Joan Is Okay(29)

Sure, I said and he looked wide-eyed back at me and said that he was kidding. Why would there be a fee? We’ve been decent neighbors to each other, he’d hoped, possibly even friends?

I nodded and he smiled, running a hand through his hair, voluminous today, with height at the front.

I smiled too but nervously since Mark needed to leave so I could shower, eat, and prep for another shift tomorrow. Grime and sweat were rolling down my back, and under my coat, my scrubs were splattered with blood. I would have taken off my coat already but didn’t want the red streaks to freak my neighbor out and cause him to faint.

With the television and stand pushed up against my west-facing wall, Mark worried that the glare from the windows could shoot in and compromise my visibility. We should move the television to the other wall, he said, turn the Suede Chair around and try that. But then he noticed that my coaxial outlet was on the west-facing wall, so if we turned the entire setup around, cable lines would have to be discreetly run along the baseboards.

Right, I said.

But really, which wall do you prefer? He would have to tell the cable guy when he came.

Had I agreed to let Mark oversee the installation? I must have, but somehow, I couldn’t remember when and how that had gone. I said both walls seemed reasonable.

Neither of us moved or said anything after that. The room was dim, and Mark stood in the shadows, staring at the baseboard, as if waiting for something to appear. Then, instinctively, I knew. I went to my kitchen drawer and pulled from it the spare key to apartment 9A. I jingled it by the key ring like a tea bell. Was this it? The silver of the key was reflective and shiny, and once Mark saw what I was holding, his expression changed.

Pocketing the key, he said it would be an honor, and heading out the door, he expressed gratitude and enthusiasm that we had become, as he had hoped, true neighbors in the New York City sense of the word.



* * *



—

I CALLED.

We’re having a limited time offer on two hundred channels, said a deep, male voice on the phone, for $49.99 a month your first three months, after which a slightly less discounted rate would resume, but you’re welcome to cancel at any time or call back to inquire about new offers.

While Mark was supervising the cable guy, I was supervising a resident on how to place a central line. A central line is a port inserted into the jugular to draw or infuse fluid, and as I was explaining this to my residents, in the span of ten or so minutes, Mark had sent me a series of texts, most of which were sentence fragments nested in their own little speech bubble that kept vibrating my phone.

The guy from Spectrum agrees with me.

About the visibility glare,

Should we keep the TV on the west facing wall.

But here’s the other problem.

The cable line is black.

While the baseboards are white.

So, to run a line discreetly

Will be hard.

I stopped reading after that and put the phone back in my pocket, on silent. I told the resident about to place the line what she needed to do in steps. She was the eager type and always nodding, but I never knew how much was being processed per nod. I asked if she had any questions. No questions, nope, she said, still nodding. Then before step one could happen, she dropped the sterile needle onto the sterile drape and the needle rolled off the drape onto the unsterile floor. Then in trying to catch the needle midair with both hands, she also dropped the ultrasound probe used to find the vein.

It’s okay, I said, thinking of my strawberry bagel experience after Madeline’s hug. These things happen. It’s okay.

Embarrassed, the resident kept apologizing and touching her face with gloved hands that already had yellow residue. I told her to stop doing both and to go change her gloves. By the time I could check my phone again, my screen was covered in texts from Mark.

So, which wall is it?

Your call but the guy’s on the clock.

Five minutes later came the last series of texts.

Decided to move the TV to the east facing wall

Because of glare,

Which came in at full force, while we

Were standing around.

But to hide the cable, we’ve wrapped it

In white painter’s tape and fastened it to your baseboard,

Like so.

He sent me a picture.



* * *



—

ONE NIGHT I FLIPPED through the two hundred channels just to see. All sorts of shows were playing: cooking and baking shows, house-decorating programs, in-home shopping, the local news, the international news, the Weather Channel, talk shows, game shows, reality-based shows about single people trying to find love, about single women who become crazy wives, crazy wives in every city, shows about families with twenty kids, families who just clip coupons, and families who never throw anything away.

Cable was, as Mark had predicted, relaxing, and I found that there was nothing I couldn’t watch, except for prime-time medical dramas in which the protagonist was always a rogue doctor who ran up alongside gurneys, then tried to reform (tear down) the health system. The rogue doctors usually looked like Reese and, as if worried that the audience or their in-show colleagues would forget, kept reminding all of us that they were doctors.



* * *



—

WE’RE HEADING TO VAIL, Fang said abruptly. He had called the morning after their Winter Bash to announce that in a few days’ time they were all going on holiday and for most of next month. Colorado was, in Fang’s opinion, the most beautiful state. Our mother won’t be skiing, but at least she can get some fresh mountain air. They had chosen a lodge and skiing village with out-of-this-world amenities, and they themselves would be staying in a private cottage with Jacuzzis, plural.