Attachments a novel, p.11
Attachments: A Novel,
p.11
This is a newsroom. Do you see any peppermint sticks?
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And he doesn’t necessarily look like he sells advertising. He’s not one of those guys with the suits and the Glengarry Glen Ross smiles. He doesn’t look like he wears product in his hair.
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CHAPTER 29
BETH HAD BEEN there. At her desk. In the same room with him, at the same time. Thinking about somebody else. About somebody who worked in Advertising, no less. Lincoln hated the guys who worked in Advertising. Whenever WebFence caught a dirty joke, it inevitably originated from a guy in Advertising. Salespeople. Lincoln hated salespeople. Except Justin. And, honestly, if he didn’t know Justin, he’d probably hate him, too.
One time, he’d had to rebuild a hard drive up in Advertising; it’d taken a few hours, and the next day, when Lincoln went to put on his sweatshirt, it still smelled like Drakkar Noir. No wonder my mom thinks I’m gay.
Jealous, he thought, as he walked by Beth’s desk that night—coffee cups, Halloween candy, Discman—I’m jealous. And not even of the boyfriend. He felt so far from being in the same league as Chris, that he couldn’t be jealous of him. But some guy who works in Advertising, some guy who tries to upsell, who makes cold calls …
Lincoln picked up a miniature Mr. Goodbar and unwrapped it. Beth had been sitting right here while he was working on the copy desk. He might have been able to see her if he’d looked.
CHAPTER 30
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Tues, 10/26/1999 9:45 AM
Subject: I think I’m pregnant.
I’m serious this time.
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The Jennifer Scribner-Snyder I know and love would never publicly admit to having had any sex at all, and certainly wouldn’t sully her fingertips by typing it out like that.
She also would never start a sentence with “because.” Where’s my prudish little friend? What have you done with her?
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So, four days ago, I knew I was ovulating. On that day, I hardly talked to Mitch. He left for school while I was still asleep. When I came home from work, he was upstairs, practicing the tuba. I could have gone up to tell him I was home, but I didn’t. I could have yelled up to see if he wanted a grilled cheese sandwich, but I didn’t.
When he came up to bed, I was already there, watching a Frasier rerun. I watched him get ready for bed, and he didn’t say a word to me. It wasn’t like he was mad; it was more like I was a piece of debris in the middle of the road that he was driving around.
I thought to myself, “My marriage is the most important thing in my life. I would rather have a happy marriage than anything—a good job, a nice house, opposable thumbs, the right to vote, anything. If not wanting a baby is destroying my marriage, I’ll have a baby. I’ll have 10 babies. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
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How long before you know for sure?
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CHAPTER 31
“I HAVEN’T HEARD you complain about work for a while,” Eve said. “Are you liking it better?”
She’d brought her boys over for Sunday brunch after church. Lincoln’s mother had made potato casserole with eggs, turkey, tomatoes, mushrooms, dandelion greens, and three kinds of cheese.
“Work is fine,” Lincoln said, taking a bite.
“You’re not bored?” Eve asked.
“I guess I’m getting used to it,” he said, covering his mouth.
“Are you still looking for something with better hours?”
He shrugged. “These hours will be great if I decide to go back to school.”
Eve frowned. She was especially edgy this afternoon. When she’d walked into the house, their mother had asked the boys if they’d had a good conversation with their higher power.
“Jesus,” Eve had said. “We call him Jesus.”
“That’s one of the names he answers to,” her mother had said.
“So,” Eve said to Lincoln now, stabbing a mushroom, “you must have enough money saved to get a place closer to campus.”
“It’s not a bad drive from here,” he said evenly.
Their mother started giving everyone a second helping of casserole. He could see she was torn. On the one hand, she still didn’t like him going back to school, on the other, she hated when Eve bullied him.
“Why are they doing that?” his mother said, frowning at her grandsons. The boys were sorting the casserole into piles on their plates.
“Doing what?” Eve asked.
“Why aren’t they eating their food?”
“They don’t like it when things touch,” Eve said.
“What things?” his mother asked.
“Their food. They don’t like it when different foods touch or mix together.”
“How do you serve dinner, in ice cube trays?”
“We only eat two things, Grandma,” said Eve’s older son, six-year-old Jake Jr.
“What two things?” she asked.
“Like hot dogs and macaroni,” Jake said. “Or hamburgers and corn.”
“I don’t like ketchup on my hamburger,” said Ben, the four-year-old.
“I like ketchup on the side,” Jake said.
“Fine,” Lincoln’s mom said, taking their plates and scraping them onto her own. “Are you boys still hungry? I’ve got fruit, I’ve got bananas, do you like bananas?”
“So you’re staying here?” Eve turned on Lincoln with new ferocity. “You’re just going to keep living here?”
“For now,” he said.
“Lincoln is always welcome here,” their mother said.
“I’m sure he is,” Eve said. “He’s welcome to rot here for the rest of his life.”
Lincoln set down his fork.
“Grandma,” Ben said, “this banana is dirty.”
“That’s not dirt,” she said.
“It’s brown,” he said.
“It’s banana-colored.”
“Bananas are yellow,” Jake said.
“Lincoln is not rotting,” their grandmother said.
“He isn’t living,” Eve said.
“Don’t tell me how to raise my son.”
“He’s twenty-eight years old,” Eve said. “Your job is done. He’s risen.”
“Like Jesus,” Jake said.
“Not like Jesus,” Eve said.
Lincoln stood up from the table. “Would anyone else like juice? Ben? Jake?” His nephews ignored him.
“You’re never done raising your children,” his mother said. “You’ll see. You’re not done until you’re dead.”
“Jesus died when he was thirty-three,” Jake said.
“Stop talking about Jesus,” Eve said.
“Jesus!” Ben said.
“I’m still Lincoln’s mother. I’m still your mother. Whether you like it or not, I’m not done raising either of you.”
“You never started raising me,” Eve said.
“Eve …” Lincoln winced.
“You’re excused, boys,” Eve said.
“I’m still hungry,” Ben said.
“Can we go to Wendy’s?” Jake asked.
“Tell me more about how to be a good mother,” Eve’s mother said.
“I’ll tell you this,” Eve said. “My boys are going to have lives of their own. They’re going to go on dates and get married and move out. I’m not going to make them feel like they aren’t allowed to say good-bye to me.”
“I never made you feel that way.”
“You came to kindergarten with me for the first month.”
“You asked me to.”
“I was five,” Eve said. “You should have told me no.”
“You were scared.”
“I was five.”
“I didn’t send Lincoln until he was seven, and I’m so glad. He was so much more prepared.”
Lincoln had been prepared for kindergarten. He could already read and do some addition and subtraction. He’d ended up skipping the first grade.
“Oh my God”—Eve slammed her fork on the table—“can’t you even hear yourself?”
“Don’t talk about Jesus, Mommy,” Ben whispered.
“Come on, boys,” Lincoln said, “let’s go outside. Let’s play soccer.”
“You’re a very bad soccer player,” Jake said.
“I know,” Lincoln said. “You can teach me.”
The kitchen windows were open. Even after Lincoln took his nephews outside, they could still hear his sister and mother shouting.
“Food touches!” Lincoln heard his mother say. “The world touches!”
After about twenty minutes, Eve leaned out the back door and told the boys to come say good-bye to Grandma. Eve looked frustrated and angry, and she’d been crying.
“We’re going to Wendy’s,” she said to Lincoln. “Do you want to come?”
“No, I’m full.”
“I’m not sorry about anything I said,” she said. “It was all true. You are rotting here.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe I’m ripening.”
Eve slammed the back door closed.
CHAPTER 32
WHEN LINCOLN GOT to work on Monday, Greg took him aside to talk about the millennium project.
“It seems like they’re working, right?” Greg asked, looking over at the Y2K kids’ corner. “I mean, they’re putting in a shit-ton of hours.”
Lincoln decided not to tell Greg that his International Strike Force stayed pretty late some nights, playing Doom. (Right in front of Lincoln. You’d think they’d at least ask him to play.)
“They’re so quiet,” Greg said. Lincoln nodded. “Sometimes, I look over at them, and their screens are full of code, and I think about the time I had my appendix out and woke up on the operating table …I mean, they could be doing anything in there.”
“I think they’re just writing code,” Lincoln said.
“Fucking millennium,” Greg said.
CHAPTER 33
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Wed, 11/10/1999 10:13 AM
Subject: Positive.
Well, I took the test last night, and I’ve felt like I was going to throw up ever since …Not because I have morning sickness, I think it’s too early for that.
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Congratulations, congratulations! OH MY GOD!!!
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Enough about me and my tapeworm. How are you?
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I think he just gets like this sometimes. Like he needs to pull away. I think of it like winter. During winter, it isn’t that the sun is gone (or cheating on you with some other planet). You can still see it in the sky. It’s just farther away.
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