The Difference Page 6

  “Don’t pick apart your competence as a therapist. You work with kids, not couples. And you know when situations are personal, we all have blinders on. We can’t help ourselves sometimes. That’s why I’m here. I want to sort this out with you.” She starts eating her chips without missing a beat.

  Somehow the immediate chomping causes us to laugh, cutting the tension. But my thoughts persist.

  Should I tell her what I have really been thinking? Admitting it out loud makes it too much of a possibility. I can’t tell her I’m worried I’m on the verge of the “D” word. Rachel, you have no right to be depressed. You have your basic needs met, live in a dream location, have a successful therapy practice, and have a wonderful boyfriend. But even when Brian tried to cheer me up with talking about going to see Titanic in 3D soon, I faked an excited reaction. My true reaction felt blunted. That must mean something. I want to feel the passion about everything again, instead of this sense of dragging through my life.

  I look Maggie straight in the eyes. “If I don’t figure out how to feel more like my old self, will Brian leave me? Will we not be together anymore? Not live together? I can’t comprehend that world. I—”

  “I have to stop you.” She pushes her palms toward me and swallows her food. “You are talking yourself into a spiral.”

  “I just expected him to propose any day now, you know, pre-the discussion. But instead, he is…what? Waiting and seeing what will happen? Analyzing how I will act day to day and seeing if I pass his imaginary test?”

  “No, stop. For real. That’s not like Brian and you know it.”

  “I know.” I dip my head. “I’m all worked up.”

  “I gather that.”

  “My life feels like I’m stuck on an endless conveyor belt in an abandoned factory. When I’m alone at work, all I can think about is being at home. When I am at home, all I can think about is going to sleep. But when I try to go to sleep, all I can think about is waking up to everything being okay. Then it starts all over again the next day. I’m stuck.”

  “I wish I had the perfect answer to fix this for you, Rach.” She looks into the sky and leans back. “Maybe we need to get together one of those lists you always talk about doing. You’re such a list girl.”

  “A list of what, Mags?” My interest is peaked at the mention of the word “list.”

  “What makes you happy, what used to make you happy, and what you think makes others happy.”

  “That could be a start. I do like a list.” I smile.

  “Ooh, what about how your life would look if you were happy?” Her eyes widen.

  “That’s actually a really good idea. It’s a quintessential therapy question.”

  “Well, there you go. Think on that.”

  “You know I couldn’t stop thinking on that now even if I wanted to.” I grin.

  “Oh, I know.” She laughs.

  I’m lucky to have someone like her. Not everyone has a Maggie in their life, so thank God I do.

  After we separate to go home, I start brainstorming for my happiness list on the walk. The first idea that comes to mind is a special person. Of course, it’s my grandpa.

  I wish he were around to talk to me now more than ever. He would know exactly how to help because he always understood me. I barely had to speak about a problem for him to know what to tell me. He wouldn’t feel like I am damaged, broken in half and incomplete, like I feel about myself. What I need is a hug from him and to feel that comfort and assurance that everything will work out well. I close my eyes a second and imagine how it would feel right now.

  Think about something else. I miss him too much to continue down this road, but the universe is working against me. I walk past a street performer playing guitar and am sent right back to when I listened to Grandpa play his guitar. My chest feels heavy, and I lean on a streetlight. I crave his singing and playing and could use it now more than ever.

  The old Italian songs he knew so well were always a comfort to hear. I couldn’t understand most of the words, but I got the point of them through their expressive tone. That is what music does; it’s a universal language. All the songs were about love, from what he told me. He translated some of the songs’ lyrics at times and it always came down to love, family, and relationships. I sometimes heard him singing them to my grandma, even after her death.

  I close my eyes again and smile. I should listen to our song tonight, “Mambo Italiano” by Dean Martin. It’s an Italian American one we always danced to when it was on his favorite radio station. Maybe remembering our silliness can break the suffocating silence at home as well.

  I walk into the apartment, ready to make my list.

  “Hey. You were gone for a while. I was starting to get worried.”

  Brian sets his book on the armrest of the couch as I take my shoes off near the door.

  “Oh, well here I am.” I give him jazz hands and giggle.

  He smiles. “And I’m glad. Do you want to watch a movie?”

  I can make my list tomorrow, I guess. What’s one more day? Time with him is important, especially right now.

  “Sure. Do you have one in mind?” I sit next to him.

  “Not really. You pick.” He hands me the remote and puts his feet on the coffee table.

  I scan through the channels and land on one of my favorite movies. “What about this one?”

  “I’m not really into chick flicks, but if you want to watch, go ahead.” Brian shrugs.

  Ten minutes pass and Brian gets up and disappears into our bedroom with his book and without a word.

  So much for watching a movie together. I could have made my list. Instead, I remain in place and pull my feet underneath me on the couch, wrapping myself in my blanket as I start to rub it.

  Harrison climbs onto my lap and I stroke his soft, long fur until he falls asleep, almost immediately. The fortune of being a cat.

  A few minutes before the movie ends, Brian returns. He picks up my feet, sits down, and sets them on his lap.

  What is happening? I squint my eyes while I stare at him, but he doesn’t see it.

  Instead, I say, “I’m glad you are back. You missed all the fun, though.”

  “I think I’ve seen this one enough.” He rolls his eyes.

  “Oh, sorry. You should have said something. I would have changed it to another movie.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m into my book anyway. What did you and Maggie do today?” His fingers glide over my feet in a gentle massage.

  “She’s such a sweetie. We went to Central Park, had a picnic lunch, and talked a lot, then stopped for ice cream on the way home. I really needed that.”

  He chuckles. “Ice cream is a cure for everything.”

  “You got that right. She didn’t tell me much about Ray, but I guess things are going well. If she’s not complaining, it’s all good, right?” I smile.

  When the movie ends, Brian slides next to me and kisses me, sending warmth throughout my body. Time seems to stop with his soft lips on mine, making me forget how long it’s been since the last kiss like this.

  “I love you, Rachel.”

  My heart jumps. The worry from me not being home, the massage, the kiss, and now this statement. I stare into his eyes and say, “I love you too, Brian.”

  He turns off the TV, grabs my hand, and leads me to our bedroom.

  More unexpected time together begins.

  Maybe due to the combination of the exhausting conversation with Maggie and how my night is shaping up, I doubt I’ll have problems falling asleep tonight.

  Chapter 7

  List time is here. Brian’s visiting his dad for this Sunday afternoon and I have the place to myself. Come on, Rachel. You can do this. The idea of making a list is usually energizing, but the theme of this list feels like I need to climb a mountain.

  As I sit at my tiny tab
le where my laptop lives while not on the coffee table, I stare at the blank screen. I feel like I am in an episode of Sex and the City and I am Carrie, needing to write but having no idea what to type. There isn’t a writer for the Rachel show who can swoop in and provide my dialogue and future life events. The white page remains in front of me, taunting me with its blinking cursor.

  My fingers finally type Things in my life that make me happy. I put a bullet point below the title. So far, I can only think of two topics that never fail me, Harrison and researching the Titanic. I love getting sucked into the culture of the dissipating Edwardian era and all of the lessons people learned from human arrogance and poor planning. I can get lost in another time period and retreat from reality. Could I be any more pathetic that these are my top joy points? At least there’s Harrison, a living being.

  I know there are people in my life who bring me happiness, of course, but can I put them on this list? People equal the possibility of negative feelings and interactions. The risk of pain. I do feel pleasure with my support system, but they aren’t bliss twenty-four seven. Not that I would expect that. It’s impossible. So, can I add them on my list? Nothing and no one are ideal. If that were the case, Grandpa would still be alive. He would have been my number one point on this list.

  It’s like there’s a battle going on between my head and my heart. My head knows I have a pretty good life and many aspects that should lead to delight, but questions why I feel empty. My heart knows the real answer. It just hasn’t let my head know the truth yet.

  After about thirty minutes of trying to fill out this page, I remember one of Maggie’s last suggestions. She said to write about what I thought others feel happy about in their lives. Let’s see, before I type it out. I daze out the window at the passing clouds.

  Annabelle is happy because of her loving husband, her magnificent house, her job, and all their travel. I’m sure it takes more than that for her positive demeanor. Well, she is an easy-going, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants type of woman so maybe that freedom brings her glee. I can rule this out for myself. Next.

  Maggie seems happy when she is flirting with guys or making an influential move at work. She loves fast food and bar food (the greasier the better), late nights, sexy and tight clothes, and getting me into uncomfortable situations which make her laugh. I giggle. Oh, that Mags.

  Brian is happy when he is with his friends, reading, when he is successful at work, and when he is with me…or he used to be. I don’t even know anymore. I think it’s still true. I hope.

  I look back at my computer screen and type what came to me for my loved ones. It is so much easier to write about other people. I try to push myself to continue with focusing on me, but I can’t think of anything else to add to my two points. Maybe I need a break.

  I open up my email. There isn’t too much going on since I last checked, but something on the side of the page catches my attention. One of those sponsored advertisements pops up about searching for ancestors. Ooh, it’s free for thirty days. Hmm, that sounds like it could be interesting. I never thought about my family history beyond the few bits of information I overheard or learned through the grapevine. What do I have to lose at this point? Plus, it would give me a break from the depressing manifesto of others’ happiness when compared to mine. I click the ad.

  When I type in the first person who comes to mind, my grandpa of course, and click search, my mouth drops open. So many Salvatore Granzas populate! This is wild. Where will I begin? I guess I have to start clicking on each person to see if the entry is my Salvatore’s information.

  But wait, what year was he even born? I search for the calculator in Google and figure out he must have been born in 1902 from knowing his age and the year when he died. Yeah, I have no math skills. You got me.

  When did he arrive in the United States with his dad and Great-Uncle Vince? Why didn’t his mom and sister come with him? I remember him exchanging letters in Italian with them and later with his half-sister, so I know they still lived in Italy. I always wanted to know what they said in those letters, but he wouldn’t tell me. My heart feels like it’s sinking into my stomach. He was my hero and yet I lack so much basic information about him. I don’t even know when he became a US citizen. That’s life-changing information I should know. My head falls into the palm of my hand.

  “Vaffanculo!” Swearing in Italian always helps a situation.

  What kind of a granddaughter am I? I’m a sham of a granddaughter, that’s what. It can’t be normal that I don’t know any useful information about my idol besides his birthday year, which I had to figure out.

  Maybe I need to call my parents to ask some questions before I try to go further on my own. My dad should know information about Grandpa’s life, I hope. But that call will have to wait because I can’t tear myself away from this site. Even just exploring what it offers peaks my attention. There’s a way to build a family tree, contact pages for people who have connected through the site, so many fascinating documents, and even pictures. There is some DNA section as well where they’ll match you to family members who have already taken the test. Dare I say, this is fun? Yeah, that’s right, fun. No, more like it’s amazing.

  Before I realize, hours have flown by and Brian’s walking through the door.

  “Hi, Rachel.” He stares at me and slowly approaches. “What are you doing? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I make sure to get up, blink a few times, and give him a tight hug. “You won’t believe what I’ve done all afternoon.”

  “I’d love to hear about it over dinner. Come on, let’s get you out of here.” He extends his hand for me to accept.

  I reach out and give a squeeze. “It would probably do me good to leave this table I’ve been glued to, right?”

  “Right. Now, where do you want to go? Obviously Italian since it’s Sunday?”

  “Obviously.”

  I take a huge bite of crusty white bread topped with a gob of butter. I didn’t feel hungry until we had food in front of us, but now I can’t wait to get my mountain of fettuccine.

  “You can sure put that bread away. Where does it go?” He looks underneath the tablecloth.

  I shrug and keep swallowing. “How was your dad?”

  “He’s good. He’s remodeling the basement, so I helped him move furniture upstairs.”

  “You’re a good son.” I bite off another chunk.

  “Aw-shucks.” He swings his arm in jest. “Thanks.” He smiles and finally butters a piece of bread for himself. “Tell me about this afternoon. Sorry I had to take that call on the walk over here.”

  “It’s fine. Well, I stumbled upon an ancestry database and started researching about my grandpa.”

  His eyes enlarge. “Really? That sounds like something you would like.”

  “I guess you can say that because I kind of got lost in there with strangers’ files. I can only imagine when I find my grandpa’s information. There were US censuses, naturalization papers, phone book pages—”

  “What do you mean when you find your grandpa’s information? Isn’t that why you were on there?”

  “Yes, but that’s the problem. I’m realizing I know few concrete facts about his life. If they had a way to search his favorite food, music, or phrases, I’d be golden. Wait, I guess I already know those loves though. Anyway, he was extremely secretive about his life before his time in the United States. None of my family knew the reason, but it was a given norm. Nobody ever questioned it.”

  “That’s sad none of you know about that part of him. I know how much he meant to you.”

  “Yeah. It is sad. Why was I so stupid to not ask him about his youth? Like, why did his dad choose Philly to settle in? How does that happen?”

  “Because no teenager thinks of asking these questions. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “I guess. Ugh. Another mystery I thought about is
why the women family members never joined the men here in the United States. Grandpa, his brother, and dad never saw them again. It’s heart-breaking.”

  Brian opens his mouth to speak but closes it.

  “It’s hard to find words.” My eyes droop.

  “It is. I think that it happened more than not. The men in my family came to the US to find work and get a place to live. Then, the women came. That’s what the family lore is, anyway. It was typical for that time period and maybe even now in some families.”

  “I can’t imagine people being split from loved ones. He never even met his younger sister, but he talked about her just as much as the older sister he knew when living in Italy.”

  A rush of warmth shoots through my body and feels like it wakes up my brain. My heart beats faster as I feel a spark of the old Rachel’s passion in something. Nah, it’s more than ever before. This may be Rachel 3.0. The idea of focusing on my grandpa and solving old family mysteries at the same time needs to happen. It’s more than a want, it’s a need. Oh yes, I need to know those answers and need to know them asap.

  “How will you find out anything if you don’t have facts to enter on the website?”

  “I have his birthday so, that’s something. I’m going to see if my dad knows more. I can’t stop my brain from working overtime with all the unanswered questions I have. I think I may have another ‘addiction’ forming. Are you ready?”

  “Will I ever be?”

  “No, but I’ll tell you anyway. I may have FHOD—Family History Obsessive Disorder—as well as TOD.”

  He rolls his eyes and laughs.

  “Hey, the TOD doesn’t just disappear since FHOD joined the party.”

  “I am so happy to see you animated about something. I think this could be really good for you, Rachel.”

  “Thanks. It’s remarkable to even be on the path to gaining more facts about my family. How did I never think to research my history? There is a potential to find out all about our family secrets just by putting in a little research time. So worth it.”