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22
Nina puta stack of books into a half-filled box and slid them around, trying to maximize the space. “I still don’t know why you don’t take Doug up on the offer of hiring movers for you,” she said to Karen, sitting next to her on the floor and flipping through an old photoalbum.
“Because I’m already violating every oath I’ve ever made to myself about being dependent on a man by moving into his house — in Brooklyn no less. I’m going to get there on my own, and I don’t want a bunch of strange men going through mystuff.”
Nina laughed. “They’re not random people off the street. They’re movers. It’s their job to go through yourstuff.”
“No, thank you. Besides, then I wouldn’t have an excuse to hang out with you all day talking about your Liam dilemma,” Karensaid.
Nina sighed as she nestled another stack of books into the box. “Not much more todiscuss.”
“Unless you’ve made up your mind, there’s a lot to discuss. Come to think of it, even if you haven’t made up your mind there’s a lot todiscuss.”
Nina had told Karen everything during the first half of the day while they’d tackled Karen’s closet. According to her, the fact that Doug’s brownstone in Brooklyn had two massive walk-ins in the master bedroom meant that Karen didn’t have to part with a single article of clothing or pair of shoes. Packing everything in the giant wardrobe boxes had taken fourhours.
Karen had listened while Nina told her everything: about the meeting with Jason and the possibility of work with WFAI, about Liam’s offer to go to South Africa and his promise that it wasn’t an ultimatum. Nina had expected Karen to have a strong opinion one way or the other, but she’d been surprisingly reserved about the wholething.
“No matter how many times I run through all the details, the facts don’t change: Liam is offering me a chance I may not get again, taking that chance means letting go of at least some of my independence, not to mention the work I’ve been building here, both at the gallery and whatever comes of the WFAI project,” Ninasaid.
“I’m listening to you,” Karen said, “but look at this.” She handed the photo album in her hand to Nina and pointed to one of thepictures.
Nina recognized it immediately. The photograph had been taken when they’d been in college, both of them sitting on a patch of grass on the campus quad, books spread out on the grass next to them. Karen was leaning back, propped up on her elbows, looking into the camera with an expression of wry amusement while Nina’s head was bowed to a book open in herlap.
“My god,” Nina said. “We werebabies.”
“Speak for yourself.” Karen laughed. “Look at that expression on my face. Does that say baby toyou?”
“It looks like you want to eat whoever took thispicture.”
“I think I did,” Karen said. “I’m almost positive that was RyanMankowitz.”
“That explains it,” Nina said. “You did eat RyanMankowitz.”
She stared at the picture, trying to connect the woman she’d become, the woman who’d gotten married and learned she couldn’t have children and gotten divorced, who’d encountered countless surprises, not all of them good, with the studious young woman in the picture. The image looked different to her now-trained eye. She saw meaning in the composition, she and Karen playing out an oft-repeated scenario: Karen staring at life, daring it to fuck with her, Nina retreating to another world — a book, a class, a marriage, sex — to avoid living fully in the one she wasin.
“One of many,” Karen sighed. “I guess my man-eating days areover.”
“Hardly. I’m guessing Doug invited you to live with him because he likes yourappetite.”
Karen grinned. “Let’s hopeso.”
Nina handed back the photo album. “Would you ever want to be that youngagain?”
“God, no!” Karen said. “Not unless I could keep the brain I havenow.”
Nina was surprised to find she agreed. When she’d first arrived in the city, she’d felt old and used up, but somewhere along the way she’d started to believe that her best days were still ahead ofher.
Karen slid the photo album into a box. “So I guess it comes down to what you want more: the chance to make it work with Liam or the chance to make it work on yourown.”
Years of friendship had honed their ability to detour in the middle of conversations only to return to the same point later as if there had never been aninterruption.
“I’m not sure that’s the best metric,” Ninasaid.
“What other metric is there?” Karenasked.
“The metric of what’sbest.”
“Best for whom? Isn’t this about you? And if it’s about you, isn’t what you want what’sbest?”
