Anne removed her reading glasses and tossed them on the table. Sometimes talking to Sadie was a doctoral education in the art of forbearance. “I don’t understand why you have to get a permit to use that carousel. It’s open to the public. And what does all of this have to do with poetry?”
“Because, dear heart,” Sadie said patiently, taking the chair next to Anne, “a single carousel ride lasts three minutes, and I need to accommodate an eighteen-person poetry reading. Didn’t I tell you? My Intermediate Poetry students are all writing about childhood nostalgia for their final projects. Maybe it’s madness,maybe it’s genius, but I think a carousel’s the perfect backdrop. ‘And thus the whirligig of time,’ et. cetera.”
“You are not going to have your class give a poetry reading on the Santa Monica Pier Carousel,” Anne said, knowing full well that inevitably, Sadie’s class would give a poetry reading on the Santa Monica Pier Carousel.
“I’d caution you against underestimating Manny. Many have, with near-universal regret.”
Anne, who had never met Manny, shut her laptop lid. “Anyway, I’ll put a pause on Cindy Sherman. It’s not the same without you holding forth on the ‘ontological differences’ between a selfie and a self-portrait, whatever that actually means.”
“I’ll be glad to hold forth on another date.” Sadie put down her half-eaten cookie, then cocked her head, looking at Anne. “As long as you hold forth, now or in the immediate future, on what’s been going on with you since your birthday.”
Someone had once walked in on Anne in a changing room at Neiman Marcus. The sudden spike of fear and anxiety she’d felt then was identical to how she felt now.
She turned away, unable to face Sadie directly. Hadn’t Anne wanted to have a conversation? But not like this. “What do you mean, what’s been going on with me? I’m fine.”
“So you say. ButIsay you’ve been off for the last couple of weeks. Either too quiet or picking unnecessary little fights or tapping your fingers against your palms like you’re getting paid to do it. Spill. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong!” It came out too loud.
Now Sadie’s tone softened with obvious concern. “I know that sometimes I’m too blunt for your WASPish sensibilities. So I wanted to wait for you to bring it up first. A little like you hand-feed a deer, by staying still until the deer feels safe to come to you. But you didn’t come. So here we are.”
“I’m not a deer,” Anne snapped. She pressed her hands against the denim covering her thighs, hard. “I’m a person. And there’s nothing—nothing—except—”
Silence, full and heavy.
Then she felt the pressure of Sadie’s right hand on top of her left one.
“It’s me, beloved,” Sadie said gently. “It’s your Sadie. You can tell me anything.”
Not anything. Not this. Not when it could be the beginning of the end of everything.
Anne bit her tongue hard enough to sting. After ten seconds, she finally managed to get the words out. “Hal and Talisha told me about Barnard.”
Silence again.
It took every bit of strength for Anne to turn her head toward Sadie. Even in the direct light from the French doors, she could see shadows lengthening Sadie’s face, the stillness of that full mouth as Sadie took this in.
“Well, fuck,” Sadie said, and pulled her hand away.
“And I know you’re going to New York for an interview, even though you let me think you were visiting Sam.” Now that the dam had burst, Anne couldn’t stop herself. It felt like a purge. “You weren’t going to tell me? What were you thinking, Sadie? Were you just going to move out in the middle of the night and send me a postcard? ‘Thanks for the last four years, now onto the next adventure.’ Doesn’t this”—she gestured between herself and Sadie, unable to put words to what she meant—“mean something to you?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course it does! I was going to talk to you—once I figured out—”
“Once you figured itout? Oh, I see. So this was never going to be a conversation. Fine. You go ahead and make your decision.” Anne’s throat felt thick with her anguish. “And while you’redoing that, I can get a head start on planning your farewell party.”
“Good God, will you hush for a second andlistento me before you gallop off on that high horse? I didn’t mean I was going to tell you after I made a decision about the job.” Sadie swallowed visibly. “I did want your input before I decided. I still want it.”
“Oh,” Anne said, a little mollified. “But you haven’t even asked for my input. And you’ve known about this for what—weeks? A month? More?”
“They first reached out to me about six weeks ago.” Sadie had the good grace to flush with obvious embarrassment. “The campus visit offer came two days before your birthday. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything. I was going to tell you this weekend—before I left for New York on Tuesday. I swear I was.”
Anne believed her. “But you always want to talk about everything. Why not this? Especially when it’s so important?”
“Well,” Sadie said, too lightly and too quickly, “you’re right, I do love talking. To anyone, honestly, not just you. You most of all, of course, and I always corner Rabbi Aviva after services—and then there are the girls in my yoga class, and Hat Dan when he’s having one of his good days, but of course I also talk to Manny, from—”
“—the airport parking lot, yes, Iknow—”
“—his kid’s got a loose tooth, she’s awfully nervous because she doesn’t want to lose a part of herself, and I deeply empathize, so I’ve been telling him everything I know about gestalt psychology, just in case it helps.”