Charlie James
Lemons
When I come into the kitchen, my mother is standing over the sink, rubbing a cut lemon half over the beds of her nails. She does this every morning, methodically, with an intensity and a seeming desperation I don’t understand. It’s not always her nails. Sometimes it’s her elbows or her hair, the skin just under her eyes. Regardless, I come downstairs and my mother is standing at the kitchen sink.
“Good morning,” she says without looking at me.
“Good morning,” I respond.
She gestures for me to stand by her, so I do. She takes one of my hands by my wrists and begins to rub the lemon half over my palm. I don’t question this anymore. I used to wonder how much one lemon could actually accomplish, but whenever I voiced my queries she’d give me the same laundry list. Softer skin. Anti-aging properties. Stimulating, calming, detoxifying. I just think it smells nice.
I play a game sometimes, trying to will seeds or pulp into my hands. I have a jar under my bed, containing five still sticky lemon seeds. They don’t smell like lemon anymore, though–they’ve lost all potential for growth. It just feels like bad luck to throw them away.
She asks me to go to the store once she’s done. I say I’ll go. I’ll bring her lemons and wait for some recognition of what I’ve done for her in her eyes. There will be none.
I try to say something else, but I don’t. I imagine my teeth will turn into seeds and rot away before I ever think of a single thing to say to her.
“Isn’t that nice?” she asks, holding the skin of the lemon to mine. As if I could feel her hand through it.
I agree.
To Maxine
“Max got the job,” Beth said, closing her book, a finger hooked between the pages to mark her spot.
“Oh, yeah?” Her husband’s voice echoed down the long hall.
“Yeah.”
“Good for her.”
A pause, as Beth considered her next words.
“William?” She had to call for him as he was in the kitchen, while she sat in the living room. He insisted upon making his own lunch now, as evidenced by the cacophony of sounds echoing through the house. Anything he could do to prove how strong he still was–he would do it and get angry if she suggested anything to the contrary. It all felt awfully showy to her.
His reply was delayed a moment until a barely noticeable “Mhm?” came through the doorway.
“She ever call you about it?” Beth asked.
Another pause. The slight shuffling of a drawer full of utensils.
“No,” he finally said.
“Oh,” fell from in between her lips, barely noticeable by anyone, and certainly not by William.
“You want to go for coffee later?”
They always went for coffee on Sundays. He always asked, too.
“Sure,” she said.
Another pause. Beth, at first, took the note to change the subject, and lazily flipped through the next few pages of her book, eyes skimming the words. She had hoped joining a book club would reignite her passion for reading, and for a moment, it had, but she just couldn’t get into this one. It was too political for her taste. Maybe she’d skip the next meeting. It wasn’t her turn to bring food.
“William?” she called again.
“Mmhm?”
“I’m sure she’d pick up if you called.”
A longer pause.
“There’s no reason to call,” he said, finally.
“Why not?” Beth asked, setting the book on the coffee table.
“She got the job. I already know. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“Sure.”
“I’m excited,” Beth said.
“Me too.”
“I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. It’s exciting. Her first real job.” Beth sighed, falling back into the couch cushions. Her next words were quieter: “I didn’t think she’d get it.”
“What?”
“Hm?”
“What did you say?” William called, louder this time.
“I wasn’t sure she’d get it.” Max had been so excited to tell her.
William then came into the living room from the kitchen, a spoon drifting lazily through the bowl he was holding. “I was.”
*
It was a quiet day, William noted. He and Beth lived a quiet life. William was proud of this life he had built for them–of the safe neighborhood with the well-trimmed bushes in the respectable school district where his Maxine graduated summa cum laude. He had to look up what that meant, but once he knew, he was proud. She had always been smart, his Maxine. A bright girl with a bright future. That’s what he liked to say.
Maxine had kept them both busy. She was always running to and from. She was on the student council, she sang in the choir, and she had so many friends. She was kind, popular, and active. She volunteered, she gardened, she went on long bike rides and was always home in time for dinner, always eager to help with the dishes (as if that would make up for the countless shoes she left littered about the house). Maxine was a good kid.
William was so proud to send her to college. He packed every box with such fervent joy Beth warned him Maxine might be getting the wrong idea. The drive up was wonderful. Maxine told them jokes and William played her old music. He liked introducing her to things she had no familiarity with; it made him feel just as smart as her. She had an ear for good music, his daughter. It was an excellent school and William couldn’t wait to tell everyone that his Maxine was going to college. Initially, Maxine worried about going to school so far from home. He was sick by then, and she wanted to be close by in case something happened. He scolded her for that, told her it was nonsense. Her future was the most important thing to him, and he wouldn’t have her sacrificing it for something so silly. She needed to go to school, he told her. The best school. The one she deserved.
He did worry about the kinds of people she was surrounding herself with, though. Her roommate had a nose piercing, for Christ’s sake. He knew they would change her.
When Beth thought about dropping her daughter off at that far away school, she remembered nothing about moving Max in. She couldn’t recall the roommate’s name, or what classes Max had taken any of her four years, or even the school colors. All Beth could remember was walking through the front door to the house where her daughter no longer lived. And it was so quiet. And it was so clean.
Now they had a quiet life. William sat in the quiet living room with his feet propped on the ottoman. He sat in silence, staring at the newspaper lying at the end of the driveway. He watched, somewhat mesmerized, as the wind lifted up the first page, then set it back down. Lift, fall. Lift, fall. Lift, fall.
Beth paced through the house, looking for something to do. She had taken up the habit of carrying a feather duster around with her as she roamed, just in case something was in need of cleaning. She lingered by Maxine’s old room every day, but never opened the door.
“It must be filthy in there,” she thought.
*
“I’m not feeling well,” William said when it was time to go for coffee, his eyes still stuck on the lifting and falling of the paper.
“Well, I’m not going by myself.” Beth had had her shoes on for the past half hour.
He sighed deeply, laying his arms flat on the arms of the chair to hoist himself up. “Fine.”
“It’s important that you walk with me,” Beth said.
“One of these days, you’ll have to get used to walking without me,” he said.
She tutted gently. “We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
He laughed a little. “I have a clue.”
She just tutted again. She was always insisting on hope, but William could only find himself disagreeing with the notion that any of it was a mental game. His knees cracked and popped as he stood, and he felt a sudden weight on his chest. He grunted, shifting on his feet until he felt the weight ease slightly.
He held his arm out, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. She always felt younger when he walked with her like this. When they were freshly dating, they would spend hours walking together, going nowhere. It happened rarely now, but every Sunday, they would walk through the neighborhood and down the road to the coffee shop in town. William walked slowly, a visual reminder of how much time had passed. He shuffled his feet from the discomfort of the compression socks he had to wear. Beth was patient with him, but she tried, as best she could, to avoid talking to him while they walked. He would get frustrated with himself, with his lack of ability, and would snap at her without much provocation. The anger was always followed with an inevitable breakdown. Shaking, tears, the works.
“I’m not even old yet,” he would sob, and the worst part was, he was right. They weren’t old yet. Though admittedly the qualifying line for “old” kept being pushed back.
After several moments of silence, William spoke first, unable to bear it for a moment longer.
“You got home later than you said you would be last night,” he said.
Beth’s head jerked up for a brief moment before she put her eyes back to the ground. “I’m sorry that I woke you.” She had seen him shift in the bed, and William never moved in his sleep.
“You didn’t. I was waiting for you.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I can’t sleep when you’re not there.”
Beth sighed. “I’m sorry. I got caught up.”
“Was it a nice place?” William asked.
“The restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, very good. A little expensive.”
“Everything’s expensive now,” William said.
“Sure.”
“What was it called again?”
“I can’t remember,” Beth said. “I’ll ask Max. She’ll remember. She has a mind for that kind of thing. Detail-oriented.”
“Don’t know where she got that from,” William joked, and she laughed.
“Certainly not from you,” she said, and he laughed too. “Probably my mother.”
“No, no. That was all Maxine,” he said.
“I know.”
“It was Terry’s suggestion, you know,” he continued, his words growing thinner as his breath began to strain. The pressure in his chest grew. “The restaurant.”
“Tell him thank you for me, then.”
“Was the roommate there, too?”
Beth swallowed and cleared her throat. “Shannon. Yes, she was.”
“She can’t go anywhere without that girl.”
“It was a surprise, but they’re good friends,” Beth said, squeezing her husband’s arm. “I’m glad Maxine has a friend like that.”
“Right.” William avoided her eyes, not wanting to see the insistent look in them.
“I imagine the city would get lonely without that,” she went on.
“I’ve never wanted to live in the city.” William was getting that furrow in his brow. “No sense of community.”
“I know.”
William looked at her expectantly.
“Me neither,” she said.
He nodded. “She likes it though.”
“She does.”
“Good, then.”
“You should visit,” Beth said. “It’s a nice neighborhood.”
“I don’t think so.”
“She’d love to have you.”
“Her and the roommate both, I assume?”
“William.”
He sighed. “It was a joke.”
The rest of the walk was silent after that.
*
William ordered their coffees and one blueberry muffin to split while Beth claimed their usual table: outside, right to the left of the door. After exactly eight minutes, he sat down across from her. She pulled the muffin apart and handed her husband the larger half, though it was not larger by much.
William took a sip of his coffee and rubbed his lips together a few times, contemplating whether or not it needed another sugar. He always decided it didn’t. This brew was no exception. Three sips later he raised his cup towards his wife. This was a break from the routine, this invitation to toast, so Beth blinked a few times in confusion before she understood and raised her cup as well, tilting the lid forward.
“To Maxine,” William said.
Beth smiled without showing her teeth. “To Maxine.”
They were quiet for the rest of their time at the coffee shop, as was customary. On the walk home, William said, “I’m playing golf with Jim and some of his friends tomorrow.”
Beth glanced at him using only the corner of her eye, as not to alert him she was looking. He wore a thin veil of sweat across his brow.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.
“I’ve already committed,” he said, the words tight against a lack of air.
Beth shook her head, then sniffed and steadied her chin. “It turned out to be a nice day.”
*
Beth cooked dinner. They ate in silence, except for a brief moment halfway through the meal when the phone rang. Beth popped out of her chair and hurried to answer it while William glared down at his mostly full plate. His appetite was waning. It had been for months. Doctors kept telling him that was normal, but he strongly resented the notion that anything about this was normal. When Beth returned to the table a few minutes later he asked, “Who was it?”
“Spam call,” she replied.
William shook his head. “You’d think that’d be illegal.”
She nodded her assent.
After dinner, William retreated into his office. He had been placed on an indefinite leave, so there was no work to be done. There hadn’t been for years. But he liked to sit in there, feet propped up on the ottoman, with the TV turned up loud. There was always some sports game or another on, and he found the voices of the commentators soothing. They reminded him of his old school friends, always declaring with strong opinions as to the right way to do things. He stared at the screen, adding his own pieces of insight here and there.
“They always do that don’t they,” he muttered. “Always.”
“That’s right, John,” the TV replied.
He thought about calling Maxine.
Beth stood on the mat under the kitchen sink, washing the dishes. They never created enough dishes to justify running the dishwasher. Max kept talking to her about conservation. Apparently running the dishwasher was, in her words, “an absurd waste of water, Mom.” Besides, Beth liked feeling the soap and warm water on her hands. She would think of her daughter, standing in her city apartment, using the same tropically scented dish soap.
*
Beth sat by the phone for a half hour or so, staring at it, willing it to ring so she could have something to do. It didn’t.
She heard William crying from his office. She knew he liked to believe she couldn’t hear him with the TV turned up so loud, so she didn’t interrupt.
Beth checked her calendar, made a list of groceries (Monday was grocery day), made a list of the paperwork they needed and the questions they had for William’s doctor's appointment on Wednesday, and refilled his pillbox for the week. He wouldn’t take any otherwise. It was too much for him to keep track of, he said, though she wondered if he just didn’t want to think about any of it.
She washed her face, then spent a good twenty minutes poking at her skin. She pulled her cheeks back, watching as the skin stretched thin beneath her fingers, then let it go slack again. Lift, fall. Lift, fall. Lift, fall.
*
Beth knocked on William’s office door. She heard him scramble, reaching for the tissue box so he could quickly wipe his eyes. She allowed him this dignity, so she waited a minute before opening the door.
“I’m going to bed,” she said.
William’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“I’m tired.”
“It’s eight o’clock,” he repeated.
“I’ve had a long day.” She continued, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
William chuckled, a dry and hollow sound, devoid of any humor. She always did this.
“What?” Beth asked.
“How is it that you either go to bed at eight or at midnight?” he asked.
“Perhaps it has to do with the company.”
William snorted. “Perhaps.” He paused for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth.
“I’m going to bed,” Beth repeated.
“Sit with me a moment,” he said.
“I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Elizabeth, why don’t you ever talk to me?”
Beth paused at the door. She had already turned to go. She ruminated on the question, fingertips cupped around the doorframe.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, finally. The air between them was stale and uncomfortably warm.
“There isn’t?” he asked. “I could think of a few things.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Huh.” His shoulders were slumped so far forward, it was noticeable how thin he was.
“What?” Beth asked.
“Nothing.”
“What is it you want to talk about, William?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m going to bed.” Her tone was insistent, now.
“Goodnight,” he said.
“Goodnight,” she replied, shutting the door behind her.