Karen looked down at his sneakers beneath the table. ‘Because I can’t help but worry about the future – especially in this economy … ’
Greg sighed. ‘I know, I'm sorry. I’ll admit that life is probably not going to be as … comfortable as it was for a while, but we have to give it a little time. And I’ll be happy – I am happy. Surely that counts for something too?’ He waited for her to look up at him again, but she didn't. ‘Karen … ’
He understood that she enjoyed and worked hard to afford the finer things in life. Born and bred on Long Island, she came from a big family, completely different to Greg’s privileged, only child upbringing.
Her parents were great, and were always asking the two of them to come over for dinner, see a show or spend weekends. Karen had three other sisters and one brother, all only a year or two apart in age.
It was just the kind of big, close-knit family that Greg had been envious of his whole life, and he marvelled at how they finished each other’s sentences, how they picked on each other and yet never seemed to get really mad at each other. They had welcomed him into the fold happily, pleased that Karen had met someone so successful, so nice, who treated her so well. Karen herself was the eldest daughter and the most successful out of the whole clan. She had worked her way through college waitressing, and had held off on getting into a serious relationship long after all her brothers and sisters had got married. Her mother, after meeting Greg for the first time, had said, ‘I see why you waited Karen, I see it perfectly.’
Because of her working-class roots, Greg had thought that she would understand better than most that people can be happy no matter what they had, and even without a regular job, he and Karen were still better off than most. He knew for a plain cold fact after meeting Stacy that he did not want to end up like that. Married to a job he had no passion for, the realisation that you could have made it if you’d just tried harder.
No, he’d done the corporate thing and he was not going back, especially now that he felt that –given a chance – he could be successful at something he truly loved.
Karen finally looked up, a slight smile on her face. ‘I still can’t believe they let you in here with those sneakers.’
Relieved, Greg laughed, and they made their way outside.
‘Do I really have to get used to you never being in a suit again?’ She linked her arm through his. ‘At least at the Met gala you'll be in one – and on the right side of the ropes that night, I hope?’ she teased.
Greg swallowed uncomfortably – now was definitely not the time to tell her the bad news about the Met gala. She could only take one disappointment at a time.
Thinking about it, though, maybe he had been too wrapped up in himself and his own needs lately; maybe he needed to bring the romance back to their relationship.
He thought of his mother and father, of the way his dad brought Cristina sunflowers every Friday, no matter what and for no reason. Of how his mother loved to recount how he had come downtown to find her so many years ago.
She’d been sitting outside her parents’ deli and, according to her, had been wearing her best blue dress that day that she and Greg’s father first met. She didn't know why, but something told her to put it on that morning, as if something special was going to happen. She had taken her post on the chair next to the pickle barrel outside the deli and waited.
‘There he was, striding down the street,’ she would say, her eyes lighting up. ‘Can you imagine, in our little neighbourhood of small-boned people, comes this tall, fair-haired giant. He walked right up to me, as if it were the only reason he had come downtown, and asked what was in the barrel.’ At this point, Greg’s mother would crack up laughing, wiping tears from her eyes. ‘Can you believe it? He had never seen a pickle barrel before!’ She would laugh and laugh, and his father would squeeze her arm, the two of them caught up in that moment; the moment they had met and changed each other’s lives forever. Greg never tired of hearing the story even as an adult. But his mother hadn't laughed at his father that day, but had daintily pulled a pickle out of the barrel and handed it to the ‘tall, fair-haired giant’ who would eventually become her husband.
Every year his parents would celebrate their anniversary, not by going to Le Cirque, buying each other jewellery or going on a cruise, but by going downtown to Alphabet City to look for pickles. Since the city was always changing, they never knew if a deli was still going to be there or if it would close by the following year. So 17 May was their pickle-hunt day.
They only seemed to get closer as the years progressed, especially after his father retired. Most men Jeff’s age – and who had been in the business he was in– usually suffered a heart attack after retirement, their bodies unused to the lack of excitement and stress, but not Jeff. Cristina had plans for him. Every month it was something new. ‘I signed us up for tango lessons!’ she would announce suddenly over the dining-room table.
‘What? What the hell are you thinking?’ he would bark at her, smiling the whole time.
‘Oh come on – we should try it.’
And they would and they would love it. Two people who had worked hard their whole lives finally enjoying themselves and each other. After tango came watercolours, then organic cooking, and then a small, lively theatre class at the YMCA.
For one year they were volunteer guides at The New York Historical Society, giving tours in tandem with each other, finishing each other’s sentences as they described a Hudson River Valley painting or giving a tour of the library.
That's what Greg wanted, he decided as he wheeled his bike along the streets beside Karen: he wanted he and Karen to finish each other’s sentences; he wanted a life full of love and laughter like his parents had.
Forget careers and fancy galas. Love, laughter and great memories – wasn’t that what life was truly about?
11
‘This bracelet really is a pretty thing; it’s incredible just how much it’s like yours,’ commented Kate. She twirled the bracelet gently in her hands, inspecting the individual charms.
‘It’s kind of uncanny, isn’t it?’ Holly agreed.
On her lunch break from The Secret Closet, she’d hustled across the street to Best Bagels to meet with Kate. Her friend was already sitting at a table when she arrived, flirting across with the guy behind the counter.
Leopards and their spots … Holly walked up to her, smiling. ‘Hey, I thought we talked about this!’
Kate grinned sheepishly.
‘Well, as long as he’s quick on the job. I have to be back in—’
