“Mango Madness” by Jane Finlayson

 

Paul phoned about twenty years too late, but Marcie decided to see him again anyway.

“Hey, Mars,” he’d said.

“Paul? Paul, is that really you?” He was the only person who ever called her “Mars”.

“Yep. I heard about Colleen. From Brad.”

“You’re in touch with Brad?”

For once Marcie’s grief was shadowed by surprise.

“Sort of.”

“It was a long time ago. How are you?”

“What do you want, Paul?” The last time Marcie had seen him they were standing on opposite subway platforms, going in different directions. He hadn’t noticed her.

“I’m sorry about Colleen, you know. Will you at least meet for coffee and fill me in?”

Marcie sighed. “She taught me how to peel a mango.”

“What?”

“Mango. M-a-n-g-o. Fleshy tropical orange fruit. Juicy. Dripping.”

“Colleen taught everyone how to peel a mango. Just surprised that’s the first thing you said about her.”

 “I guess I could do coffee,” Marcie said. What difference would it make now that Colleen was dead?

Tomorrow good? I’ll be downtown around ten if that works for you,” said Paul.

“Sure. How about the new coffee place on University in the MaRs building?” She smiled at her witty self.

 After they hung up, Marcie could have kicked herself for agreeing to see him, but a sudden, raging curiosity had compelled her to say yes. Between dancing to Abba late at night and playing Candy Crush too many sleepless early mornings, she had spent a lot of time trying to figure out what she’d actually done with her life and always got stuck on the What Ifs? Now the What If that lodged in her brain was What If I told Paul about the last summer?

***

Back in the day when she was waiting for Paul to ask her to marry him and Colleen and Brad were already buying a smart little brick bungalow in the west end, she had ached, ached with envy.

They seemed to have it all together, those two, as they stepped purposefully—effortlessly! —into a bright, tantalizing shared future. A five-year plan. A Cuisinart. Lipstick red Toyota Corolla. Mutual funds. And then, so soon and not quite according to plan, a baby. Sweet Ella. A dazzling rosebud who could have been the immortal beauty on a Pampers box. They all adored her.

***

Fish and chips. Gin and tonic. Colleen and mangoes. She had a constant passion for them, long before anybody discovered Thai food and routinely ordered satay chicken with mango salad as their fast-food default. Colleen could have written the Joy of Mangoes and probably made her fortune. Her mango menu was impressive: mango gazpacho, mango smoothies, mango-avocado salad, mango-lime chicken with basil from her abundant herb garden, mango chutney on goat cheese and crackers, mango martinis. When she stumbled across a boutique selling mango body butter, mango-scented candles and nail polish called Mango Mischief, she gave these as gifts for any occasion. Mango Madness the friends called it, that summer they didn’t know would be the last.

On the hottest day, Colleen had summoned Marcie and a few other friends and insisted they come over to learn how to properly peel and slice a mango. As they arrived one-by-one, she solemnly handed out a recipe card with precise instructions. The demo came later.

1.                               Cut off the stem of the mango.

2.                              Hold the fruit upright, cupping it in the palm of your hand.

3.                              With other hand, use a potato peeler or a paring knife to cut away the peel,                                         following the curves of the fruit.

4.                              Lay the fruit on its flat end and slice lengthwise, working around the seed in the                                middle. Cut the fruit into thin slices as desired.

5.                              Stand the mango upright to carve away the remaining flesh surrounding the seed.

And then lick your fingers, Marcie thought, knowing the mess she would end up with. She had arrived first for Mango Madness. She was stretched out on Colleen’s patio, trying to tan her legs but not her face, and sipping the mango martini Colleen had greeted her with. Marcie was wearing those holey plastic sandals that made her feet look like chunky blocks of neon Swiss cheese. Colleen reclined in a white wicker lounger Brad had given her for her birthday.

“Why do you wear those ridiculous shoes?” Colleen asked.

 “They’re comfortable. But hot.” Marcie slipped them off and gratefully waggled her toes painted with Mango Mischief. “Who’s coming?”

“Rhonda. Claire. Maybe Justine, that new person who works with me. She wasn’t sure because she has to take her mom somewhere first. But I hope she makes it, she’s tons of fun. And soooo funny. Hey, isn’t that the polish I gave you?”

“Good memory. Like it?”

Colleen leaned over playfully and pretended to lick Marcie’s toes. “You know how I love mango,” she teased.

Marcie was shocked when she realized she was eagerly lifting her foot to meet Colleen’s lips. Summer silliness, she told herself. Heat and martinis. But immediately imagined what might have happened next if Rhonda and Claire hadn’t arrived just then. Marcie had always thought of Colleen as a sister. Until then.

Justine came later, just in time to snatch the last mango and dramatically peel it like she was doing a striptease with a fleshy prop. They all howled and instantly liked this new pal of Colleen’s. Perky, younger, with a great sense of humour, plus a terrific body. The mango martinis had flowed freely—much too freely—and they all got super silly flinging shreds of peel and flicking streams of juice from their sticky fingers at each other after Colleen did her serious demo. When the others left, Colleen and Marcie staggered upstairs. It had seemed so right, so simple. Perfectly uncomplicated.

***

How easy it turned out to be for Marcie and Colleen to slip away together frequently for overnights and weekends without Paul and Brad suspecting a thing since they had often enjoyed girls weekends out of town over the years. They didn’t even think of their arrangement as having an affair or cheating. Oh no, their love for each other was other-worldly, pure; the delight of the new physical wrinkle merely the ultimate expression of their deep and abiding friendship, and totally separate from their lives with the guys. It didn’t really count as sex sex. They believed this was true.

***

Marcie was alarmed when Paul started pushing her away. Suddenly he was always busy on their mid-week date night, claiming he had to work overtime.

“Again?” she asked the fifth week in a row when he cancelled at breakfast.

“Can’t help it. The big project’s gone sideways and it’s all hands on deck to get it back on track.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“Fucked if I know. Do you think I want to be doing this every week? He thumped his coffee mug into the kitchen sink and started walking away then looked back over his shoulder to say: “Why don’t you and Colleen do something tonight, grab a bite, go to a movie?” 

“Whatever.” Marie shrugged. She was baffled by his angry outburst. They rarely raised their voices with each other, but there was nothing unusual about Paul’s suggestion apart from his unmistakable cold tone. She called Colleen.

They met at Spring Rolls after work. They asked for the small booth for two, ordered the usual—mango chicken for Colleen, satay chicken and mango salad for Marcie—and sipped lychee martinis while they waited for their food.

“Paul’s acting totally weird.” Marcie told Colleen.

“What’s up with him? Brad told me he noticed something was definitely strange after he saw him at that office thingy last week. That Paul seemed to be going out of his way to avoid him. Odd for sure. And he spent a lot of time talking to Justine. But she’s harmless. Super involved with a hot new guy. Lives in her building I think. Handy.”

They both laughed. Handy was good, they agreed.

“Maybe we need a vacay,” said Marcie. “But he’s so busy on this stupid, never-ending shitty project that I don’t think I can even suggest it. But I am kinda scared. Things are just different now. How are you and Brad doing?”

“Well, we keep trying but I dunno. It’s tough. I guess the counselling helped. Sort of. He’s still kinda boring. He is a good dad, though. And at least we agree we do want another baby.”

“Jesus, you mean you’ve just settled?”

“I love that he’s such a super dad. And I don’t want Ella to be a lonely only. I just thought there’d be more for me, I guess.”

“Do we need to talk about us?” Marcie asked, her voice soft and cautious.

“No. No! We’re good. No worries there,” said Colleen.

They’d clasped fingers across the table and, when the food arrived, ate in companionable silence. When they were finished, they agreed they weren’t up for a movie after all, split the bill and hugged each other goodbye.

***

Justine! Marcie’s brain was whirling. She decided to walk the long way home and then wait up for Paul to get back and ask him outright about Justine. She had to know, much as she dreaded the possibility that he would confirm her suspicion. And then what? She had no idea so went around the block a few more times, trying to breathe more calmly and tamp down the sour fear climbing her throat. She wished Colleen had come home with her, that’s how crazy she felt. Adrift, off balance.

When she got home, she dumped her coat on the narrow bench inside the front hall, kicked off her shoes and sat for a while in the dark living room watching the shadows from passing car headlights sweep across the room. It was strangely calming, hypnotic, and she dozed off.

Marcie woke up a couple of hours later and staggered over to turn on a light. She hadn’t heard Paul come in. She went to hang up her coat and gasped when she saw the empty hangers in the hall closet. She raced upstairs and flung open his half of the bedroom closet. Empty. In the bathroom, cleared, dusty shelves. It was as though he had never been there. Marcie crumpled. Stupidly, the first thing she’d thought was that he had run off with Justine.

All these years later, what could Paul possibly want? She had never heard from him after the night he disappeared. Neither had Brad or Colleen or Justine or any of their friends. Well, okay, she could guess what Paul’s issue was though, ironically, she and Colleen had ended their arrangement just a few weeks later. Colleen had announced she was pregnant again and she was going to make it work with Brad.

“So, just friends now, okay?” she’d asked.

“But we’re so good,” Marcie had said. “Perfect.”

“Yeah, but we can’t have everything. So I’m settling on being happy with Brad and Ella and whatever the next one is.”

Marcie hadn’t whined she had no one left to settle with though she’d felt like it. And, amazingly, the “just friends” thing had actually worked for them.

At least Ella did not end up a lonely only, and she relished being a big sister to Jack from the day he was born the following spring.

And now Paul again. Marcie had barely slept. Her hands shook when she put on her make-up, but she was determined to look good this morning. She wanted to erase the wretched lines around her sad eyes. Somehow look younger and worthy again. Anything to conquer the numbness that had consumed her since Brad’s call a few months ago with the unbearable news that Colleen had died instantly when a speeding car ran a red light near her office and plowed through the lunch-time throng of pedestrians crossing the street.

Marcie felt daunted as she flicked frantically through her closet trying to decide what to wear to meet Paul. She settled on pencil-slim black pants and the coral silk tunic she usually saved for festive occasions. Not quite mango, but close enough. As she walked from the subway toward the coffee place she could see Paul already sitting beside the large picture window, seemingly relaxed and casually checking his phone. It was startling to see he really hadn’t changed much, apart from a slight paunch showing beneath his pullover. Well, she could forgive him that, twenty years on.

Why had he called her? They’d had a good thing going for a long time.  She’d never told him about Colleen. The real story, that is. He must have guessed. She thought she’d been so careful and oh so smart, when all she’d done was drive him away.  But she was never going to admit to it now. 

Was it too late for a second chance with Paul? She’d given up on finding perfect after Colleen. Perhaps it was time for Marcie to just settle. He just might be good enough again; after all, they’d once had a very good thing going.

As Marcie reached for the door, Paul glanced up calmly but couldn’t see her because of the morning sun reflecting on the glass. She steadied herself with a deep breath and walked in.

“I’m here, Paul.”

“Mars, I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Paul stood up and gestured for her to sit down.

“Me, either,” shrugged Marcie. “But here we are after all.” They half-smiled at one other.

“And why, really, are we here, Paul?”

“I want to say I’m sorry about Colleen. And you.”

“Me? It’s a bit too late for that.” Marcie’s mind was scrambling. Colleen. And you. Had he known it all along? She was afraid to ask, suffused with self-pity for all she’d lost.

Marcie had long ago abandoned the warped fantasy that her life would’ve been smoother if she and Paul had stuck together. So she was surprised by a flicker of heat when he reached across the table and placed his hand on hers.

***

Jane Finlayson is a former journalist and corporate writer whose short stories and creative nonfiction have appeared in Canadian and U.S. literary journals including: Storgy, The Penmen Review, The Fiddlehead (fiction contest winner 1999; honourable mention, 2007), The Malahat Review, Prairie Fire, Event (creative non-fiction contest winner, 2010), and Room. Jane lives in Toronto, Canada and has completed a collection of linked short stories titled Some Assembly Required. 

“Mango Madness was previously published in The New Quarterly. For information about submitting to The New Quarterly and a few other places to send your short pieces (some of which pay well!) see here.