But that didn’t happen. Instead, when I came home from work – by then it would be dark and London would often be in her pajamas – and asked London if she rode, she always said that she hadn’t. Each time, Vivian had a reason for not bringing her out – it was raining, or they had errands to run, or London might be getting a cold, or even that London didn’t want to. Still, after work when I’d park in the garage, I’d see the little bicycle that made my daughter laugh, collecting dust in the corner. And every single time, I felt a faint ache in my heart. I must not know my daughter as well as I thought I did, or perhaps London and I simply liked different things. And though I’m not proud to admit it, I sometimes found myself wondering whether Vivian didn’t want London to ride her bike simply because it was something I wanted London to do.
In retrospect, I think I believed that quitting my job would be the most significant event of 2015 for my wife and me. I ended up being wrong, of course; striking out on my own was simply the first domino in a long line of dominoes that would begin to topple, with even larger dominoes to come later.
The following week was domino number two.
Because Vivian wanted to prep for her interviews on Monday, I came home from the office at noon. I cleaned the house and did the laundry while trying to keep London entertained, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. On Tuesday afternoon, while Vivian interviewed, I brought London to a late lunch at Chuck E. Cheese, a place Vivian would never set foot in. After eating, she played some of the games in the arcade, hoping to win enough tickets to trade them for a pink teddy bear. We didn’t come close, and by my calculations, I could have simply purchased three of them for what I’d spent in game tokens.
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.