“Change is easier than you think, my darling.”
“Okay,” Casey said.
“I want you to take care of the credit card debts, too,” Sabine said.
Their sandwiches were still wrapped. Casey stared at the congealed balsamic mayonnaise between the bread and the meat. She poked around her purse for her packet of Pall Malls. The sight of the jolly cinnamon-colored package made her happy. It was like finding a candy bar.
“Aren’t those unfiltered?”
“I know you aren’t talking to me about—”
“Fine.” The line of Sabine’s mouth grew straighter. “I wish someone had taken me aside to tell me. . .”
Casey nodded, anticipating another dismal theory about life and humanity.
“Listen, Casey. . .” Sabine talked faster and louder because the girl’s attention was slipping. “Every minute matters. Every damn second. All those times you turn on the television or go to the movies or shop for things you don’t need, all those times you stay at a bar sitting with some guy talking some nonsense about how pretty your Korean hair is, every time you sleep with the wrong man and wait for him to call you back, you’re wasting your time. Your life. Your life matters, Casey. Every second. And by the time you’re my age—you’ll see that for every day and every last moment spent, you were making a choice. And you’ll see that the time you had, that you were given, was wasted. It’s gone. And you cannot have any of it back.” Sabine tilted her head, her eyes full of worry. “Oh, my darling. Do you see that?”
Casey couldn’t lift her chin. She wanted to argue for her choice to work in these jobs that her parents, colleagues, and Sabine found so beneath her abilities. Damn it, it was her decision not to choose law or medicine like Tina. Why couldn’t she take her time? Why couldn’t she fall on her face? That’s what you were supposed to do in America—find yourself, find the goddamn color of your parachute.
“I’m not hurting anyone,” Casey said.
“No. You’re wrong. You’re hurting you. I’ve been saying that all along.”
Sabine reached across the table to cover Casey’s hand. “I’m not saying you can’t fuck it up. I’m just saying you should be making the mistakes as you head toward your goals. Okay?”
That was the ending of the speech she’d give to the other salespeople who needed a hard shove out of the nest. It was the line she liked best.
Casey’s head felt heavy. She longed to rest it on her forearm like a child taking a desk nap. She removed her hat, finger-combed her hair.
“I will pay for B school.” A horizontal wrinkle formed in Sabine’s otherwise creamy brow, as if it had been hiding there all along, waiting to reveal itself.
The offer didn’t move Casey. A part of her had hardened. It felt like more pressure.
“Why?”
“I can sell you Sabine’s.”
Casey laughed. “You’re hilarious. I can’t afford this sandwich.”
“I’ve spent a lifetime studying shoppers. You behave like a rich housewife.”
“That’s funny, too. You’re doing stand-up during my lunch hour.”
“If you made the hard choices and tried to live by them, you’d be at greater peace with yourself. All this spending is a substitute for what you really want. All this overspending is merely addiction.” There was a burst of confidence in Sabine’s tone of voice.
“I see your shrink has been working overtime.” It was no secret that Sabine went to Dr. Tuttle, and he was supposed to have saved her marriage to Isaac when she was getting bored with him. “So you’re basically a dealer. Selling poor little rich women things that won’t ultimately nourish them.” Casey raised her eyebrows, craving a little bit of triumph in this miserable lunch.
“For some customers, yes. But should we close all the wine shops?”
“And you want me to follow in your footsteps.” Casey was suddenly enjoying the fight.
“Only if you want to. Casey, you don’t have to be unhappy.”
“Like it’s a fucking choice?”
Sabine nodded.
“Well then, I’m happy.” Casey crossed her arms. She put her hat back on. She didn’t see herself as someone who was unhappy. Virginia had been on antidepressants since she was eleven and had never stopped seeing therapists for her depression and eating disorder. It was Virginia who was always commenting on Casey’s even temperament, which Casey took as a great compliment. Sabine was moody, yelled all the time, and it made sense that Sabine needed a shrink. It was Sabine and Virginia who were unhappy. Her parents were joyless, poor, and stoic. They never talked about feelings. Casey was a study in composure and fun by contrast.