“They are not idiots,” Elizabeth had replied. “And I am not kidding.”
“If you had kids, you’d feel differently.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Maribeth regretted them, and not just because the temperature in the conference room seemed to drop ten degrees. She sometimes wondered if the kids were the thing that had put a wedge between her and Elizabeth, even though Elizabeth had never actually wanted children and for the first year or two seemed to like Maribeth’s twins well enough.
Elizabeth had rolled her eyes, something Maribeth had seen her do a thousand times, but rarely at her. “And if you were editor-in-chief of this magazine, you’d feel differently.”
MARIBETH PUT THE magazine back without opening it. Frap had never been particularly relevant to her, but now, like her relationship with Elizabeth, it felt like Pompeii—something from the past, entombed in ash.
17
When Maribeth got off the bus near her apartment, she realized she had failed to figure out the one thing she’d really needed to do at the library: find the Pittsburgh version of FreshDirect, a grocery store that delivered.
She called information on her phone but she wasn’t familiar enough with the streets here to know what was near her and what wasn’t. She walked upstairs and knocked on the door. The platinum-haired guy answered.
“Oh, you wanted a phonebook. I forgot.”
“That’s okay. I’m just trying to find a grocery store that delivers. I’m new to the area and I don’t really know what’s where.”
He tilted his head to the side, eyes wide, stumped, as if she’d asked him about a store that sold horse meat. “Sunny,” he called into the apartment. “Does Whole Foods deliver?”
“Whole Foods?” came the reply. “Did you win the PICK 3?”
“Not me, the new neighbor wants to know.” He looked at Maribeth. “What’s your name?”
“M.B.”
“Short for . . .”
“For M.B.”
He almost smiled. Then he called back into the apartment. “M.B., our mysterious new neighbor, requires a grocery store that delivers.”
“Oh, you can’t ask Todd.” The young woman appeared at the doorstep, shaking her head. “He’s very particular about such things. I’m Sunita by the way. There’s a ShurSave right on Liberty. It’s walkable.”
Perhaps it was walkable to someone who was not prohibited from carrying anything weighing more than five pounds. “But does it deliver?” Maribeth asked.
“They could have Channing Tatum deliver groceries, shirtless on a unicorn, and I still wouldn’t shop at ShurSave,” Todd said.
“See what I mean?” Sunita said, rolling her eyes. “If not ShurSave, Giant Eagle is good and it’s twenty-four hours if you need something that’s open late.”
“It’s not the hours. I don’t have a car at the moment.”
Todd and Sunita exchanged a look, as if surprised that someone Maribeth’s age was not vehicularly sorted.
“Oh. Well, maybe we could take you,” Sunita said. “Right, Todd?” Before Todd could answer, Sunita turned back to Maribeth. “We don’t have a car either but Todd’s daddy lets us use his whenever we want.”
“Don’t call him that,” Todd said.
“Sorry. Do you prefer sugar daddy?”
“I prefer boss, which is what he is.”
“Boss with benefits?”
Maribeth cleared her throat. “When were you thinking of going?”
“Soon!” Sunita said. “We’re down to rice cakes and pickles. Todd, will you ask Miles?”
“I’ll text him tonight,” Todd said wearily. “We can go tomorrow.”
“Work for you, M.B.?” Sunita asked.
It was funny. This time, there was no lag. She knew immediately that it was her being addressed as M.B. It was amazing, really, how quickly you could become someone else.
“Works for me.”
THAT NIGHT, WHEN she took out her organizer to write down a shopping list, the stub from her train ticket to Pittsburgh fell out. She flipped to the back page where she’d hastily shoved a photo of the twins before leaving. Since she’d been away, she had not been able to look at it.
She held the ticket stub, remembering how at peace she’d been on the train, when she wasn’t Maribeth Klein, runaway mommy, but woman on a business trip. She had been able to leave them as that woman. Perhaps as that woman she could look at their faces. After all, she was just a traveling mother, fondly gazing at a picture of her children.
She stole a quick glimpse of the photo and found that it didn’t sucker punch, after all. She put the photo away, but then she had an idea. She turned to a blank page of her organizer, and instead of writing a shopping list, she began a letter.
Dear Oscar and Liv, Mommy has had a very busy few days.
She wrote them the kind of letter she imagined the woman on a business trip might. No tortured explanations or iffy timelines, just postcard details about her day. She wrote about the puppy in a trench coat she’d seen out on her walk. How it had reminded her of the time back home when they’d seen an elderly woman pushing a poodle in a toy stroller. Do you remember, Liv, how after that, you gave up your spot in the stroller for your Clifford doll? And how you wouldn’t ride in the stroller anymore because you said Clifford needed the seat?
Oscar had remained in the stroller for another year, and because Liv was not a fast walker, sometimes it took ten minutes to go a block. Jason thought they should just force Liv to ride in the stroller, but for once it was Maribeth counseling patience. Sure, they might be slower than a gaggle of Times Square tourists, but she admired her daughter’s determination.