“Yep.”
“Could you stop grinning like that and give me a recap?”
“Okay, let’s see. First, we had drinks and appetizers at the happy hour as planned. Then we stayed for dinner and drinks with friends from the building.” She smiles. “Then we moved elsewhere and had a couple of nightcaps.”
In my muzzy brain, I hear laughter and music and see a large round table crowded with people. “Did I . . . I didn’t dance, did I?”
“You did.”
“With whom?”
“Everyone!” Meena’s still grinning. “We all danced together. You also danced with Chris and Scott, who both thought you were a hoot. And there was this guy at the bar who tried to talk you into going home with him.”
I blush with embarrassment, but I am also secretly pleased and oddly impressed with myself.
“Everyone really enjoyed meeting you. And you seemed to be having, dare I say it . . . quite a lot of fun.”
“I know I’ll never hear the end of it, but it appears that you might have been right.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she teases.
“Fine. It was fun.” In truth, I still feel a residual sense of well-being. It was the only evening other than book club that I laughed and smiled. A night that wasn’t all about me. Or Nate. Or my guilt. Or the loneliness. “Everyone was very welcoming.”
“It’s what I love most about the building,” Meena says as she puts her feet up on the ottoman with a satisfied smile. “I mean, the location’s great and my condo and its views are fabulous. I enjoy the walkability. But it’s being a part of a community that makes it so special.
“It reminds me of how it was when we moved into River Forge and we all first got to know one another. We became friendlier with some people more than others, but we always had the neighborhood in common. It’s like that here, only it’s not the ‘bubble’ we raised our kids in. I like the diversity. The different ages and ethnicities. It reminds me of book club, only I get to see these people more than once a month.”
She beams, and I think how much Nate would have liked this place if he’d been willing to let go of the familiar and try something new. Maybe our marriage would have been enhanced by the infusion of new people and experiences. Or maybe we would have been over faster, unable to coexist in the smaller square footage, like Meena and Stan. For the first time since I overheard Nate’s “good egg” conversation, I don’t feel that pressing weight of unhappiness on my chest. The need to fix my marriage. My life.
“When we got back it was after eleven and you, well, you were having some difficulty getting your pajamas on,” she says, and a picture forms in my mind of Meena and me giggling hysterically while I try and fail to get my feet into the legs of my pajamas.
“You were a little rubbery last night. It was a miracle you figured out how to get my nightshirt over your head. Lucky for you, I made you take aspirin so you wouldn’t have a hangover.” A last grin. “You’re welcome.”
Sunshine streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I look around the bedroom, taking in the room’s crisp white walls covered with brightly colored artwork, the thick pile rug, and the clean-lined furniture. All so Meena. No sign of the dark woods and heirloom furniture that filled her home in River Forge. No sign of Stan.
“Frank called after I was in bed.” Meena lights up at even the mention of his name. “I wish he didn’t have to travel so much for business, but it does make the sex spicier.” She winks.
We both blush—her in anticipation, me in embarrassment at even the idea of having sex with someone I haven’t spent a lifetime with.
“I think we both need more coffee,” Meena says. “After that, shall we go out for breakfast?”
My stomach rumbles in response. This is the first time since Nate died that I actually feel hungry. “That would be great.”
She reaches for my empty cup.
“Is there time for a shower?” I ask as I get out of bed and stretch.
“Absolutely. As far as I’m concerned, we have all the time in the world.”
When I come out showered and dressed, my overnight bag is sitting open on the ottoman. Meena is standing next to it with a copy of 121 First Dates in her hands. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of buying you a copy.”
“Oh, there’s no way that’s going to happen.”
“Just read it. You know, so you’ll know what’s going on in the world. You don’t have to do anything.”
“Said the snake in the Garden of Eden.”
“I don’t think either of us is Eve,” Meena replies. “And I promise I’m not going to push you to start dating. But one day you might be ready. You were not responsible for Nate’s death, Judith. And thanks to you, he did die with a smile on his lips. A lot of men would be glad to go that way.”
“But I was lecturing him while he was dying.”
“Based on the medical examiner’s report you shared, he was probably already gone before you got out of the bathroom.”
“So, you think lecturing a dead person and not noticing is better? After all those years of complaining that he wasn’t paying attention?”
“Okay. It’s a little ironic. And I’m not trying to belittle the loss. I liked Nate, and I’m sorry he’s gone. I know you miss him. You built a life and raised children together. But you’re still alive. And hiding in the house afraid to come out because of guilt or what someone might think or say isn’t going to bring him back.
“It’s not an insult to Nate’s memory for you to move on with your life. You never have to tell your children that you considered leaving their father. You didn’t do it, and believe me, they don’t want to hear it. I know that from personal experience. You need to go a little easier on yourself. Nate’s heart attack should be a reminder that there are no guarantees in life. None of us know how much time we have left.
“It would be a damned shame to waste your life dwelling on the past rather than figuring out what to do with your future. I hope one day you’ll be as happy as I am right now.”
I agree with this in theory, of course; it’s exactly what I would say to someone else. But in my experience, giving advice is a lot easier than following it. And making it through one happy hour is not necessarily a harbinger of happiness to come.
Twenty
Jazmine
My daughter has a backhand that could make the angels weep. I mean a serious, God-given backhand that a million years of lessons might never produce. Her forehand is gorgeous, too, and her serve will be a serious weapon one day. She has it all. Everything I struggled and worked so hard to master seems to come easily to her.