day four continued: janie jones

“he left,” i speak the words into the receiver, standing in the kitchen, socks on my feet. i peer into cupboards, into the empty spaces. “and i can’t believe he took all the cereal with him.” i let out a bit of a cracked laugh.

“what do you mean he left? now? he left now? with the baby and everything?” sam still had that jumping up and down on a trampoline while singing along kind of voice. new york hadn’t changed that in her.

“he asked me to marry him and he left.” it sounds so strange when i say it out loud, all of it. hearing it makes it so much more final, and even more true.

“marry him? what? he asked you to marry him? jake? and then he left? damn, janie, i don’t talk to you for a few weeks and look what happens. did you say yes?” sam is tapping her foot, her fingers. even though she is on an opposite coast i can see it, and know it, her impatience with everything. time has never moved fast enough for her.

“yeah, sam, i said yes and then he ran away,” (i said no. i still can’t believe I said no.) “i said no, sam. i had to. i don’t love him. a baby isn’t going to make me love him. i can’t marry him.” (i can’t believe I said no. that this is actual. final. just me and a baby.)

"you said no. okay. no. okay.” she was pacing. the tapping had now turned to pacing. dam verbalizing the mulling over in her head, aloud.

“what are we going to do now?” it is a question, but not really a question. it is more of a statement, her version of final.

“we?” i couldn’t disguise it, the breaking up in my voice, the scared bits that i didn’t want to recognize.

“you can’t do this alone, janie. you just can’t. i'm not going to let you.” her voice is strong, so strong. (how did she get to be that strong?)

“sam. i can do this. i can. you are in New York now and i’m here. we have our own lives now. i can do this.” i tried to sound convincing, enough for the both of us (i can. i hope i can. i’m trying to believe i can. i can’t ask her to help. i can’t.)

“you don’t have to do everything alone all the time. it doesn’t always have to be that way. you aren’t some damn superhero, you know?” her voice is starting to break up now.

“you’re one to talk, sam. all alone in new york, trying to pull some kind of i’m going to make it after all mary tyler moore crap. i don’t see anyone helping you. i can do this, sam. i can.” my voice comes out stronger than i feel. (i can do this. i can do this. i can do this. if you say it enough you can make it true.)

“okay, janie. but if you need me i'm here. i can be on the next plane. i can. i love you.” she is relenting, and i know it is hard for her to relent. and she means it, too. i know she does.

“i love you, too. now tell me about the boys in new york.” i knew that would change the course, that she couldn’t resist telling me about all the gory and the beautiful tales of boys she has met. i pour some team, hop up on the kitchen counter.

(i can do this. i know i can.)