May 1980 – Amtrak Train (northbound)
Instead of fixing her gaze at the horizon like the rest of the window-watching population, Angela stared down at the grass and rocks past which their train sped. She knew the practice could easily activate her motion sickness, but she didn't care.
She shifted her gaze to Michael in the seat next to her, as casually as she could, for the third time in a minute. He was flipping rapidly through notes, and scratching on his legal pad. Immediately after he'd assumed the responsibilities of being a producer, he'd become busier than she'd ever seen him. Angela found his ambition to be quite the turn on. He was so passionate and driven. He knew exactly what he wanted to create, and was dead set on hiring and training an editor who understood his vision.
The last two months Angela had watched him just as she did now, and Michael actually reminded her of her father. Her father was at his office a lot, but when he was home, he would listen to all she had to say.
Now, looking at Michael, she found this switch in his productivity harshly ironic. It was extremely attractive, and she was proud of him. She didn't want to bother him; she had her own work to do. But as the second month clipped along, Angela realized she had never had to vie for his attention before, and she wasn't all that excited to start. It used to feel like any obstacle to their closeness came from a matter of will or temperament. Now, he was just – How had he put that? Oh, yeah, "terminally disinterested" - and regardless of how she wanted to come across, she was lonely. Not that she ever consciously got off on turning him down, but she realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd even been confronted with the problem.
Still, Michael had been waiting a long time for this promotion, and Angela wasn't about to openly pout. He deserved a shot to make this work, and every indication made it seem like he was succeeding. She wanted to talk to him about it. He was so excited in the desert. It made her heart happy to see him all lit up. But they hadn't had more than a minute or two at a time of even practical conversation since he'd gotten back from Cairns. Part of her wanted to know how long he wanted them to keep this up, and part of her wanted to shut up and just let him do what he had to do. Didn't we kind of agree to do just that? Just do what we could do? But today was their 3rd Anniversary, and he hadn't said a word.
The last two years, Angela had wondered aloud the weekend beforehand if they were going to do something to celebrate. Judging from his attitude, she'd wondered quietly if that had been the reason he'd remembered. This time, she knew he was busy. It's not really fair to play games with him about it. And I know it's a Wednesday. And I know he's got a lot going on. She looked down at her watch. 5:42pm. But as she looked over at him again, she couldn't bring herself to ask him. How much worse to know than to wonder if he didn't care anymore?
The train slowed to a stop at the Stamford station, and Angela deboarded to get Jonathan. She saw her mother leaning against the hood of her car with her arms folded. When Angela got up to her, Mona unfolded her arms and handed her a red envelope.
"Happy Anniversary, dear," she smiled.
Angela's smile faded. Gently taking the card, she said, "Thank you, Mother." Her gaze pinballed slightly, then she looked in her mother's eyes. "I'd better hurry." She stepped to get Jonathan from the car, when Mona grabbed her wrist.
"First of all, I'm keeping the kid tonight. He's sleeping anyway. Second, what's with the face?"
Angela made a small but grateful smile, and shrugged. "I don't know that we're doing anything anyway, Mother."
Mona stood, waiting for the punchline. After several seconds of silence, she helped. "Don't you have some say in that?" she said exasperatedly.
Angela shrugged again, and looked to the ground. "I don't think he remembered."
Mona crashed her palm to her forehead. She yanked the hand down, and looked her daughter in the eye. "Then tell him!"
Angela rolled her eyes. "Mother…I don't know that he really wants me. It feels like groveling."
"Oh, for Pete's sake. You don't have time for this." Mona grabbed Angela's shoulder, and spun her toward the platform. Giving her butt a smack, she spoke loudly over the noise of the station. "Just go… bang his boots, or whatever it is that you do. He'll remember!"
Shaking her head, Mona got back in her car, as a half-mortified, half-amused Angela regained her balance and shuffled toward the doors of the train with her mother's card.
Angela's amusement had reached smirking level by the time Michael came into her line of vision. His head was leaned back against the seat, eyes shut, pen in one hand, pad in the other. Without fanfare, she sat down in his lap, and swung her legs over onto her seat. "You look like nothing is going right," she said in a low voice very near his face.
Michael jolted, but regained his bearing, securing a hand on her hip. "Hey," he started to smile. "Wh-where's Jonathan?"
Angela flipped the card down in front of him. "My mother is keeping him. Apparently, it's our anniversary today."
Michael's cautious smile turned instantly to awareness, "I'm sorry." She smiled, then he sighed. "I guess we probably should do something, huh?"
Angela felt 20 pounds heavier, that old obligation wound freshly picked. The train started to move, and she slipped off his lap onto her seat. Not sure how she could recover gracefully, she looked out the window and opted to beat around the bush.
"Well, we both have things to do tonight. I have half a dozen accounts that need tending." She glanced over at him. "You've clearly got lots of work to do." His eyebrows rose and fell in agreement. She looked at the ground. "But, I mean, anniversaries are important, right? Three years is kind of a long time…" She looked up at him. "Could we maybe do something fun together, even if we still have to work?"
Michael looked at her for a few seconds, then ran his fingers lightly down her hair. "I don't know that anniversaries are all that important. But if it's important to you, we should do something. I do have a ton of instructions to outline, but I wouldn't finish tonight anyway. If I give it a couple hours, I think I could spare the rest of the night. What about you?"
Angela's heart followed his comments like a yo-yo. She finished, not entirely sure of a net gain, but did manage to extrapolate that the ball was somewhat in her court. She shook her head into the present. "Uh- yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that," she smiled. Michael nodded and went back to writing his notes.
Okay, I guess I can think of something. She felt a little lonely, but decided to be content with their exchange. It's not really right to be hurt. I'm happy he's so dedicated, and he isn't trying to hurt me. I should just take this at face value. We're both doing the best we can...
Dinner and dancing? Dinner and a show? A moonlit cruise? They all seemed like things she'd want more than an hour about which to decide and prepare. At work, she was good at pulling the impossible out of her hat, and this wasn't impossible. But she also wasn't at work. The core of their relationship always seemed to be disintegrating, and it was distracting. Thinking back over their relationship, one thing Angela knew for certain: If they ever gave each other the time of day, they did enjoy their time in.
Angela dropped Michael off at home, and set about her errands. She didn't have time to go into the city, but she did know of a local bridal shop that should be able to help. After giving the compassionate salesgirl an account of her hurried intentions, Angela waited 'till she came out with a stunning, flyaway babydoll made of white lace. Oh, yes! Angela tipped her well, and left happily with the smooth box under her arm.
Next, she headed to her favorite bakery, where she made off with $20 worth of chocolate sopapillas, two of which she ate in the car.
She drove to the new Mexican restaurant she'd been wanting to try, and ordered two platters to go. Sniffing the containers on her walk back to the car, she got more and more excited about her idea.
Right before going home, she pulled into the liquor store and found that Don Julio stuff Michael liked so much. That'll pair nicely with the birth control pills I like so much, she chuckled to herself.
Glancing at the results of her impromptu scavenger hunt, she smiled broadly. Well, that was successful!
Angela brought everything into the kitchen in separate trips so she wouldn't spill anything. Carrying the lingerie box under her arm, she went to find Michael.
She opened the office door, but the light was off and it was empty. Hmm. He usually works in here.
She trotted up to their room. "Michael?" She dropped the box onto their bed, and saw the bathroom light was off through the barely open door. Where is he?
She called his name on the upstairs landing. Nothing.
Angela sighed, and walked downstairs. On the back of the front door, there was a note.
Honey,
The new guy was editing film and he thinks he ruined the last partial roll we shot in Cairns. We hadn't rewound it yet, so he's probably right. I've got to go see. I'm not sure how long I'll be, but go ahead and eat. I'll be back as soon as I can.
Michael
Angela slowly peeled the note off the door, and held it in her hands. It's good he's working so hard. I'm busy, too. She didn't feel like it was right to be disappointed. This was what she wanted for them. She asked him to sacrifice for her job, too. She wanted to respect that. Letting out a breath, she slumped to the kitchen. She shoved the platters into the refrigerator, and pulled out a soda. Grabbing a banana, she took her dinner into the living room and spread her files onto the coffee table. Might as well get cracking.
An hour into brainstorming for the new Vábit ad, Angela looked up. He didn't say he was sorry. Is that why I'm so bothered? Should he be sorry? He doesn't care about anniversaries. But, still… No, it was my idea. Besides, something came up. He couldn't help it. Sighing, she shook her head and got back to work. Sometimes she hated how sentimental she could be.
It was 11:37pm when Angela heard Michael's car door shut. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed, propping her elbows on her knees under the covers. She felt a little silly for even wearing the babydoll, at this point. It was all pretty anticlimactic. Still, it was their anniversary. She waited for him to come upstairs, but eventually found herself awakened by Michael's hand on her stomach.
"Hey, beautiful," he whispered.
She startled, and blinked over at the clock. 12:15am. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, and worried her brows. "Where were you?" she said in a groggy voice.
He kissed along her collarbone, and mumbled out, "I got something to eat, and read the paper. Had to decompress. Was a nightmare." He ran his hand down her torso, and squinted in the dark. "Is this new?"
Angela felt extremely down, and she couldn't place the origin. She was irritated, but he wasn't being unreasonable. She was disappointed, but she had the power to not make it worse. She didn't know what she wanted to do, and didn't feel the right to voice it anyway.
"Yeah," she said quietly.
He reached over, and flicked on his bedside lamp. "Damn," he laughed. "Angela, you look gorgeous."
She smiled as he fingered the satin bow that tied the wispy lace together in the middle. That made her so happy to hear. She'd spent an hour getting ready for bed, hoping he'd have come home earlier.
He opened one of the lace flaps, and kissed her stomach before bringing his face back up to hers. He smiled down at her. Why is this so hard? I mean, we're doing our best. She knew her eyes looked worried, and she tried to steady her ever deepening breaths. When frustrated tears started to surface, she quickly pulled his head down to her mouth. I'm not defending this now. I just can't. She pulled him on top of her and kissed him hard, desperate to distract him.
