her breath and ride next to her at the carousel in Central Park. She found a precious princess clock in one of the shopping bags from Toys ”R” Us that she was sure Olivia would adore and vowed to pick one up for her later that day. When, and if, she'd be able to deliver it to her was another story.
When she heard the key in the door, Evie felt sufficiently pleased with her progress.
”Oh my G.o.d,” Paul gasped when he saw the transformation. ”Evie, this is unreal.” He went over and swept her into a big hug. ”Marco texted me that you were here and that I shouldn't come home for another hour. I knew you'd work magic in here.”
”You're welcome,” she said. ”I've been an a.s.s. I'm really, really sorry for being so selfish. But with my grandma sick and my job situation sucking and my love life having been nonexistent until recently and Jack getting married . . . You know what? I shouldn't make any ex-”
Paul stopped her by putting his finger to her mouth.
”Evie, it's okay. Maya's room looks incredible. Let's just call it even, okay?” Only in the context of a really old friends.h.i.+p could schadenfreude be forgiven in exchange for a freshly decorated baby room. Eight years ago she and Paul had bartered a New York City apartment move-in for a setup.
”I appreciate that,” Evie said, but Paul didn't seem to hear. He was inspecting his daughter's new room with an ear-to-ear grin.
<script>