“Water for hydration, plus a special blend of electrolytes and antioxidants.” Lana frowns at my face. “You don’t need to go anywhere in the next couple hours, do you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for a while.”
“Good.” She pushes me to sit on the couch, then waits for me to finish drinking. As soon as I do, Lana whisks the bottle away while Lauren finishes arranging pillows at the end of the sofa.
“Lie down,” Lauren commands, not waiting for me to do it. Her shove isn’t gentle, but it’s infused with love.
“Your bedside manner needs work,” I mutter, but I have to admit it feels good to lie down.
Lana hands me the potato slices. “One on each eye for ten minutes. We’ll do the teabags and the spoons next, but we’ve got emergency concealer if you need to go out.”
“We’ve got you.” Lauren watches me until I slip the slices over my eyelids, which I do mostly to mask the tears pooling in my eyes.
The potato is cold and wet and strangely refreshing. I take a few deep breaths, not sure what to say. This is the most time I’ve spent alone with both sisters in….weeks? Months? Years? I’m honestly not sure.
I swallow back the lump in my throat and try for clinical coolness. “You know, I usually just urge patients to cry it out. Releasing emotions is cathartic.”
“You’ve got catharsis handled already.” Lauren’s voice is closer now, so she must have pulled over a chair. “We’re taking care of you with shallow beauty tips and booze.”
“She can’t have the booze yet,” Lana argues. “We need to get her rehydrated.”
“Obviously,” Lauren retorts. “We’re planning for the long haul here.”
I can’t see their faces, which makes me more attuned to the tone of their voices. Has the warmth always been there behind Lauren’s snark? Did I miss the edge to Lana’s Pollyanna PR schtick?
Perhaps. I touch the potato slices on my eyes. Coolness seeps through the tingle of tears. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Lauren’s voice is cool and comforting like the potato, which is a phrase I never thought I’d use.
“Not just for this.” I wave to my face, disoriented by the fact that I can’t see them. “With Griffin and his ex-wife. You did what you could to make it suck less, and I appreciate that.”
“God, what a mess.” Lauren huffs out a breath. “We should have kicked her ass off set the second we saw her coming.”
Lana rests a hand on my arm. Don’t ask how I know it’s her, but the touch soothes like a balm. “Please believe we wouldn’t have brought her to Griffin’s house if we’d known.”
“If we’d known for sure you were banging,” Lauren clarifies. “Or that it might be more than that.”
“Or that Elle used to be your patient,” Lana adds. “She said she had something to tell Griffin and that we ought to get it on camera, so—”
“It’s okay.” I take a shaky breath and try to clarify my feelings. “I’m not mad about that. I’m not mad about anything.”
Just sad. Really, really sad. And regretful. And hurt. And—
“Get out of your head, Mar.” Lauren squeezes the spot above my knee that’s been ticklish since we were little, and I flinch beneath the strangely gentle touch. “You want to talk about it?”
Do I? I’ve never shared with my sisters before. I’ve had therapists and colleagues, acquaintances and online message boards. But what would it be like to confide in my sisters?
“We’ve been seeing each other.” I start slowly, still scared to share. “I guess it got pretty serious. Like…maybe even love.” I take a deep breath, grateful I can’t see their faces. That I don’t have to see the incredulous looks or shocked smiles.
“Yeah.” Lauren’s voice is achingly kind. “I kinda got that. Love fucking sucks.”
“Lauren!” There’s a soft smack, and I picture Lana swatting Lauren’s arm. “Don’t listen to her, Mari. Love doesn’t suck, and neither do you. Neither does Griffin.”
Lauren sighs. “What Pollyanna means is that it’s no one’s fault things went sideways. I get that he’s pissed you didn’t tell him you knew his wife, but what the hell were you supposed to do?”
I appreciate her saying so, but I’m not off the hook here. “It’s not just that. He thinks I ruined his marriage. Hell, maybe I did. Maybe he’d still be married if it weren’t for me.”
Both sisters cough. “Mar, you weren’t out there when he first saw her.” It’s Lauren’s voice this time, and the snark is back. “He looked like he wanted to forcibly remove her from his porch. Like she’d crawled up his doorstep covered in feces and two-week-old hummus left in a hot car.”
“Beautifully put,” Lana says. “Also, not wrong. Trust us, Mari—that was not the face of a man who’s been missing his ex-wife.”
I sigh, not sure they’re getting the point. “He said it right to my face—‘If she’d never met you, I’d still be married.’”
There’s no response, and I picture them exchanging one of their looks. The looks I can never read, except…well…
Didn’t I read it back on Griffin’s porch? My life might be a mess, and I screwed up my relationship. But am I actually connecting with my sisters?
“Mari.” Lana’s using her PR voice, but now I hear true sweetness instead of saccharine. “There’s a difference between feeling frustrated he had no control over his own destiny and wishing he was still married.”
“And he was obviously lashing out.” Lauren snorts. “Trust me. Being blindsided doesn’t bring out anyone’s best self.”
There’s a bitterness in her voice that says she speaks from experience. I may not know all the details of how things went down with Nick, but anything that stings Lauren’s pride is grounds for a lifetime of animosity.
“Griff does have his pride,” I admit as I think about the hurt in his eyes. About the humiliation he must have felt when his wife asked for a divorce. Even if there’s nothing I could have done to prevent it, I was still part of the worst chapter in his life.
“Give him time, Mar.” This time I’m sure it’s Lauren’s hand on my arm. “We all say shitty things we regret when we’re angry. Maybe that’s what happened.”
“And maybe it’s not,” Lana puts in. “But the important thing is that you let yourself fall for someone. That’s huge.”
“And you got laid,” Lauren adds. “Presumably. Which is also huge.”
Lana snickers. “Presumably.”
My cheeks heat up, and I cross my fingers the cool spud slices are enough to keep it from being obvious. Or maybe that doesn’t matter. They’re seeing me at my lowest point. Does it really matter if they know how humiliated I am?
“The point,” Lauren continues, “is that these are all very big steps.”
“And we’re proud of you,” Lana adds.
Lauren grunts. “Hell, yes.”