Two by Two(15)

On Wednesday, I opted for our usual Saturday morning routine of  breakfast and the park, but it was impossible for me to ignore my  growing anxiety concerning work. I kept imagining that potential clients  were trying to reach me, or worse, standing outside an office that was  obviously closed, but whenever I called the receptionist, I was informed  there were no messages.

With my initial list of potential clients amounting to nothing, I  started cold-calling businesses. Starting Wednesday afternoon and all  day Thursday, I made more than a couple of hundred calls. I consistently  heard the words not interested, but kept at it and eventually managed  to line up five meetings the following week. The businesses weren't the  kind of clients that the Peters Group normally targeted-a family-owned  restaurant, a sandwich shop, two chiropractors, and a day spa-and the  fees would likely be low, but it was better than nothing.

At home, Vivian said little about her various interviews. She didn't  want to jinx them, she explained, but she seemed confident, and when I  told her about my meetings the following week, her mind was clearly  elsewhere. Looking back, I should have taken it as a sign.

On Friday morning, I'd just walked in the kitchen when I heard Vivian's  cell phone begin to ring. London was already at the table, eating a bowl  of cereal. Vivian checked the incoming number and wandered to the back  patio before answering. Thinking it was her mother-her mother was the  only person I knew who would call that early-I poured myself a cup of  coffee.

"Hi, sweetie," I said to London.

"Hi, Daddy. Is zero a number?"

"Yes," I answered. "Why?"

"Well, you know I'm five, right? And before that, I was four?"

"Yes."

"What was I before I was one?"

"Before you were one, we would talk about your age in months. Like,  you're three months old, or six months old. And before you were a month  old, your age was measured in weeks. Or even days."

"And then I was zero right?"

"I guess you were. Why all the questions?"

"Because I'll be six in October. But really, I'll be seven."

"You'll be six, honey."

She held up her hands and began counting, holding up a finger or thumb  with every number she pronounced. "Zero. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.  Six."

By then, she was holding up five fingers on one hand and two on the other. Seven in total.

"That's not how it works," I said.

"But you said I was zero, and that zero was a number. There's seven numbers. That means, I'll be seven, not six."

It was too much to process before I'd finished my first cup of coffee. "When did you think of this?"

Instead of answering, she shrugged and I thought again how much she  resembled her mother. At that moment, Vivian stepped back into the  kitchen, her face slightly flushed.         

     



 

"You okay?" I asked.

At first, I wasn't sure she'd heard me. "Yeah," she finally offered. "I'm fine."

"Everything okay with your mom?"

"I guess so. I haven't talked to her in about a week. Why would you ask about Mom?"

"Wasn't that who you were talking to?"

"No," she said.

"Who was on the phone?" I finally asked.

"Rachel Johnson."

"Who?"

"She's one of the vice presidents at Spannerman. I interviewed with her on Wednesday."

She added nothing else. I waited. Still nothing.

"And she was calling because?" I persisted.

"They're offering me the job," she said. "They want me to start Monday. Orientation."

I wasn't sure whether congratulations were in order, but I said it  anyway and even in that moment, I still had no inkling whatsoever that  my entire world was about to be turned upside down.





Work that day didn't feel … normal, and that was saying something, since  nothing about work had seemed normal since I'd gone out on my own. I  began to put together PowerPoint presentations for the meetings I'd  scheduled. They would offer a general overview of various ad campaigns  I'd worked on, discussed the dollar value of advertising for the  client's specific business, and preview the kind of work I could do for  them. If the potential clients showed interest, I'd follow that up with a  more specific proposal at a second meeting.

Even though I made significant headway, my thoughts would occasionally wander back to what I learned that morning.

My wife would be going to work on Monday, for Spannerman.

Good God.

Spannerman.

Still, it was date night and I was looking forward to spending the  evening with Vivian. When I walked in the door, however, I felt as  though I'd stepped into the wrong house. The living room, dining room,  and kitchen were a mess, and London was parked in front of the  television, something I'd never seen at that time of night. Vivian was  nowhere to be seen, nor did she answer when I called for her. I walked  from one room to the next, finally locating her in the den. She was  seated in front of the computer researching all things Spannerman, and  for the first time in our married life, she seemed almost frazzled. She  was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and her hair looked as though she'd been  twisting strands of it for most of the day. Beside her was a thick  binder-she had printed and highlighted a thick sheaf of pages-and when  she turned toward me, I could see that romance was not only off the  table, but hadn't even crossed her mind all day.

I hid my disappointment and after some small talk, I suggested we order  Chinese food. We ate as a family, but Vivian remained distracted, and as  soon as she finished eating, she went back to the den. While she  clicked and printed, I cleaned the house and helped London get ready for  bed. I filled the bathtub-London had reached the age where she could  wash herself-brushed her hair and lay beside her in bed reading an  assortment of books. In another first, Vivian simply kissed our daughter  goodnight without reading a story, and when I found her back in the  den, she told me that she still had another few hours to go. I watched  television for a while and went to bed alone; when I woke the following  morning, I found myself staring at Vivian and wondering how late she'd  finally turned in.

She was back to her normal self soon after waking, but then again, it  was Saturday morning. She was out the door right on schedule for her Me  Time, and for the fifth time in seven days, I found myself playing Mr.  Mom, if only part-time. On her way out the door, Vivian asked if I could  take care of London for the day; she told me that she hadn't quite  finished the research from the night before and also had some things she  needed to grab for work.

"No problem," I said, and as a result, London and I found ourselves back  at my parents' place. Marge and Liz had gone to Asheville for the  weekend, so London had my mom all to herself most of the day.  Nonetheless, my mom found time to sidle up to me and mentioned that  since I'd failed in my task of getting my dad to the doctor, Marge would  be bringing him on Monday.

"It's good to know that one of our kids really cares about their father," my mom remarked.

Thanks, Mom.

My father, as usual, was in the garage. When I walked in, he poked his head around the hood of the car.

"You're here," he said to me.

"I thought I'd swing by with London."

"No Vivian again?"

"She has some things to do for work. She got a job and starts on Monday."         

     



 

"Oh," he said.

"That's it?"

He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his hands. "It's  probably a good thing," he finally said. "Someone in your family should  be earning some money."

Thanks, Dad.

After visiting with him for a bit-and with London happily baking with  Nana-I sat on the couch in the living room, absently watching golf. I'm  not a golfer and I don't generally watch golf, but I found myself  staring at logos on golf bags and shirts while trying to calculate how  much money had gone to the advertising agencies who'd come up with that  idea.

The whole thing depressed me.

Meanwhile, I texted Vivian twice and left a voicemail without getting a  response; the house phone also went unanswered. Figuring she was out and  about, I stopped at the grocery store on the way back from my parents',  something fairly rare for me. I usually only went to the store when we  were out of something or when I was in the mood for something specific  for dinner; I was the kind of shopper who used a handheld basket as  opposed to a cart, like I was in a race to see how fast I could get out  of there. For London, I grabbed a box of macaroni and cheese, slices of  turkey breast and pears, which was only somewhat healthy, but also  happened to be her favorite. For Vivian and me, I selected a New York  strip and sashimi-grade tuna fillet that I could put on the grill, along  with the makings for a salad, corn on the cob, and a bottle of  Chardonnay.

While I hoped to make up for our lost date night, I also simply wanted  to spend time with Vivian. I wanted to listen to her and hold her and  discuss our future. I knew there were going to be changes in our lives,  even challenges, and I wanted to promise that we'd get through them  together as a couple. If Vivian felt more fulfilled and accomplished at  work, she just might bring that better mood home with her; if we shared  parenting more equally, we might begin to see each other in ways more  conducive to a closer relationship. In the evenings, we'd visit about  our days, revel in our successes and support each other in our  struggles, and the extra money would make things easier as well. In  other words, things would only get better for Vivian and me, and tonight  was the first step in the process.