“By the way,” she said, “the photos you took of Trina are incredible. You still want to shoot her post-pictorial, right?”
“Absolutely! Trina would kill me.” Inside, I reveled at the fact that I’d get to come back here in the near future to work. I wasn’t even gone yet, but I already longed to be back. New York City had definitely left its mark on me.
Closing Nora’s door behind me, I walked to my desk for the last time. I sat down and spun my chair around to stare at my computer screen, looking over the letter of resignation I’d already typed out for two seconds before e-mailing it over. If I looked at it for too long, I might be tempted to press DELETE.
Thankfully, or oddly, depending on how you looked at it, I had only acquired a small amount of personal belongings over the years. I scooped them up and slipped out of the office, then pressed the DOWN elevator button without making a fuss. Just the thought of leaving was hard enough; I didn’t want to make a spectacle out of it. I planned on sending a good-bye e-mail to the office once I was settled back in California.
I know, I know, it was sort of a chicken-shit move, but the reality was that co-workers didn’t let people leave easily. They had a habit of creating chaos and parties and celebrations that never ended. It was all with good intentions, but I didn’t have time for that. I needed to get our belongings packed and moved out to Los Angeles as soon as possible. Jack and I needed a new home, and it was my job to find us one. Because that was what the wife of a major league baseball player did. She took care of her man.
As I walked up the street toward the subway station, I thought I’d be more emotional. I actually braced myself for the tears and soul ache that never came. I’d fought so hard with Jack about having my own career, and had taken such a strong stand when it came to what I dreamed and wanted. But right now, all I truly wanted was to be home with my husband. I knew I told Jack exactly that the other night, but that was before I’d quit, before I’d actually resigned from my job.
Passion was a fickle thing. It could make you think you’d die for something one minute, then force you to realize you’d be just fine without it the next. A year and a half ago, I would have sworn on my life that I couldn’t survive a single moment if I didn’t have my career. Take away photography, and I assumed my soul would wither and die on the spot, leaving nothing but a memory of what once was.
But life had a way of changing your priorities. Or maybe it was me that had changed, because I’d never felt more full of life than I did right now. And none of it had to do with my career.
It was in this moment of truth, as I stood in a darkening subway station surrounded by strangers and lonely musicians, when I realized that my home was wherever Jack was. And he was no longer in New York, so I no longer belonged here. It was a simple truth, yet utterly profound in its message. I was meant to land wherever he settled, like the ocean washing seashells onto the shore. Jack was the shell, in constant motion and movement, being tossed around from place to place by the ebb and flow of something more powerful than he. And I was the sand, gripping and holding on to him, comforting his tumble with each push and pull of the tide, yet always constant.
When I walked into the waiting subway car, I had a smile plastered on my face. This understanding … this awakening … filled me with more joy than I’d ever considered possible. The best part was the acute awareness I had been given. It was like a gift. My heart wanted to burst with the sheer happiness I felt in this moment.
Before, I’d honestly never thought that following Jack’s career would ever feel okay to me. I had figured that I would always be fighting to keep hold of something that I felt defined me in ways that were separate from Jack. But the thing was, Jack was a part of me, and choosing to keep our family together was an okay priority for me to have.
Not only was I the wife of a major league baseball player, but I was the wife of Jack Fucking Carter. And I wanted to take care of my man, the same way he chose to take care of me. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Jack would do anything for me if I asked him to. The thing was, I had nothing I wanted to ask. Not anymore.
My fears in our relationship had been settled long ago. The point I tried to prove to him, to myself, had been proven. It wasn’t giving up on my dreams to be there and support Jack. Somewhere along the line in our relationship, Jack and his life had become a part of my dreams too. Being with him fulfilled me in ways I’d only fought against before.
The simple truth was that it hurt a lot more to be away from Jack than it did to walk away from work. No one was more surprised by this revelation than me.
About an hour after I arrived home, the doorman called to let me know the packing boxes I’d ordered had arrived. Thankfully, he hauled them up for me and brought them in, stacking them higher than my kitchen table.
“Do you need packing tape, Mrs. Carter?”
I looked around and tapped the side of my head. “Probably. Do you have any I can borrow?”
He smiled, and his bushy eyebrows squished together like a giant gray caterpillar. “We have plenty. I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you, Thomas! Just walk back in,” I yelled.
Jack had been right. Trying to do this all alone royally sucked. I looked around at all the things we’d acquired over the years, and realized there was no way I could do this alone, and in a short time frame.
How did the other wives do this, especially when they had kids? They had to have hired help, right? An idea forming, I dialed Trina’s number and waited.