Chapter 3
THREE
Jess
December 25, 2012
It would be a bald-faced lie to say I haven’t thought about my phone call with Amy’s husband at least once a week. It’s stuck with me for some reason, and I can’t shake the nagging feeling tugging at me. Pulling me.
So with nothing to lose, I text Alexander via Amy’s phone.
Jess
I just wanted to say Merry Christmas. How are you doing?
Amy
Merry Christmas. Fine.
I’m doing fine, too. Thanks for asking. What are your plans for the holiday?
I’m sleeping in a crappy hostel in Istanbul. The plan is to wake up tomorrow.
Right. Sounds dreamy. Why Istanbul?
Work.
Ahh, super spy or something, right?
Or something. If I was a super spy, I wouldn’t have told you I was in Istanbul though.
Well, maybe it’s a ruse? Throw prying eyes off your scent?
That’s not how that works…
Okay, well, glad to hear you’re surviving if not thriving on your European holiday.
Also, not a holiday, but thanks.
??
April 15, 2013
Jess
Hello. Just checking in to see how you are?
Amy
Fine.
...
?
I’m fine, too, thanks for asking.
Great.
It’s her birthday today.
I know.
So I’m just checking in to see how you are.
I said I was fine.
Right you are. ??
September 18, 2013
Jess
Hi. How are you?
Amy
Fine.
…
And how are you?
Better now, thank you. (Also, I’m fine.)
I’m reaching out because I wanted to know where Amy and Tallulah are buried?
Fairfax Memorial Park. Ketterman plot.
Thank you.
September 22, 2013
It’s sunny today. And hot. And humid as fuck. Whenever I imagine coming to a cemetery, I always think it should be overcast, cold, maybe rainy, but it never is. Even when I’ve visited my Dad, the weather’s always been excellent. Well, maybe not excellent, but like, not shitty. I’ve never needed an umbrella, and isn’t that always how it is in the movies? Someone dressed in black, hovering over a gravestone as rain drops plop down on their umbrella?
Well, I’m not wearing black today either. I love black, but today I felt like putting on something sunshine-y for Amy. For her little girl. I chose a wispy, floral dress from this new brand, Reformation. It looks like something Amy would have picked out for me. The buttery yellow color pops against my olive skin and hair. My dark brown (heat absorbing) hair is pulled back in a half-up do, leaving humidity dampened waves falling to the middle of my back.
I feel like Amy would have approved the whole look.
I didn’t go to her funeral, obviously, and I couldn’t make it last year. I was too busy settling into my new job (read: trying not to get fired) to break away. But I wanted to do this, and decided I would visit her today. To pay my respects for a life cut far too short, and say thanks for the time she spent with me. May even let me borrow the Volvo so I could take my time. Said this way, I could be without an agenda today. It was nice of her.
The drive down is about five hours, NYC to DC. Well, northern Virginia. I could’ve taken a train, but then getting between the train and the cemetery, timing it all, driving just won out in the end. And the drive wasn’t terrible either. I listened to a 90s throwback playlist, stopped for coffee, and got flowers — two bouquets. One primarily whites and yellows, sof t and buttery like Amy. And for Tallulah, I got pinks and oranges. I imagine she was just as sweet as Amy, but more vibrant.
I’d called ahead for a map and the placement of their headstones, avoiding hours wandering aimlessly. So when I arrive, it’s a quick park and a short walk to where the Kettermans’ plots are located.
The cemetery is hilly, and a bit…idyllic? Weird thing to think about a cemetery, but it’s true. There’s large oak trees scattered throughout the grounds offering shade and the hills roll gently, luring you in to meander through the neat rows of graves. That’s weird to think, right? Right.
When I get to their row, I divert my gaze to the ground and start looking for their names. Horace Ketterman, Eunice Ketterman, and on and on until …Amy Palomino and Tallulah Palomino. They share a headstone, and a grave. I don’t know why that makes me feel grateful, but I am, thankful, that she’s not alone. She was an only child just like me. We bonded over that at a family reunion once.
My eyes well with water, but I don’t really want to let loose any tears, so I don’t. I sniffle a bit and hold them in.
Dropping to my knees, I let my purse fall on the soft grass and start arranging the flowers around their gravestone. While I do, I talk to her. To them.
Hi, Ames. I’m sorry I didn’t make it here sooner. I didn’t know. See, my dad died. And I don’t know if you knew that, but I guess if you see him, tell him I said hi.
I’m so sorry that you’re here, Amy. I’m sorry that you had to experience that day…with your baby, but I’m glad you’re together. Your own little girl gang, right?
Remember when we formed that girl gang at Pops’ 80th birthday par ty? Why were all the boys in our family such pricks? Doesn’t matter, we kicked their ass in flag football, and I think Pops had never been so proud to have granddaughters than he did that day.
I’m really sorry we lost touch somewhere along the way. I would’ve loved to have known Tallulah June. June , that wasn’t for me? Was it? I don’t think it was, but I can pretend, and that makes me love your little girl even more than I possibly could have already.
I sit back from my floral arranging and run my fingers over the engraved headstone. It’s something I do when I visit my dad as well. I trace his name, Robert Butera, over and over. But here, today, I trace Tallulah June Palomino’s name just once. I think, more than anything, I feel the most sorry for never meeting her daughter. I can’t place the feeling for why that is…
“Ahem.” A deep clearing of the throat startles me and my shoulders shoot up. I turn around to find a man standing a few feet back, watching me. I didn’t even hear him approach. He doesn’t come bearing flowers, or anything, and my hackles rise for a second since there’s no one else around. It’s broad daylight, and this is not New York , I remind myself.
I stand, dusting off my dress, and turn towards the man who has moved closer.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Just waiting my turn to pay my respects,” he says to me in a voice I think I recognize.
“Alexander?” I ask. Even though we’ve texted, he’s never told me his name. But I looked up the obituary after that phone call and learned that Amy’s married name was Amy Palomino, survived by Alexander Palomino. The same Alexander Pa lomino who’s been awarded practically every medal for valor except the medal of honor. I’ve never seen pictures of him. He’s not on social media. (I looked.) He’s got a quiet presence in this world if he even has one at all. And everything I have found of him is written in Amy and Tallulah’s obituary.
He looks down slightly, maybe bashfully or ashamed? Before he looks up at me and nods, replying simply with, “Alex.”
I extend my hand to him.
“I’m Jess, Amy’s cousin.” I nod over my shoulder to the gravestone. Like an idiot. He nods, too, taking my hand in his and it’s like my hand gets swallowed by a bear’s paw. It’s massive, making me feel even smaller than I already do. I’m just some lowly cousin, taking up space and time at his wife’s and daughter’s grave on the anniversary of their deaths.
“Nice to meet you.” I give him a smile, then grab my purse. “I’ll leave you three alone.”
He doesn’t say anything in response, just a gentle nod and I make my way down the hill towards the Volvo. Sliding into the car, I sit there and watch him. I watch the way he takes off his baseball hat and folds the bill over and over. I watch how he runs his big hands through his sandy colored hair. I watch him crouch down, his massive thighs straining against his blue jeans.
I see the way his eyes never leave that gravestone. I see how much love he pours out from his soul. I see a man mourning, deeply, the loss of his two greatest loves and I see how that must be one of the most unbearable types of grief.
Feeling like an intruder when I do this, I pull out my phone and take a picture of this man crouched and hovering over their g raves. There’s something about the moment I don’t ever want to forget. Just another reminder of our fleeting presence here. (Just a reminder that a love like that exists.)
I pull out of my parking space and drive away, checking the rear view multiple times and never once see him shift, move, or drop his gaze away from their headstones.
September 23, 2013
Jess
Why don’t you disconnect this phone line?
Amy
So that I can call and hear the voicemail recording no matter when or where I am.
Oh.
Do you always carry the phone around with you, too? You always reply pretty quickly.
Yes.
It was nice to finally meet you, put a face to the name.
Same.
December 25, 2013
Jess
Merry Christmas. How are you?
Amy
Merry Christmas. Fine.
Fine and…
How are you?
I’m okay.
Just okay?
Weird day. It’s a bad day for one of my moms, which means it’s a bad day for my other mom. And it’s Christmas. So it’s hard.
Sorry.
It could be worse. It could always be worse.
Yes, it can.
September 22, 2014
Jess
Hi.
Amy
Hey.
Will you be visiting them today?
Yes.
Do you go every year?
If I’m in the country, yes.
Okay, I hope the day is kind for you.
Thnks .
December 25, 2014
Jess
Merry Christmas
Amy
Merry Christmas.
How are you?
And so the student finally becomes the master.
Haha. I’m good. Today’s a good day for my mom. So that means it’s a good day for both of my moms and, well, it’s Christmas.
Good.
What does that mean? Good day? Bad day?
A good day is when my mom can remember me, can remember her wife, and can forget that some days she can’t remember us at all. A bad day is when she doesn’t remember. Sometimes it's me, sometimes it’s my other mom, May. Sometimes it's everyone.
Sorry to hear that.
It could be worse and today’s a good day. Right?
Right.
How are you? Stuck in some five-star resort in Indonesia?
Ha! Nope. In rural Georgia, doing training.
Did, did you just…laugh?
Not out loud.
Okay…
September 23, 2015
Jess
Hi. How are you?
Amy
Fine.
How was yesterday?
I’m out of the country.
I’m sorry. You should have told me. I would have gone in your place.
You would have?
Yes.
December 25, 2015
Amy
Merry Christmas. Good day or bad day?
Jess
You have rendered me speechless.
You just messaged me…of your own accord.
I did. Good day or bad day?
An okay day. We don’t get many good days anymore. Just okay.
I’m sorry.
It could be worse.
Always.
How are you?
Fine.
Really?
Tally would have been almost 7.
Tally, that’s beautiful. What was she like?
Quiet. Sweet. Full of life.
Sounds like her mom.
Yes.
Is today a good day or a bad day?
It’s actually a good day. I don’t talk about them. With anyone. Except sometimes my shrink. He’ll be thrilled to hear about this conversation actually.
Then good. I’m glad.
September 20, 2016
Amy
I’m stuck. I might not be able to make it this year. Can you?
Jess
I think so.
I can make it work.
Thnks.
September 22, 2016
Today it's cold and overcast. Not perfect “cemetery weather” exactly, but close to it.
Aside from the weather, it’s the same drill as last time. May lets me take the Volvo. I listen to Prince for the majority of the drive. I make a stop for coffee, then two bouquets of flowers.
Since the weather is drab, I opt for brighter blooms than last time. This time, I do bright yellows and oranges for Amy. And for Tally, bright pink and purples.
I wear my saddle-colored Rag and Bone booties with a dark purple DVF wrap dress. My hair is down and loose, adding warmth to my neck on this 50-degree, gloomy day and when I get out of the car to walk the short distance to their graves, I slip into my long Ralph Lauren, wool coat.
It’s a quintessential fall day this time. There’s a breeze rustling, turning leaves off the trees surrounding the neat rows of headstones. And when the wind whisks up and around my coat, I start walking more briskly to avoid getting too cold.
Kneeling down on the cool grass, I start by arranging the flowers. Yellows and oranges surround the side with Amy’s name and p inks and purples surround the side with Tally’s name. While I do, I talk to both of them this time.
Hi, girls! It’s cold out here today. Feels like my nipples could practically cut glass! I know, Amy. Language. But I think Tally is old enough for some girl talk now, right? Remember that summer you were a senior in high school and I was only a freshman, and you took me with you to that kegger?
See, Tally, I’m not the only one who can be a bad influence. I giggle a bit out loud. Shall I catch you up on my life then? Let’s see here…Antony broke up with me last month. Said I didn’t have enough time for him anymore. He’s right. I don’t have time for bullshit.
Language! I know!
I’m working for a stylist right now. She does a lot of actors and actresses. A lot of work on broadway. And you want to know something? I hate it. I hate all of it. If I never steam another piece of clothing in my life, I think I could be really happy.
But I live in New York, rent free (still), and I have a couple close friends who I go out with occasionally. I have entirely too much casual sex. (Tally, ear muffs.) Actually, there’s no such thing, Amy. The sex is good, almost glad Antony broke it off because it was getting a bit stale, to be honest.
Okay, Tally, un-earmuff yourself. I hope wherever you two are today, it’s warm and sunshiney, just like the both of you.
I trace both their names silently, then dust my hands off and move to stand.
The warmth I feel at my back startles me, and he grips the back of my arms to steady me.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says in that gruff tone of his. I whip around and come face to face (in actuality, it’s face to chest) with Alexander Palomino.
I look up at him and he looks different now. He’s got a full beard that’s neatly trimmed, a deep tan, and he looks like he’s packed on an extra 50 pounds of muscle. He was broad and large before, but now he’s larger than life. A real Thor amongst men.
“You made it,” I say, staring up at him.
“Came straight from the airport,” he says. I nod.
“Good.” I give him a quick smile. “I’ll let the three of you be alone now.”
“You could stay…if you want,” he says to me. But I don’t want. There’s a pull here, oddly , but I think back to the last time I came. When I watched him silently pour his heart out to the ground beneath him, and I don’t want to intrude on that. This is his special place. Their special place.
I gently shake my head, and I can’t tell with his beard, but I think his face falls slightly. “I’ll see you around, Alex,” I say and walk down the small hill.
When I get to the car, and slide into the driver’s seat, I take a moment to admire him. What? No. Not admire. Just look. I was just looking at him. And then he turns and looks at me. And my cheeks feel hot. The fuck?
I don’t think he can really see my facial expressions from this distance, but I give a sort of smile and a wave and I pull out of my parking spot. Glancing back in the rear view, I watch him watch me drive away.
December 26, 2016
Amy
I’m guessing yesterday was a bad day? Merry (late) Christmas.
Jess
It was one of the worst bad days.
Sorry to hear.
Good day or bad day for you?
It was an okay day. I was surprised I didn’t hear from you.
Sorry.
No need.
Okay.
Let me know if you need anything.
A vacation.
Ok…
I’m not literally asking you for a vacation. Calm down.
Ha, okay.
Was that “ha” out loud?
You know what, I actually think it was.
Oh my gawd. That means today is a good day because I made Alexander Palomino laugh. No matter what.
Happy to be of service.
Thank you. Truly.
I should be the one thanking you. For showing up.
No need.
February 24, 2017
Jess
Today has been the worst day.
Amy
What’s wrong?
My mom, Julia, passed away today.
I’m sorry.
Can I do anything?
No, nothing. I just…needed to tell someone who would understand.
Okay. If you want to talk, you could always call me.
On your late wife’s phone?
571.300.6820
Anytime, Jess.
June 6, 2017
Jess
I’m thinking about moving
Also, this is Jess .
Alex
Where to?
And I knew who it was, Jess.
DC?
Why DC?
It’s still a city, but it’s not New York. Boston is too cold for me, and I don’t really love the idea of living in Pennsylvania.
Do you live in NYC now?
Yes.
Why would you want to leave the greatest city on Earth?
One: right?! It is the greatest city. But two, if I’m honest, it’s a couple reasons. I don’t want to walk through my city and only think about the absence of someone from it. At the same time, I don’t want to walk around the corner and not have a single person know my name or face. I used to live for the anonymity, but now…I want something different. I want to start over. Be someone else.
Whoa whoa, I think you just broke my phone with all those words you’re throwing out there.
Too much?
No, I got excited. It’s the most you’ve shared with me before.
You don’t share much with me.
I share the most with you.
That can’t be right. And those are not butterflies I just felt right now. No. It’s just that I’ve never had a guy friend before. That’s just a friend. But I think that’s what Alexander has become to me. A friend. I push the butterflies down, those misdirected pests.
I’m honored to be that friend for you then.
Are you local to DC?
Sometimes. I have family that live there. Lots of people in my professional network. A lot of friends, too.
Well, if you hear of any job openings in your professional network, let me know?
Will do.
Ale x
June 17, 2017
A
Hey.
J
Hi.
I know of a job opening coming up at the start of September. It's an assistant to the head of UX design for a tech company. She’s a good boss. Benefits are great. She doesn’t really need you to have experience with web/app design, just have to have an eye for design.
Seriously?
Yes.
Um, I’d love an intro!
Okay, I’ll forward you the opening once it comes up.
Thank you, seriously.
How are you?
I’m doing okay. Packing up my dad’s house to sell it. Bigger project than I thought it would be.
Your dad?
He passed away about a year before Amy. I’m just now getting around to closing out his affairs.
I just didn’t realize your dad was in the picture, that’s all.
He was.
How are you?
Same as always.
You’re just always fine?
If I say yes, would you believe me?
No
Okay then, no. But I work in a high stress environment and I don’t really have the option to not be okay because there are other people depending on me being fine. They need me to be better than fine. So I just sort of am fine. All the time.
Sounds tough. Do you ever take breaks?
Only when they’re mandated.
Sure.
That’s a no then, ha!
Since when do you think you know me?
I don’t know. It just sort of happened.
Huh. It just sort of happens that you’re getting by, and then one day you realize she didn’t text you on Christmas and you panic. You think maybe she got in a car accident and you’re stressed and freaking out, and you think why the hell am I freaking out about this and then it hits you. Because somewhere along the way, it just sort of happened that this woman wormed her way into my cold, dead heart. Fuck.