Seven Year Switch Part 5

Billy nodded.

"Always present the card after the bow or handshake-just follow their lead as to which one is appropriate. And make sure you present it with the j.a.panese side facing the person you're meeting, because they'll want to read it on the spot."

Billy was still nodding, his head going up and down rhythmically, like one of those cute bobble head figures on the dashboard of somebody's car.

I closed my eyes to get him off my dashboard, then opened them again. "Okay, then, when you're given a card, ask your go-between to help you p.r.o.nounce the name on the card so you can greet the card giver, and also to help you figure out the appropriate thing to say, based on the situation. And be absolutely sure you handle any card you're given with the utmost care and respect. Don't just shove it in your pocket, especially if it's a back pocket, and..."

He stopped nodding and grinned. "And make sure I don't scratch an itch with it, particularly if the itch is near my back pocket?"

I smiled. "And heaven forbid, don't pick your teeth with it."

He leaned forward over the table. "You know, it's suddenly hitting me that I probably insult someone from another culture every time I walk down the street."

"I wouldn't worry too much. It's nice to be aware, but the onus is pretty much on the person stepping into the other culture."

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do?"

"To a degree," I said. "Though the Romans also have a responsibility to make their guests feel comfortable. The cla.s.sic story goes that when the shah of Persia visited Queen Victoria, he picked up his finger bowl and drank from it. Queen Victoria didn't miss a beat. She just drank from her finger bowl, and everybody at the table followed suit."

"So that's how we all started drinking out of our finger bowls."

"Precisely," I said. I opened my eyes wide. "Wow, you're such a quick study."

He grinned. "Why, thank you," he said. "I have to tell you, this is the first time I've thought any of this stuff was the least bit interesting. I always thought etiquette was just a bunch of uptight rules. I bet you're a great person to travel with, like having your own personal Emily Post and Fodor with you at all times. How did your marriage break up anyway?"

The question caught me midsip, and my cappuccino took a wrong turn on its way down my throat. I started to choke, and the harder I tried to stop it, the worse it got.

Billy jumped up and ran to the barista counter. By the time he came back with a paper cup filled with water, I was relatively under control.

I took a small sip.

"Okay now?"

I nodded. "Sorry," I said. "But that was so not a guy question."

"What?" he said. "Guys aren't allowed to talk about what happened to a marriage in this culture?"

I thought for a moment. "Only if they go first."

"Fair enough." Billy stretched back in his chair. "Pretty basic," he said. "We never should have been together in the first place. I'd spend my whole life outdoors if I could. Biking, swimming, surfing, running, hiking, climbing, skiing, skating, sledding, snowmobiling, you name it. My ex is afraid of everything-mountains, planes, highways, fresh air, Portuguese men-of-war."

"Portuguese men-of-war?"

"Yeah, you know, those jellyfish?"

"Actually," I said, "they're not really jellyfish. They're siphonoph.o.r.es, animals made up of a colony of organisms that work together."

"Jeez, what don't you know? Anyway, what ever they are, she was so afraid a school of them would show up and sting her, she wouldn't even dip a toe in the water. Not even in a swimming pool. Her idea of a good time is to stay inside and knit."

"Wow," I said, because I couldn't think of anything else.

He smiled. "It wasn't all bad. I got some nice sweaters out of the deal. And two great sons. They're both fearless-and, man, can they knit."

"How often do you see them?" I asked. He seemed like a good father, but I still hoped it wasn't too often. I needed to know that these things could be worked out, but without rocking the boat too much. Especially a boat I'd kept afloat by myself for so long.

"Oh," Billy said. "They live with me. Well, most of the time. Actually they go back and forth whenever they want. I bought out my wife's half of the house so the boys wouldn't have to move, then about a year later she and her current husband bought the house two doors down. It works out great."

I looked at him in horror. In a million years, I couldn't imagine ever getting there.

"What?" he said.

"How do you handle it? I mean, how can you stand to be so G.o.dd.a.m.ned civilized?"

He grinned his big grin. "That's pretty funny coming from an etiquette guru. If you think about it, the world of divorce is a culture just like any other."

I wondered if it would be too obvious if I took out a pen and wrote that down. Maybe I could meditate on it later.

"But," I said, "didn't you ever want to, I don't know, kill your ex-wife?"

He shrugged. "Nah. Well, maybe in the beginning. But, here's the thing, we had these two incredible kids together, and no matter what, we're always going to be connected to each other through them. So, essentially, we divorced each other but stayed family. Maybe we're a little like those siphon...whatever they're called."

"Siphonoph.o.r.es."

"Thank you. Siphonoph.o.r.es. We're separate, but we all still clump together."

My head suddenly felt like it weighed five hundred pounds. I put my elbows on the table so I could rest it in my hands. "And it doesn't bother you that she's married to someone else?"

"Not usually. When it gets to me, I just imagine him naked. Jeez, could that guy use a trip to the gym."

I sat up straight again and pulled my stomach in.

"Sorry, that was beneath me. He's actually a nice guy. And the two of them take the boys to all kinds of places you couldn't drag me to. I mean, the symphony? Spare me. I'm fine with the music part, but let me listen to it on my iPod while I'm out riding on a beautiful day, thank you very much."

I tried to imagine what might have happened if Seth had been more like Billy. Maybe he would have just come to me one day and told me that it was nothing personal, we simply had nothing in common.

But we did.

It wasn't only Anastasia. We'd had everything in common. At least I'd thought we did. Maybe it wasn't all candlelit dinners and walks on the beach, but I mean, what marriage was? We were in love, and we even liked each other, too. There was still a large box up in the attic with proof of our shared adventures-a chipped Tube map mug we'd picked up at a transport museum gift shop in London's Covent Garden, a miniature Tour Eiffel we'd loved for its cheap metal tackiness, a mortar and pestle carved from a solid piece of "peacefully collected oak" and etched with a Celtic trinity knot, a partial set of celadon-glazed sake cups, dog-eared copies of outdated Michelin Green Guides, and an old T-s.h.i.+rt that said YOU BETTER BELIZE IT, which I stopped wearing and made into a pillow before it fell apart. I couldn't stand to look at them, but I couldn't bear to throw them out.

Billy cleared his throat. "Hey, do you have time to go somewhere and grab a late lunch?"

I looked at my watch. "OhmiG.o.d," I said. "I had no idea it was this late."

I was already halfway to the door by the time he caught up.

"Was it something I said?" he said.

"The bus," I said. I lunged for the door, then made a dash for my car.

10.

ANASTASIA PICKED UP A ROUNDED TRIANGLE OF CHICKEN and black bean quesadilla with her fingers and dipped a corner into the dollop of Wholly Guacamole on her plate.

When the phone rang, I took a quick bite of my own quesadilla.

"Great Girlfriend Getaways," I said into my headphone. "Feisty and fabulous man-free escapes both close to home and all over the world. When was the last time you got together with your girlfriends?"

"It's Seth."

I looked at Anastasia. She was chewing away happily. We'd had the asparagus and goat cheese quesadillas for dinner last night, and I hadn't been sure Lunch Around the World leftovers would fly two nights in a row.

"What's your question?" I said in a singsong voice.

Anastasia picked up her plate and started heading in the direction of the living room.

"You haven't told her yet?" Seth said into one ear.

"Not your business," I whispered.

With my other ear, I heard the TV click on in the living room.

"Our Costa Rica trip is available with or without surfing," I said loudly. "But our surfing instructor is not only extremely good-looking, he's also lots of fun. And he's great with beginners, so we strongly encourage you and your girlfriends to give him, I mean it, a try."

"I'm calling to double-check on Sunday," Seth said. His voice was flat. "Five o'clock, right?"

Everything in me wanted to find a way to wiggle out of it-virus, birthday party, impending tsunami, what ever it took.

"Right," I said.

"Can I bring anything?" he asked politely, as if he were simply an old friend coming by for dinner.

"Yeah," I said. "Seven years of child support."

He didn't say anything.

I found the disconnect b.u.t.ton on my cell phone and pushed it.

Anastasia came back and sat down at the table. "Who was that?" she asked.

Little pitchers have big ears my mother would have said. It was actually one of the few things I could still remember her saying.

She hadn't been much of a mother. Or maybe it was just that she didn't really need much from anybody, so she a.s.sumed I didn't either. My mother was her own best company. Her idea of a good time was to pop a Swanson's chicken pot pie in the oven for each of us and curl up with a good book until the timer went off.

We didn't go to church, or museums, or movies, and she didn't invite friends over. She went to her secretarial job, came home, got up the next day, and did it all over again. On weekends she just spent more time reading.

Pictures of my father were the only things that brightened up our two-bedroom apartment. He'd died before I turned two, but I'd memorized his smile from the photos-two on the bookcase in the living room, one on my mother's bedside table. I'd managed to convince myself that I could remember him not only picking me up, but also throwing me up in the air and catching me as I giggled my way back down into his arms. He seemed fun and nice and handsome, but more than that, even in photos he seemed alive, so much more alive than my mother.

As soon as I was old enough, I spent most of my energy trying to attach myself to other families. Big, messy families with lots of kids and noise. Families who sat down at long dinner tables together, instead of eating in front of the television on two little fold-out TV tables. Families who piled their kids into the station wagon and went skating or bowling or to the drive-in.

As I headed into my teenage years, other girls my age started choosing their friends based on social status or shared interests, but I continued to pick mine for their families. And then I tried to wiggle my way in and blend like a chameleon, hoping against hope that they wouldn't notice me and make me go home.

I studied hard, mostly to avoid having to live a boring life like my mother. I knew I wanted a fascinating career, but beyond that, things got a little bit vague. I thought maybe I'd become some new hybrid, a little bit Jane Goodall, only I'd study people instead of primates, and a whole lotta Margaret Mead, but with a less complicated personal life. They were the role models I wanted my mother to be. Sometimes I'd imagine that I'd grown up a wild child frolicking with Jane and the apes. Once in college I caught myself just before I told a cla.s.smate Margaret Mead was my great-aunt.

As set as I was on a big career, I also couldn't wait to fill my life with a family of my own. My husband would come from a big, boisterous clan, with zillions of cousins. I'd been thrilled when Seth's family fit the bill. But they'd all drifted away after Seth took off. Or maybe I'd pulled away.

Nature or nurture, a family larger than two seemed miles beyond my reach.

"Mom?" Anastasia said. "Who was that?"

She put her plate on the table and reached for her pink headband. I looked at my beautiful daughter, her trusting almond eyes, the dusting of freckles across her nose. Her father's freckles.

I had absolutely no idea how to handle this. I picked up a piece of chicken and black bean quesadilla, then put it down again. "No one," I said. "Just a work call."

After we cleared our dinner dishes and placed them in the rickety old dishwasher, Anastasia tore a piece of lined paper from her notebook and placed it on the table. She flipped through her spelling book until she'd found this week's words, all with a silent e at the end. Her teacher gave a pretest on Monday and a final test on Friday. The homework was to practice every night in between.

I'd had the exact same homework a.s.signment at Anastasia's age. My mother taught me to fold a sheet of paper lengthwise, then write my spelling words in a long column on one side. To practice, I'd look at each word, memorize it, and flip the paper over to test myself as I wrote it from memory. My mother read her book on the sofa in the next room.

Anastasia picked up her favorite pen, pink with a fluff of purple feathers on the top. She tickled her nose with it while she waited for the first word.

"Ready?" I said.

She nodded.

"Okay," I said. "Struggle. Sometimes mothers struggle to know the right thing to do."

"Struggle," Anastasia said as she wrote. "Sometimes kids struggle to wake up in the morning."

"Bruise," I said. "When you've been hurt, a bruise can take a long, long time to go away."

"Bruise," Anastasia said. "When you get a bruise, you don't even need a Band-Aid."

"Pledge," I said. "I pledge to always try to do the right thing for my daughter."

"Pledge," Anastasia said. The purple feathers of her pen danced as she wrote. "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America."

"Jungle," I said. "It's a jungle out there."

"Jungle," Anastasia said. "I want to go to a jungle to see the monkeys and orangutans."

"Surprise," I said. "When you least expect it, life can sometimes bring a big surprise."

"Surprise," Anastasia said. She took her time, forming each letter carefully in her big, loopy script. "Kids always love a big surprise."