Page 25 of Is This for Real?
Um, no.Theresa has her own dollhouse, so Jamie is familiar with adults owning dollhouses. Theresa is more disciplined than me, with only one. But Theresa has a friend with a roomful of dollhouses and room boxes. Most of her room boxes are period living rooms or kitchens, like a one-inch-scale replica of Julia Child’s kitchen. Luckily, her husband has his own train room. Their kids moved out, and the hobbies took over.
“No, I have one in my room and a few room boxes.” But the room boxes are hidden in my closet. I pared down my wardrobe to add space for them. I don’t want to reveal my obsession to everyone who comes over.
“Is there a couple having sex in this bed?” Jamie asks.
Oh no, I hope it’s not my Jamie/Penelope couple.
“That’s Zelda. She likes to tease me by putting the dolls in all sorts of compromising positions.” I look over Jamie’s shoulder to see who is cavorting and breathe a sigh of relief. The dark, curly-haired female is with the dark-haired guy in the upstairs bedroom.
“And this Jon Snow doll is cooking in the kitchen.”
Definitely Zelda’s machinations.
“Wouldn’t you want Jon Snow cooking for you in the kitchen?” I ask.Especially if it leads to cooking in the bedroom?“But he should have taken off his cape first. Bit of a fire hazard.”
Jamie laughs. “Maybe Dany.” His glance meets mine. It reminds me of when we used to play with his Lego figures in his mom’s dollhouse. “Theresa thought you could help out with the shop while she’s in the hospital and during her recuperation. Give you a bit of an income. And maybe you’ll like it. She thought maybe you could do the window displays.”
“What will you be doing? Jetting back to Singapore to complete a big deal?” I ask.
“No. Obviously, I’m coming back if Mom’s sick.”
“You’re getting transferred to New York?”
“No, I’m quitting. But I work for a British company. It’s not like an American company where you can quit and leave the next day. I have to give four weeks’ notice; Kareem can take over and work more shifts until I’m back.” Kareem is his mom’s most senior store employee.
“But your job?”
“I can always get another job. I can’t get another mom.” He pauses—that awkward pause when people remember that both my parents are dead. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
To ease the awkwardness, I say, “You’re right, you can’t, as I know. But I did come pretty close with your mom.” I couldn’t ever repay her. This is a small way to do it, and it isn’t like my writing career is sky-rocketing right now. And it isn’t going to unless I actually write words on the page—butt in the chair. “I don’t know that much about marketing. I’m still writing my book, not yet marketing it.” I pause. “But I can do the window displays.”I can’t say no.
“Thank you.” His voice is deep and sincere. He sits on the armrest of our couch and pets Benson.
“What about Willow?”
“Well, obviously, we’ll break up. I don’t do long distance. Her career’s doing well there, too,” he says. “And it’s not like she particularly liked New York.”
“But I do think she particularly likes you.”
“Yes, well, I like her, too.” Jamie glances away.
I study one of Zelda’s photographs on the wall, from when she took a photography course in college. It’s a picture of a couple kissing outside a bar in the rain.Wrong photo to look at.This is the first time we’ve been alone since I told him I was in love with him last year. My chest tightens. For the rest of that visit, Jamie made sure we were chaperoned anytime we were together. I joked to Zelda that I felt like we were a Regency couple who had to be accompanied at all times. And it wasn’t as if I had physically thrown myself at him.
We’d been sitting out in lounge chairs, drinking wine on the rooftop deck of his mom’s apartment building. It was this comfortably warm September evening, the night air caressing my skin, and we were reminiscing about old times. A full moon shone above, bathing our chairs in a warm light, reflecting on our wine glasses on the table between us. And it seemed like the perfect moment to say, “I love you, Jamie.” I cringe now, thinking about it. I wish I hadn’t said it. I wish I hadn’t used those exact words. He stilled. An excruciating, long pause followed, and he said, “I don’t feel the same way.” I nodded. I didn’t press the point. I didn’t throw myself at him in the lounge chair. I stood, picked up my wine glass, and said, “I’ll go see if your mom needs any help with the cleanup from the party.” And I had pulled myself together on the elevator ride back down to his mom’s apartment. No tears.
Jamie walks to the window and looks out. His back is to me. “It’s time for me to come back to New York. Maybe Willow will consider coming back in a year. She could certainly get a job in hospitality here.”
Unless she tells people it’s dirty.I shouldn’t be so catty, even in my thoughts.
“We’ll put you on the payroll,” he says.
“That seems like a lot of effort.” That sounds permanent, too.
“No, she wants you on the payroll. She worries about you, too.”
I huff, annoyed. “She doesn’t have to. I know what I’m doing. And I’m very careful with my money.” Except for some extravagant miniature purchases and the fact that I’ve never seen a writing course that I didn’t think I should take.
Jamie sits on the couch. I stay seated at the table. I don’t want to disturb his newfound comfort in being alone with me by joining him there.
