I checked my cell phone as I stepped off the El: Mary Anne had called me three times during my short commute home from work. I make it a policy not to take calls when I'm on public transportation—people who use the El as their own personal office are my pet peeve, and I refuse to contribute to the annoyance. Instead of dialing in to listen to my messages, I called Mary Anne back.
"Hey, what's going on? Why'd you just call me three times in the span of fifteen minutes?" I asked when she picked up on the first ring.
"I just heard from Dawn," Mary Anne said. "She's house sitting on the beach this summer and wants to know if we'd like to join her."
"We?" Dawn and I are friends, but we aren't particularly close. I couldn't even remember the last time we'd spoken—although I knew Mary Anne kept her up to date on what was going on in my life, just as she kept me up to date on Dawn's news.
"She asked me to invite you. I kind of told her you're unhappy with your job. Maybe she thinks you need a change of scenery."
"Yeah. About that. I plan on turning in my resignation next Friday."
"Do you have something new lined up?"
"Not exactly. Mom and Watson said I can stay with them for awhile. They were planning on hiring someone to look after Andrew and Emily this summer. They're too old for a babysitter, but with all their activities they need a chauffeur, I guess. So today I decided to sublet my apartment for the summer and go home to Stoneybrook. Be a babysitter again for a couple of months. Then I'll decide if I even want to go back to Chicago." I pushed open my building's revolving door and began to stride toward the elevator. A harried looking mom with a toddler and an infant in a double stroller held the elevator for me. "Thanks," I mouthed.
"Why don't you come out to California with me instead? Sounds like a better place to reevaluate your life than in your parents' house."
"I don't know. It sounds like a good time. It will be more relaxing than taking care of kids. I'll think about it," I promised.
"Great. I have to go. I'm about to go to dinner. Call me when you make a decision. And Kristy…"she trailed off.
"Yeah?"
"Nothing. Just try to take things easy." Mary Anne and I hung up as I entered my empty apartment. Sometimes I think things would be better if I had a pet. My building doesn't allow dogs, but a cat might be nice. Someone to greet me when I come home and cuddle with me in bed. Oh, God. I'm only 22 and I'm already turning into one of those crazy cat ladies.
I pulled a box of Mini Wheats out of my cupboard and poured myself a bowl, then settled onto the couch with the remote. This is how it is every night. I rarely deviate from my schedule: Up at five to run six miles; come home to shower and get ready for work; take the El to my office at the Y, where I'm an assistant programs director; work a nine hour day with only a short break for lunch; take the El home; curl up on the couch with my cereal to watch whatever mind numblingly boring crap the network television executives have decided I should watch. Although I do have a soft spot for Survivor. Cary used to say I should audition for it.
Cary. I have to stop myself from thinking about him. An endeavor at which I've been unsuccessful for the past year. Cary was my boyfriend, I guess, although we never used labels to define our relationship. But if you spend all your free time together, eat together and sleep together, take each other to social functions and your family's home when you need support at your grandmother's funeral…that pretty much means you're a couple, right?
It still surprises even me that Cary Retlin and I ended up in a serious relationship. Back in middle school he used to torment me and my friends in the Baby-Sitters Club. In high school we sort of became friends. After high school I ended up here in Chicago and Cary stayed in Stoneybrook. When he transferred to Northwestern to major in journalism after a year at Stoneybrook Community College, he looked me up and we started hanging out. We're a lot alike, I guess that's why we were drawn to each other. We're both driven to succeed—we both graduated from college a year early—and we tend to rub people the wrong way. Cary because his sarcastic wit borders on rude, me because I'm told I'm bossy and insensitive. Actually, I'm surprised Cary was attracted to me at all. I stopped growing in high school, when I finally hit five feet. The rest of me stopped growing, too. I am the proud owner of a "nearly B" size chest. My sense of style hasn't changed much since the eighth grade. My daily uniform is comprised of jeans, Gap stretch T-shirts, and running shoes. In short, I'm not the sort of girl most guys would look twice at. The goes double here in the city, where beautiful women tend to congregate. Maybe that's why we're not together anymore: a therapist would probably say I was never secure in the relationship.
After college, Cary and I got an apartment together and things were just fine. I got my job at the Y, and Cary worked at Starbucks and freelanced while he looked for a full time position at a newspaper. Then, about a year ago, Cary finally got a job. In Fresno, California. He didn't tell me he was going to fly out there to interview, didn't ask me how I felt about moving when he accepted the position. And that was the end of things. We're both stubborn, and neither of us would budge. All relationships have to end eventually, right? Ours ended when I helped him pack his bags and told him not to call. I didn't even see him—my boyfriend (if that's what you want to call him), my only friend in Chicago—off at the airport. It's been a year, and neither of us has budged. Mary Anne once told me that one day I'll wake up and he won't be the first thing on my mind. I'm still waiting for that day to come.