Girls in White Dresses - JENNIFER CLOSE [97]
“I think you need to network more,” Isabella said. Harrison sighed.
“I’m serious, Isabella. It’s not a good time to get a job. You really need to get out there and pound the pavement.”
“Pound the pavement? Could you sound more like my seventy-year-old father if you tried?”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, you aren’t.”
“It seems like you don’t really want to find a job,” Harrison said.
“What are you worried about? That I’m not going to be able to pay rent? Calm down, I got it covered.”
“It’s not that,” Harrison said.
“Then what? What?”
“Nothing,” Harrison said. “Forget it.”
“I’m not going to forget it. You know, I’m only moving there because of you.”
“I know,” Harrison said. He walked out of the room and left Isabella lying on the bed. Two hours later he came back. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Good,” Isabella said.
“I don’t care if you have a job or not,” Harrison said. “I just want you to be happy and find something there that you like.”
“I know,” Isabella said. “I know.”
“Are you sure you want to go?”
“Yeah,” Isabella said. “I’m sure.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’d rather have you here than not here,” Isabella said.
“That sounds pretty simple,” Harrison said.
“I think it is.”
“The only pill in the pot,” her mom said, “is that you’ve never driven a U-Haul before.”
“The pill in the pot?” Isabella asked.
“Isabella,” her mom said. “Don’t be difficult.”
“Well, anyway, I’m not driving it. Harrison’s going to. He’s the pill in the pot.”
“No,” her mom said. “I meant that the rest of your moving plan sounds good, but that the drive will be difficult.”
“Maybe the worm should take the pill,” Isabella said. “Then there won’t be a pill in the pot.”
Her mom sighed. “Isabella, I think you’re the pill in the pot.”
“People on the subway that stand too close,” Harrison said. “Put it on the list.” He threw the boxes on the floor and the dog jumped.
Isabella got up and went to the refrigerator, where they had hung a running list of things that they hated about New York. It was supposed to make them feel better about leaving. So far, they had rats, cockroaches, huge puddles that you have to leap over, people walking with umbrellas that hit you, Duane Reade pharmacy workers, and now people on the subway that stand too close.
“Oh, and how about people on the subway that let their leg rest against yours and then when you move over, they move closer?” Isabella asked.
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Harrison asked.
“No way,” Isabella said. Harrison nodded.
“Put it on the list,” he said.
“I can really have your couch?” Lauren asked. She was holding Mary’s new baby. She and Isabella had been passing her back and forth all night and drinking wine. Mary just sat on the couch and watched. She didn’t even seem worried that every time they passed her to one another, they said, “Don’t drop her.”
“Yeah,” Isabella said. “You can have it. I don’t think it will look right in the new apartment.”
“Why didn’t you offer me the couch?” Mary asked.
“You have a baby,” Lauren said. “You don’t need a couch.”
“Yeah,” Isabella said. “That’s why.”
“Why is there so much crap in this apartment?” Isabella asked. “Do we never throw anything away?”
Every drawer they opened was full of garbage. Every shelf was crammed full of clothes they never wore.
“We’re pigs,” Isabella said. “We are pig people.” She held up an old sweater of Harrison’s that had a neon sort of print on it. “Harrison?” she asked. “What is this?”
Harrison shrugged. “A sweater.”
“Yes,” Isabella said. “I realize that. But why do you have one of Bill Cosby’s sweaters?” Harrison grabbed it away from her and put it in a garbage bag of give-away clothes.
“It’s old,” he said.
“Please put it on,” Isabella said. Harrison sighed and took it out of the bag and pulled it over his head. He was very willing to appease her these days. It was cropped and boxy, with a pattern that resembled a lightning bolt. Isabella bent over laughing until her knees buckled and she sat right down on the floor.
“Oh, you like that?” Harrison asked. He