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: : : INGRID CALLS, FROM GERMANY.
—It's over, between Elsa and I, she says.
Janine can't say that she's surprised: she's mentally characterized that relationship as doomed for a while now, ever since they called off their marriage (postponed was how Ingrid put it at the time, postponed while we work some things out).
—I'm sorry, Janine says.
—Don't be sorry, Ingrid says. —Really it's been over for a long time; it just took me until now to be able to admit it.
Ingrid talks for a bit about some of the other reasons it ended, reiterating various complaints that Janine's already grown familiar with over the past few years. But then Ingrid says this: —All of this has finally led me to come to terms with the fact that I just don't really want to get married.
Janine raises her eyebrows, detecting a certain false note here—after all, Ingrid once wanted to get married so badly that she was willing to relocate to Frankfurt in order to do so. But she doesn't say anything. She knows that we all deceive ourselves in our own ways. She knows that this is how we survive our afternoons, that this is how we manage to keep on living after we've lost whatever thing we held most carefully. If Ingrid erects a façade and declares a belief in it, Janine feels obligated not to pull at its seams.
—So where are you going to go? Janine asks. —I mean, you guys aren't going to keep living together, I presume.
—No, Ingrid says.
—So are you going to move back to the States, or—
—No, Ingrid says. —I—when was the last time I talked to you?
Janine thinks about it. —I don't know. Before Christmas.
—Oh, wow, Ingrid says. —So I haven't told you about this group that I've been hanging with.
—This group, says Janine. —That's not ringing a bell.
—There's these five women out here who run a small press, Ingrid says. —I got hooked up with them because they were looking for native English language speakers—they're doing a lot of translation projects? Anyway, I've been doing some work with them, and they all have a house together—they run the press out of there—and, anyway, they have an extra room, and they said that if I wanted to—
—That sounds great, says Janine.
—Yeah, says Ingrid. —I think it'll be good.
Janine pours herself some wine while they continue talking. She sits on the chaise and lets light pass through the glass. She watches the legs.
There's a minute where neither of them say anything.
Ingrid breaks the silence. —I wanted to ask you something, she says.
—What's that?
—Are you happy, out there, in Chicago?
Janine's answered this same question from someone else, not too long ago.
—Yes, she says. —I'm happy. I mean—it's decent. I can stand my job, and Thomas is a good guy, we have fun, so, overall, yeah, it's, you know, it's a life. I mean, it's not exactly a utopia or anything—
—Because I was thinking, Ingrid says, —once this move goes through—you should think about coming out here sometime to visit. I miss you.
—I miss you, too, says Janine.
—And working with these women is so exciting, Ingrid says, —and I just keep thinking, God, you know who would really click with this? Janine.
—I bet I would, Janine says. She thinks about the work she's doing for Big Shoulders, getting the schedule for the week in order, sending out e-mails to the staff. She tries to imagine spending her time working on something that she'd actually enjoy, something that she'd actually think was important. She's surprised to find that the idea feels alien to her.
—So, I don't know, Ingrid says. —I just thought that maybe you could come out here—just for a visit—just, you know, to see what I was up to. You know. See the house, meet the other women—just to sort of try it on, see how it feels.
Janine thinks about it. She has vacation time that she hasn't used. There hasn't seemed to be much point; she's been having trouble thinking of anywhere she'd like to go. —Maybe, she says. —I think I could maybe swing that.
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