Happy Place
Amy threw down her yoga mat, startling her cat who was gazing out their third-story window, enthralled by the busy happenings of Manhattan.
"Sorry," she muttered, grabbing her phone from the nearby coffee table. Dozens of text notifications and missed calls littered the screen, mostly from mom. Rather than answer them, she queued up a playlist and placed it in her pocket. Soothing instrumentals began to play over speakers mounted around the living room. A buzzer then sounded, cutting through the melodics with ease. "Really?" She leaned on the couch and looked outside to see who was trying to get in. A short brunette bundled up in a sleek, black winter coat, along with matching hat and gloves was standing at the door, coffee thermos in hand, shaking from the cold. "Fuck me," Amy groaned, recognizing her from work. She reluctantly made her way over to the intercom. "Sorry, Mags, now's not a good time."
"Please don't make me hail another taxi so soon. They're quite disgusting."
"Your driver sick or something," she inquired, dryly.
"I had to let Michael go. He showed up to the law firm reeking of beer. Can you imagine? Anyway, I'm literally freezing here."
"God help me," she mumbled to herself, momentarily releasing the speaker button. "Come on up." Soon, Maggie had climbed upstairs, out of breath and acting overly-exasperated.
"You can't possibly... live like this." She pushed past Amy and headed into the apartment.
"Come in."
"Did you know the elevator is broken?"
"I had noticed, yeah." The cat came wandering over, sniffing Maggie's lavish parka.
"Oh, shoo. Shoo! There's a reason I don't have animals."
"Why are you here? And please don't shoo Muffin."
"No need to be rude. I just thought I'd catch up with my bestie from the office."
"'Bestie,'" Amy scoffed. "I thought that was Vanessa."
"Well, Vanessa and I grew up together. Passed the bar around the same time. Now, we're busy taking names." A self-assured chortle left her lips.
"Yeah, for the right price." She bent over and picked Muffin up.
"But, then you showed. A secretary with... all the right stuff. And I want you to know that I think you've been doing a terrific job."
"Maggie Sharpanova coming to my doorstep offering me her approval. Excuse me while I swoon."
Maggie cleared her throat, "Anyway, I just wanted to give you—
"Yeah, as fun as this has been, I'm running late for my yoga class." There was a brief pause, the awkward tension palpable.
"Alright. I can take a hint. I'll just head home. Never mind that I went out of my way." Maggie folded one side of her coat over the other and walked towards the hallway in a huff. However, just before leaving, she turned around and, at the last possible moment, stopped Amy from closing the door, pushing back on it. "You know..."
"What?"
"Everybody likes you down there. They do. I guess you're street-smart. Relatable."
"Okay?"
"Nobody sees me the same way. Sure, Schwartz, Dunheim and Associates have bred some of the world's best ass-kissers, so, I'll get the occasional smile or compliment on my outfit."
"Uh-huh."
"But us defense attorneys have to be brutish. Sometimes repugnantly so. You think I like having to—
"You love it."
"I don't!" Amy furrowed her brow and simply glared. "Okay, I enjoy it immensely. But just because I have money and am loving my station in life doesn't give you the right to treat me like I'm some stuck-up bitch." Muffin leapt out of Amy's arms, as if she could sense the conversational shift.
"I have been at the firm for three fucking years."
"Oh my." Maggie began to back up.
"You never said a goddamn word to me. You think I want to work in a stuck-up shithole with a bunch of scummy lawyers?" The pair were now in the corner of the room by the door. "Guess again, bestie. My parents sure as hell didn't..." she paused, trying to maintain her composure. "I never had a trust fund, okay. You want to know why nobody likes you?"
"Th-this is entrapment. You have to let me leave."
"It's because you're so damn oblivious. To everyone and everything around you."
Maggie gulped, almost shaking out of fear, "Is that such a bad thing? Hm? The world is cutthroat and you know it, Ames. You don't think I know struggle?"
"You don't know a goddamn thing. Except how to benefit yourself." Amy backed off.
"So that's it, huh. You have me all figured out. Well, it may interest you to know that I took it upon myself to buy a card and pass it around the office."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Even got some people to donate quite a bit of money for you. Uh, your father." Her tone grew increasingly sheepish.
"I don't want anyone's charity."
"Amy..."
"How did anyone even find out about him?!"
"Word gets around, we all care—
"Maggie!"
"Your mother called the office. Wanted to draft a will for Joe."
"Get out. I swear to god, get the hell out!"
"Of course, that's beneath me." Amy took a step forward. "But-but, when I overheard some people talking down the hall I took the case on personally."
"Are you looking for a pat on the head? Honestly, what the fuck are you doing here?"
"I'm—
"You want to know struggling? My father tried to sell me for drugs while you were probably out buying your first power suit to wear to kindergarten. He's been in and out of jail so many times, I— and my mother, well, she stuck by him and will continue to do so until the bitter fucking end which I can only hope is any goddamn minute now. Maggie. I'm only gonna say this one time. Stay the fuck out of my business or I swear to god I'll send your sheltered, pampered ass out of my third-story window. And before you ask, yes, that's a threat. Call the police. Or Vanessa. Whatever you do... just get the hell out of my sight."
Absent response, she placed the sealed envelope down on a nearby counter before leaving. Amy slammed the door, letting out a frustrated sigh. She then grabbed her phone from her pocket and, after some hesitation, played one of the voicemails.
"Listen, honey. I don't know how to tell you this. I mean, I did try several times already but even still I'm... this is difficult. Your father passed away. Earlier today. I know how much you despised him. I guess you hate me, too. And I want you to know that I understand. But, he," her voice gave way to tears, "he tried, sweetheart. We've had many, many conversations and he's told me again and again how much he regretted treating you so terribly. Anyway. If you hear this, which, I really hope you will because I don't think I can do this again. I want you to come over to my house. I have something really important to show you. That, and I don't want to be alone right now. So, please. Please stop by. Alright. Goodbye."
Rather than deep satisfaction, Amy instead felt numb to the news. She stood up, walked to her room, changed her clothes and, just before heading out, briefly eyed the envelope but neglected to take it along. Once down to the lobby, just outside, she noticed her mother standing idly by.
"Are you serious right now?" Amy opened the front door. "Mom?"
"Oh, honey!" She hugged her daughter. "I couldn't wait any longer. Hopped on the subway and came straight from the hospital. It's been too long."
"Um, I'm glad to see you. How're you holding up?"
They released each other, "Not well. But much better now that we're together."
"Were you just going to stand outside?"
She chuckled, "I guess it was nerves. We haven't seen each other in almost ten years, you know."
"Here, mom, let's go upstairs." The pair headed back to the apartment, soon sitting on the couch.
"Oh, I just can't believe Joe is gone. That man was a force of nature. Truly, I never thought I'd see the day." The words, 'you and me both' sat on the tip of Amy's sharp tongue but she couldn't force them out. "Listen. This here will do more for you than words ever could." She reached into her purse and pulled out a flash drive.
"What's... on it?"
"Just put it on your laptop. Trust me."
On it was a lone video entitled, 'Happy Place_Joe Wynerd'. It opened with a scene of what looked like a park bench. The quality was rather grainy and absent color.
"What am I watching? What year is this from?"
"Look," she pointed at the screen. Two figures came into shot, holding hands. "The little one? That's you."
"Um, someone... filmed us? I don't think this ever even happened," Amy stated. "He never took me—
"It didn't happen. What you're looking at are his thoughts. Dreams. Right before he passed. They call it 'Happy Place', as you saw. It's a sort of... escape. For people who are in hospice, suffering. Those who don't have much time left. Rather than shoot them up with drugs, they can tap into your mind, send you wherever it is you want to be most. Then they record it as a memento for their loved ones. Truth be told, I haven't the slightest idea how it works. But isn't it amazing?" Speechless, Amy simply watched on as the two of them sat on the bench, laughing together. At least from what she could make out.
"I read about this. It's like when TV's first came out or cars. Times at least a billion. How could you possibly afford it?"
"Joe and I never had much. Then, this lovely woman stopped by. Oh, what was her name? God, I've been so wrapped up in everything..."
As she continued to stammer, a chill went up Amy's spine. She glanced over at the counter, then proceeded towards it.
"Maggie Sharpanova."
"Yes! How did you know? She came by to drop off your father's will. Outside of a few dollars, he wanted you to have this. I told him I would make sure you'd be taken care of and that hiring an attorney felt unnecessary but he wanted to do 'at least one thing right', he said. Oh, Joe."
Amy opened the envelope, revealing a card. On the front was a small depiction of a red flower growing atop a hill. Inside was blank save a handwritten note:
"I never knew my father. All he left behind was a silver spoon. Truth be told, I'd trade it away in a heartbeat for just one moment with him. Hope you're able to cherish this." —M.S.
Maggie's was the only signature. A tear streamed down Amy's cheek, one that soon turned into a sob. "Oh, honey. Come here." Years of pent-up anger, sadness and disdain for, not only her parents and co-worker, but life as a whole, came crumbling down.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"It's okay, Amy. Everything's okay, sweetheart. Look at me. Hey." She placed her hands on her daughter's face which was now red from crying. "What you went through, anyone would've felt the same. Joe made a ton of mistakes. Nobody saw the goodness in him. That includes myself at times. But he fought his way back."
"And I ignored him! Both of you!"
"Listen. I have no doubt that he's here with us now, proud of what his little girl has become in spite of everything. Amy, I know you may never truly believe this... but he loved you. So, so much."
She wiped her face and un-paused the video. The two of them sat on the bench. A butterfly floated past, one Amy pointed at before leaning her head on his shoulder. To echo this, she did the same thing in real time, leaning on her mother as they watched on.
"Hi daddy."