Chapter 26 New Year’s Eve #2
I get up obediently and mumble something about how nice it was to meet them all and rush to catch up with Carol.
Her eyes are darting around the ballroom.
She breathes a sigh of relief when she spots Oliver and Jake heading to the hallway where the bathrooms are.
Oliver is staggering a bit, but Jake is propping him up.
We follow and wait in an uncomfortable silence in the hallway outside the men’s room.
I spy the ladies’ room down the hall. “I think I’ll go the ladies’ room,” I say, wanting to escape Carol for a moment.
“Don’t you dare,” Carol hisses. “We need to get him out of here and I need Jake’s help.” Her face softens. “Unless it is an emergency. Then of course you can go.”
I shake my head. “No emergency. I’m good.”
Jake and Oliver come out of the bathroom and Oliver looks better. He has water around his hairline and his face isn’t as flushed as it was.
Carol rushes over to him. “Darling, there you are. I have a splitting headache, and Emma isn’t feeling so well either. All those hors d’oeuvres aren’t sitting well with her.” She tosses a disapproving look in my direction. “We have a taxi waiting.”
Oliver gazes at Carol, then at me, hesitating. “Sure,” he finally mutters. “Just need to say our goodbyes.”
“All taken care of.” Carol pats his arm. “George and Winnie are heading out too, so no one is left at the table.”
Oliver pauses, then lets Jake take his limp arm and we all walk out onto the street. There is, in fact, a taxi sitting there, as promised, as it is not yet midnight and no one else leaves this early. I sit in the front seat, and Jake, Carol and Oliver settle in the back.
Oliver turns to Jake. “Jake, a deal’s a deal, right? You are coming to work for me. That’s the plan since . . . well, since forever, right?”
Jake starts to shake his head but Carol cuts in, “Yes, Oliver. Of course, that’s the plan. Jake will start in March as soon as he completes his PhD. He will be the only investment fund broker with a PhD in—”
“Yes,” Jake interrupts. “March it is. This is the new year, so time to start new things for all of us.”
I turn to gaze at Jake, and he doesn’t meet my eyes.
We pull up to the apartment building and stumble out into the cold air.
Oliver has shifted into a mellow, almost sleepy state and Jake and I help him up the stairs, into the elevator and lead him down the hallway.
A shiver of déjà vu runs down my spine as I remember carrying Vee down this same hallway three months ago.
I smile softly to myself, as only I know how much I’ve changed since that day.
As we pass my parents’ door, Carol grumbles in a voice dripping with disgust, “Jesus, those dirty, smelly Polacks are at it again. Do they ever cook anything other than onions and cabbage?”
I freeze.
I look at my parent’s apartment door and want to reach out and touch the worn wood.
Jake reaches out with his hand and tugs me along, mouthing, “Just ignore it.” He looks pained. “Please.”
My heart stutters and seizes. Ignore it!
His mother just called my family dirty, smelly Polacks.
I look up ahead at Carol, who hasn’t missed a step.
This isn’t something new for Jake. She probably says it every time she walks by our apartment.
He’s probably heard it his whole life. But this is the first time I’ve heard such a thing, and my stomach sours and I feel sick.
I continue walking but my legs aren’t working right.
It’s like I’m walking through mud. My feet are dragging.
I trail a hand along the wall both to help guide me, but I also want to press through those walls and pass on a modicum of comfort to my hardworking parents.
They are sleeping on the other side after a long day of surviving.
I don’t want to see Carol or Jake, so instead I focus up at the ceiling.
The painted ceiling is peeling and cracked.
My eyes trace a crack that is circular, the exact size of a head of cabbage.
Fall is when cabbage is cheap and fresh, retaining a lot of juice.
Last month, I watched my mother cut the cabbage into thin slices and put it into the crock pot with salt to start the process.
I remember saying gently, “Mama, let me cut the cabbage.” And my mother replying, “No Emma, I can do it. I’ve been doing it forever.
This disease can’t take everything from me.
” My eyes burn with unshed tears that I try desperately not to let fall.
To distract myself from the group moving to the next apartment, I calculate how many heads of cabbage we’ve carried into our apartment.
My grandparents moved in in 1950; therefore, they have been making sauerkraut for sixty years.
Roughly five cabbages a year means I need to multiply five times sixty.
I’m trying to remember basic multiplication when my foot snags on nothing and I stumble.
Jake grabs hold of me again and I continue in a daze through their apartment door, seeing the plush apartment once more with fresh eyes.
I shiver with a chill. Jake continues ahead, bringing Oliver into his bedroom and deposits him on the bed.
I’m careful not to make eye contact with Carol, who is now in the kitchen.
Jake leaves Oliver sitting on the bed taking off his shoes slowly. Jake takes my hand and pulls me along.
Carol asks sweetly, “Do either of you want any coffee, er, or I guess tea for you, Emma?”
Any other time I would be elated, but this time, I slowly shake my head and search Jake’s face for any response.
He looks resigned and deflated, leaning against the counter.
My stomach roils and I glance toward the bathroom door as a sour taste forms in my mouth.
The coffee maker hisses and gurgles. Suddenly, a roar emanates from the bedroom and Carol’s face blanches.
She gives Jake a push, and he gets up robotically, walking down the hall like a man condemned.
I’m not sure what is going on, but I can’t summon up any genuine interest. I’m watching things from inside my bubble; I’m not part of this little drama.
Carol called my family something terrible, and Jake isn’t going to do anything about it.
I grab my coat and head in the other direction—yank open the apartment door and step out.
I smell the aroma from my parents’ apartment, knowing my mother finally cooked the cabbage to make sauerkraut, which has been fermenting for the past month.
The burning in the pit of my stomach intensifies when I think of Carol calling my mother dirty and smelly.
She’s just trying to cook and provide for her family, all the while fighting MS. The nerve of that shell of a woman, with her lily-white hands and her upright posture, to judge my parents and me.
Walking blindly past my door, my eyes are burning. Down on Fifth Avenue, I blindly march towards Vee’s. I’m tempted to cut through the park, but that seems foolhardy on New Year’s Eve, so close to midnight. I stick to the sidewalk. I will grab a cab once my anger dissipates a bit.
Then suddenly I’m sprawled face down on the hard cement. I remember the weakness I felt in my legs in the hallway earlier. My god, MS has a cruel sense of humor.
I hear a voice ask, “Are you okay? That was a nasty fall. Can you get up?”
I roll over, sit up, and survey my dress. Ruined. My ankle throbs, and I may have broken my wrist. I cradle it in my other hand.
Looking up, I try to smile at the concerned faces above me. I respond, “I think I’m okay. My ankle hurts.”
The man gingerly takes my good arm, and I stand with most of my weight on my left foot. We make our way to the bus enclosure nearby and I sink down thankfully onto the hard bench. They hover over me, clearly worried. I try to smile, but it feels as if my face may break in two.
Taking a deep breath, I steady myself and say firmly, “I’m fine. I’m just going to sit and rest for a minute. My apartment is right over there.”
I tilt my head. Although they don’t appear convinced, they step out of the bus area and continue walking down the sidewalk, glancing back in my direction as they go.
I breathe deeply and fight back tears. Everything is too much.
My MS, Jake’s mom’s spitefulness, Oliver’s drunkenness and Jake’s unwillingness to .
. . to do anything. I need to end this whole charade now.
It feels too real for me, and I must stop before I become more deluded.
A single tear spills over and falls onto the arm of my coat.
I’m just the dirty, smelly Polack girl from next door.
God, it hurts just thinking those words.
My ankle is beginning to swell and I’m glad it’s freezing cold; it’s like having an ice pack on both my wrist and my ankle.
Suddenly, my cell phone rings. Taking it out of my purse with my good hand, I eye it warily.
It’s Jake. As it continues ringing, my gaze remains fixed upon it.
I’m torn. I would love to ignore it, but I doubt I can make it back to Vee’s or my parents by myself.
I pick up and resignedly say, “Hello.”
Jake shouts, “Where are you, Emma? I came back to Vee’s expecting you to be here. Are you with your parents?” His voice drops when he says your parents.
“Uh, I fell, and I’m sitting on Fifth Avenue between Ninety-Seventh and Ninety-Sixth.”
“Dammit, I cut through the park to get home quicker when I realized you left. What a shit show. Okay, stay right there. I’m coming.”