Read Online Golden State: A Novel by Michelle Richmond - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michelle Richmond
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he wanted to play for me, he must have wondered the same thing.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m married to my college boyfriend,” I’d said last year, after a long argument that had left us both drained and weary. “It’s as though you think less of me for not doing the beer bong when I have finals in the morning.”
“And sometimes I feel like I’m married to my college professor,” he snapped. “Like you’re evaluating every move I make, judging whether or not I measure up.”
When your marriage breaks up, you look for easy answers. Not long ago, I was fooling around online when I came across an interesting study involving factory workers in Boston; it found that marriages in which one partner works the night shift and the other partner works the day shift are twice as likely to end in divorce. I forwarded the article to Tom, who sent back a one-word response, tongue-in-cheek:
bingo
.
Sometimes, a divorce is a series of failures piled one upon another, a laundry list of hurts and disappointments and missed communication, and other times, something big happens, some cataclysmic event that tests the foundations of your marriage. But how do you know, before it happens, whether or not you’re prepared? San Francisco burned in 1906 because the city was built of wood, and the existing infrastructure was unequipped to deal with the flames that followed the quake. The Bay Bridge collapsed in 1989 because it hadn’t been built properly to begin with. Californians are always waiting for the big one. In the hall closet, we have a large Rubbermaid box that serves as an emergency kit, containing water, canned food, first aid items, flashlights, important phone numbers, five hundred dollars in cash, and one of Tom’s hand-crank radios. But there’s no emergency kit for marriage. No neat plan you can turn to when the ground shifts beneath your feet.
10
“Last time I saw you,” Dennis says, “you and your sister weren’t exactly on speaking terms. What changed?”
“A lot,” I say, turning down the volume on the phone.
“ ‘A lot’? That’s all I get?”
Heather is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her stomach, trying to breathe through the pain.
“What do you want from me, Dennis?”
There’s a pause. “I’ve had a bad day. A really fucking bad day. I came to the hospital this morning to give you a birthday present, but when I got here, they gave me the runaround, like they always do. They told me you weren’t here.”
“I wasn’t.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. “They refused to page you. I went over to the hotel, but Eleanor said she hadn’t seen you.”
“She was telling the truth.”
“That’s the problem, Julie. I don’t know who’s telling the truth anymore. I can’t even be sure you are. Everything’s so fucked up.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Dennis. I’ve always been straight with you.”
“Remember how you used to tell me stories?” he asks. From the sound of his voice, he might be crying.
“I remember.”
“Tell me one now. Is that too much to ask? One last story before—”
“Before what?” I ask gently, and I’m scared.
But he doesn’t answer. I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line. “Don’t leave anything out,” he insists.
I glance at Heather. She is silent, staring at the wall.
I go into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. “She came back eight months ago,” I begin.
That morning at the VA, as Heather and I made our way down the trail behind the cafeteria, she stopped and turned to me.
“You asked why I’m here,” she said. “It’s this.” She placed a hand on her stomach.
“Jesus,” I said.
“Ha,” she quipped. “No immaculate conception here. Just your garden-variety mortal baby.”
“Congratulations.” I was struggling to wrap my mind around the idea.
“Thanks, but I’m not so sure congratulations are in order.”
“How far along?”
“Five weeks, give or take.”
“You’ve been to a
“Sometimes I feel like I’m married to my college boyfriend,” I’d said last year, after a long argument that had left us both drained and weary. “It’s as though you think less of me for not doing the beer bong when I have finals in the morning.”
“And sometimes I feel like I’m married to my college professor,” he snapped. “Like you’re evaluating every move I make, judging whether or not I measure up.”
When your marriage breaks up, you look for easy answers. Not long ago, I was fooling around online when I came across an interesting study involving factory workers in Boston; it found that marriages in which one partner works the night shift and the other partner works the day shift are twice as likely to end in divorce. I forwarded the article to Tom, who sent back a one-word response, tongue-in-cheek:
bingo
.
Sometimes, a divorce is a series of failures piled one upon another, a laundry list of hurts and disappointments and missed communication, and other times, something big happens, some cataclysmic event that tests the foundations of your marriage. But how do you know, before it happens, whether or not you’re prepared? San Francisco burned in 1906 because the city was built of wood, and the existing infrastructure was unequipped to deal with the flames that followed the quake. The Bay Bridge collapsed in 1989 because it hadn’t been built properly to begin with. Californians are always waiting for the big one. In the hall closet, we have a large Rubbermaid box that serves as an emergency kit, containing water, canned food, first aid items, flashlights, important phone numbers, five hundred dollars in cash, and one of Tom’s hand-crank radios. But there’s no emergency kit for marriage. No neat plan you can turn to when the ground shifts beneath your feet.
10
“Last time I saw you,” Dennis says, “you and your sister weren’t exactly on speaking terms. What changed?”
“A lot,” I say, turning down the volume on the phone.
“ ‘A lot’? That’s all I get?”
Heather is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her stomach, trying to breathe through the pain.
“What do you want from me, Dennis?”
There’s a pause. “I’ve had a bad day. A really fucking bad day. I came to the hospital this morning to give you a birthday present, but when I got here, they gave me the runaround, like they always do. They told me you weren’t here.”
“I wasn’t.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. “They refused to page you. I went over to the hotel, but Eleanor said she hadn’t seen you.”
“She was telling the truth.”
“That’s the problem, Julie. I don’t know who’s telling the truth anymore. I can’t even be sure you are. Everything’s so fucked up.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Dennis. I’ve always been straight with you.”
“Remember how you used to tell me stories?” he asks. From the sound of his voice, he might be crying.
“I remember.”
“Tell me one now. Is that too much to ask? One last story before—”
“Before what?” I ask gently, and I’m scared.
But he doesn’t answer. I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line. “Don’t leave anything out,” he insists.
I glance at Heather. She is silent, staring at the wall.
I go into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. “She came back eight months ago,” I begin.
That morning at the VA, as Heather and I made our way down the trail behind the cafeteria, she stopped and turned to me.
“You asked why I’m here,” she said. “It’s this.” She placed a hand on her stomach.
“Jesus,” I said.
“Ha,” she quipped. “No immaculate conception here. Just your garden-variety mortal baby.”
“Congratulations.” I was struggling to wrap my mind around the idea.
“Thanks, but I’m not so sure congratulations are in order.”
“How far along?”
“Five weeks, give or take.”
“You’ve been to a
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