Copyright © 1998

“WHAT IF IT’S A DISASTER?” SARA ASKED AS SHE GOT into bed.

“It’s not going to be a disaster,” Jared said. “You’re going to be great.”

“But what if I’m not? What if I’m just average? Maybe that’s what they were trying to tell me. Maybe that’s the lesson.”

“There’s no lesson, and you’ve never been average,” Jared said, joining his wife under the covers. “It’s just your first day of work. All you have to do is show up and be yourself.” He shut off the lamp on his nightstand and reached for the nearby alarm clock. “What time do you want to wake up?”

“How about six-thirty?” Sara paused. “Actually, make it six-fifteen.” She paused again. “Five forty-five. Just in case the train’s running late.”

“Shhhh, take a deep breath,” Jared said. He propped himself up on his elbow. “It’s okay to be nervous, but there’s no reason to get nuts.”

“I’m sorry. I just-”

“I know,” he said, taking her hand. “I know what’s riding on this one – I remember what happened last time. I promise you, though, you’re going to be great.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“You really think so?”

“Sara, from this moment on, I’m choosing to ignore you.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Jared pulled one of the pillows from behind his head and held it over Sara’s face. “I refuse to acknowledge that question.”

“Does that mean we’re done talking about work?” Sara asked, her laughs muffled by the pillow.

“Yes, we’re done talking about work.” Jared straddled his wife, keeping the pillow on her face.

“Uh-oh, someone’s getting kinky.” Sara tried to pull the pillow away, but she felt Jared press down even harder. “C’mon, that’s not funny,” she said. “It’s starting to hurt.”

“Stop whining.”

“What?” she asked.

He didn’t respond.

“I’m serious, Jared. I can’t breathe.”

She felt him moving forward on her chest. Her left shoulder was suddenly pinned back by his knee. Then her right.

“Jared, what’re you doing?” She grabbed his wrists and dug her nails into his arm.

He only pressed down harder.

“Jared, get off me! Get off me!” Her body was convulsing now, violently trying to knock him from his perch. As her nails tore at his arms and legs, her lungs lurched for air. But all he did was hold tight. She wanted to stop fighting, but she couldn’t. Choking on her own tears, she called out his name. “Jaaared!” she sobbed.

“Jaaared…”

Jolted awake, Sara shot up in bed. Her face was covered in sweat and the room was silent. Jared was asleep next to her. Just a dream, she told herself, trying to stop her heart from racing. It’s okay. But as she put her head back on the pillow, she couldn’t let it go. Even more than the others, this one felt real. Her fears, his response, even his touch. All so real. It wasn’t about Jared, though, she told herself. It was about work. To prove it to herself, she pressed her body up against her husband and wrapped an arm around his chest. He felt warm under the covers. Clearly, it was about work. She took a deep breath and squinted at the clock on Jared’s nightstand. Two more hours, she realized. Only two more hours.

“Here’s what I want,” Jared said to the redheaded man behind the counter at Mike’s Deli. “A sesame bagel with most, but not all, of the seeds scraped off, a light schmear of cream cheese, and a coffee – very light, with one spoon of sugar.”

“That’s nice, dear,” Sara said. “While you’re at it, why don’t you just ask him to suck the nougat out of the Snickers?”

“Don’t give him any ideas.” The man behind the counter started on Jared’s order. “In my whole life, I’ve never seen a man who gave more instructions for a stinking bagel and coffee. You’d think it was a work of art or something.”

“Mikey, by the time you’re done with it, it will be,” Jared said with a wink.

“Don’t suck up to me,” Mikey said. He turned to Sara. “Now what does the normal half of the family want?”

“Whatever you want to get rid of. Just make it exciting – nothing plain.”

“See, now that’s why you’re my favorite,” Mikey sang. “No headache, no pain-in-the-ass demands, just normal, considerate-”

“Are you the manager?” a gray-haired woman with large glasses interrupted.

“That I am,” Mikey said. “Can I help you?”

“I doubt it. I just want to register a complaint.” She pulled a coupon from the pocket of her LOVE IS A PIANO TEACHER book bag and thrust it across the counter. “This coupon says that I get one dollar off a box of original flavor Cheerios. But when I checked the shelves, I saw that you’re out of this item and that the coupon expires tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re a very small store with limited space. If you want, you’re welcome to use the coupon on the other flavors of Cheerios. We have multigrain, and honey-nut, and-”

“I don’t want any other Cheerios. I want these Cheerios!” the woman shouted, causing everyone in the small grocery store to turn and look. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. When you print up these flyers with the coupons, you hide all the items in the back room. That way we can never redeem them.”

“Actually, ma’am, we just don’t have the space to-”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. What you’re doing is false advertising! And that means it’s illegal.”

“No, it’s not,” Sara and Jared said simultaneously.

Surprised, the woman looked over at the couple, who were still waiting for their bagels. “Yes, it is,” she insisted. “When he sends out those coupons he’s making an offer for his products.”

“Hate to break it to you, but an advertisement isn’t an offer,” Sara said.

“Unless it specifies an exact quantity or indicates exactly who can accept it,” Jared added.

“Uh-oh,” a man in line behind Sara and Jared said. “I smell lawyers.”

“Why don’t you both mind your own business?” the woman snapped.

“Then why don’t you leave our friend alone?” Sara said.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“And our friend didn’t ask to be talked down to like he was a piece of garbage,” Sara shot back. “Now, as a Cheerios lover myself, I can appreciate your frustration, but we don’t go for that kind of unpleasantness here. Instead, we’ve taken a new approach: It’s called acting civilly to each other. I can understand if you don’t want to participate, but that’s the way we play it. So if you don’t like it, why don’t you make like a coupon and…and disappear.”

As Jared fought to contain his laughter, the woman sneered at Mikey. “You’ll never see me in this establishment again,” she seethed.

“I’ll live,” Mikey said.

With a sniff, the woman turned and stormed out of the store. Mikey looked over at his two favorite customers. “Make like a coupon and disappear?”

“What can I say? I was under pressure.”

“It did get her to leave,” Jared pointed out.

“You’re right about that,” Mikey agreed. “Which means breakfast’s on me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sara and Jared were crammed in the middle of a packed-to-capacity subway car. Sara was dressed in her best navy-blue pantsuit, while Jared wore a frayed Columbia Law sweatshirt and a pair of jogging shorts. A long-distance runner since his early years in high school, Jared still had his athletic build, although a small bald spot on the back of his head made him feel far older than he looked. With his suit packed neatly in a trifolding backpack, he began every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with a half-hour run. “That’s not a bad way to start the day,” Jared said, pressed tightly against his wife. “Your first day on the job and you already have a victory.”