“Isabel? It’s Alex. If you’re there, pick up. Isabel? Okay, well, call me when you get in. We’re still on for tonight, right? I got reservations for us at that new place you mentioned last week. I’ll pick you up at seven, okay? Okay. Well, I can’t wait to see you. I’ve been thinking about you all week. Call me.”
What’s wrong with me? He’s a great guy, but I just wish he’d leave me alone.
“Isabel, this is your father. I, ahem, ah, want to apologize for what I said the other night. Perhaps I did have a bit too much to drink. I may not understand what you do for a living but that does—”
“Isabel, this is your father. I, ahem, ah, want to apologize for what I said the other night. Perhaps I did have a bit too much to drink. I may not understand what you do for a living but that does—”
“Isabel, this is your father. I, ahem, ah, want to apologize for what I said the other night. Perhaps I did have a bit too much to drink. I may not understand what you do for a living but that does—”
Isabel replayed the message countless times, wondering what her father would have said if her answering machine hadn’t cut him off.
A bit too much to drink.
She winced at the thought of her father back off the wagon. She had thought her father would have been proud of her dogged reporting, of her dedication to this, her first network job. She had been unprepared for his disdain. Television was bullshit, he had said. Cars are tangible. Everyone wants to see the new lines. Dealers from all over the world were lined up to meet with him, he had slurred.
She had not taken a shower in four days. The boxers and T-shirt she wore to bed had started to smell because she hadn’t changed out of them for two days.
She had lost her appetite and all her energy. Her shades were drawn and her heart was closing up. She lay in bed listening to Alex leave yet another message on her machine—his voice booming throughout her tiny San Francisco apartment like a foam life preserver a drowning man can’t quite reach.
I’m so tired. There’s no way I’m going out tonight.
“Isabel? Hi, it’s me, Alex. Um, should I be paranoid, here? If you don’t want to see me again just tell me and I won’t keep bothering you. It’s just, well, I just thought we really hit it off. Tell me if I’m wrong. Your answering machine is probably going to cut me off—and that’s probably a good thing since I’m sounding like a real loser here. I’d like to see you again when you feel better. Call me whenever. Bye.”
“Isabel? Hi. It’s Alex. I promise I’m not a stalker, but I just thought I’d call you again. Listen, I have tickets to the Giants game this weekend. If you’re feeling better, wanna go? You can’t live in San Francisco and not go to a Giants game. It’s just not allowed. Okay. Well, call me when you get this message. Bye.”
“Hi! It’s Alex and I got your message. I was just calling—hello? Oh. I thought I heard you pick up. Anyway, I was glad to get your message. I’d love to get together tonight. You know that. I mean it’s not like I haven’t called you practically every day for the past three weeks or something. Okay. So. Call me when you get this message and we can talk about where to go and what time. Hey, Isabel? Thanks for calling me back. Bye.”
“I just don’t know, Alex.” Isabel couldn’t look him in the eye.
“What? What don’t you know?” His pleading tone depressed Isabel even more. “You love me. I love you. Why not get married?”
“It’s just so soon,” Isabel ventured. “We’ve only been dating six months. And I don’t even know where I’m going to be working. I’m just coming out of this funk—”
“Aw, man! Not the ‘my life has no purpose’ speech again. I’ll tell you what your purpose is, it’s to be with me. I’m your purpose.”
They were married six months later.