I pick up a new, brightly-colored yoga mat and plop it on my cart along the way, just as a way to prove it to myself that I’m not that worried.
***
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket as I am cutting up some fresh bell peppers to snack on. Since the only people who ever call me anymore are Kim, Rae, and (on rare occasions) my mother, I accept the call without looking to see who it is.
“Hello?”
“Grace, it’s me!”
Rae.
“I haven’t heard from you since A&B. Just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay?”
“Hey,” I say, popping a pepper in my mouth, “I’m doing great.”
I try to put some pep into my tone to make it sound convincing. I promised myself I wouldn’t tell anyone about the scare, because telling people makes it feel more real. Of course, believing that it could be real will bring on more stress, and the more I stress out, the longer my period will prolong its arrival, because stress is a bitch and a trickster. Therefore, I am not stressed. I am at peace. I am Zen.
Rae clears her throat, “So um, I need to tell you something.”
I take a seat with my bowl of peppers, ready to listen.
“Shoot.”
There’s some sort of shuffling on the other end, followed by more silence. After a minute, she sighs, “Okay, so I hope this doesn’t upset you, but I went to another A&B thing …”
I stop mid-chew, taking a moment to fully download what Rae just said. She went back?
“I thought they only meet once a week,” I say.
“Well, it wasn’t a meet,” she says, “It was a baby shower get-together at Kaya’s for Macie — remember Macie?”
“Yes,” I briefly recall the pregnant woman who read off Hadley’s name, “I remember her.”
Silence.
“Well, that part doesn’t really matter, I guess. I have to tell you something that happened at the shower. With … Hadley. I talked to her.”
My heart thuds loudly and I stop chewing my peppers completely. Rae’s been talking to her?
“Hear me out,” She says, “I didn’t go up to her. She came up to me. She was being all … nice, which I didn’t understand at first, but …”
I feel a momentary wave of betrayal in my heart. It's a feeling I've come to associate with Jayden’s name and what he did, so for it to be directed at Rae, my best friend, because of something she did? I'm just not sure I can handle that right now. What reason could she have had for going back there, when I had to convince her to go to A&B in the first place?
“This isn’t coming out right.” Rae says, “Basically, I have a theory.”
I swallow back my hurt feelings and force myself to listen. My best friend since freshman year wouldn’t just befriend someone who hurt me the way Hadley did … and the only reason my mind is allowing the fear (that Rae, too, would hurt me) to infiltrate my contentment is because Jayden hurt my trust in people. Even people I’ve loved for years.
“Grace,” Rae says, snapping my attention to her voice, “Are you still there?”
“Yes,” I say, “What’s your theory?”
She sighs, “I don’t think Hadley knows. About you and Jayden.”
That catches me off guard.
“What …? What makes you say that?”
“Because … If she knows who you are, and saw me with you at A&B, don’t you think she would avoid talking to me, or bringing up the subject of men? Yet at the baby shower, she had no problem telling me about the guy that she’s with.”
I sigh, exasperated and a little angry, “Yeah, Rae. It’s called being a bitch.”
“No … Grace. For real,” She says, “That’s not the only reason I’m saying all this. I pulled up his profile picture on Facebook, right?”
I release a loud groan, “I know, Rae. I saw this morning. Why are you rubbing salt on my wounds right now?”
“What?” she says, “What do you mean?”
Jayden had deleted all pictures of us together from his Facebook early this morning and had even made his and Hadley’s friendship Facebook-official. I guess that was his way of saying he’s over it. If only I could send him the same kind of messages instead of stalking his Facebook profile first thing in the morning like the pathetic soul that I am.
“I think … you should just talk to her about it,” Rae says, “Come back and make the judgment call for yourself.”
I rub my temples. I want to scream that I don’t care. That Hadley is none of my concern and neither is Jayden.
But I do care …
“What if he does this to more girls, Grace? If Hadley is just an ignorant player in one of his games, isn’t it our obligation to tell her what’s going on?”
I remain silent. The fury that is suddenly gurgling up to the surface of my chest is one that is foreign and unrecognizable to me.
I have no obligation to do anything.
“Wouldn’t you have rather found out in a gentler way than you did?” Rae adds, “Something other than discovering it for the first time all on your own?”
Learning about your boyfriend’s infidelity through a total stranger is hardly gentler than just figuring it out for yourself. At least finding out for yourself allows you to maintain some level of dignity.
I can feel the stress of this conversation weighing in on my body. The very idea that I’m stressing out stresses me out more, because I’m trying so desperately to avoid the prolonging of my period.
“I really can’t talk about this,” I say, the weight of needing to purge the stress growing heavier with each passing second.
“Grace, please don't be ma — ”
I end the call abruptly.
At first, I'm surprised that I did it. The sudden termination of Rae’s words is satisfying, yet guilt-inspiring. I've never hung up the phone on someone before. Especially not my best friend. Should I call back and apologize?
I shake my head. Not until I get a good grip on this situation.
I try to breathe a few, deep breaths, but it isn’t long before my mind begins to torture me.
Will I lose all my friends to this breakup? Are Jayden and his mistress going to slowly strip me of everything I have left? I imagine them as bloodthirsty leeches — seeking out an unfortunate soul to suck the life from until there is nothing left of the victim — Only taking and never giving anything back.
‘Wrong’. My mind maliciously retorts, switching subjects from one torturous idea to another. It forces me to consider the image of a potential fetus deep inside my belly — small, harmless, and only slightly formed. I can't say Jayden never gave me anything when he gave me this nightmarish problem.
I curse at how real I’m allowing this pregnancy concern to feel. That’s the exact opposite of what I should be doing. Why is this so damn hard?
***
When evening comes, I can’t take it anymore. I open my laptop and pull up Facebook, letting curiosity control my actions.
I type “Hadley Harris” into the search bar and select the one that has two mutual friends — Jayden Grayson and Kaya Tarelle. Her profile picture is of her holding a puppy; a still frame of her laughing as it licks her face. I squint as I scroll down to her relationship status.
Single.
She doesn’t appear to post much, but she sure does get tagged in a lot of things. I click on her photos and scroll through them, searching out Jayden’s face, but it doesn’t appear. In fact, she doesn’t have pictures with any men on here. Only groups of girls doing various activities. I recognize Kaya in one of the pictures, but the rest of the faces are strangers to me.
I realize that stalking her like this is no use. It won’t tell me any real information.
With my heat subsiding, I begin to feel worse and worse about hanging up the phone like I did. It’s not like I have boatloads of friends lining up outside my door. I really only have one true friend right now. Why did I feel like I had the freedom to treat her so carelessly?
I look around my
living room, which is dark now without sunshine streaming through the connected sunroom. My furniture needs dusting, along with the ancient Book sitting on top of my coffee table. Amity is nowhere to be seen, and now, without even Rae by my side, I truly feel alone.
10
Rae - Monday
I stand behind the cash register of my job at SportsTop, sincerely wondering if I can do anything right anymore. When I was a little girl, I felt like a pro at plenty of things. I could paint the prettiest rocks in my recycle-art class, bust the best moves in dance lessons, and my jump roping skills were unmatched in gym class. I had plenty of unique skills back then, and seemingly so much more flavor to my personality. But now, at the ripe age of twenty-one, I can’t even maintain basic friendships. And by ‘basic’, I mean a friendship that has never felt anything but totally natural.
When Grace hung up on me yesterday, I waited by my phone for a few minutes, certain she would call me back. Whenever one of us accidentally hung up on the other in the past, we always called back right away with some sort of reasonable explanation, like the phone service is spotty or something. But when the clock on my phone showcased ten whole minutes since the call was dropped, I realized she wasn’t calling back. That I’d royally screwed up this time, and that she was actually mad at me.
I had debated all day whether or not I should tell Grace about going to the baby shower. Had it not been for my run-in with Hadley, I may have kept it a secret. But I decided that this was just too big of a thing to keep from her.
A sigh from the woman next in line interrupts my thoughts as she places various sports equipment on my counter. I plaster on a smile long enough to go through the motions of checking her out, surprised with my ability to act like nothing's wrong.
Most days I love my job — helping people find the athletic gear they need — but today I just want to go home or to the gym. Either sanctuary will do.
There are three more hours left in my shift and no one in the line, so to keep my hands busy, I begin running a vacuum over the floor. With the sound of the vacuum cleaner evenly humming in my ears, I begin to drift back to my conversation with Grace.
If I’m being honest, telling her about Hadley was the right thing to do, even if I’m sorry to have upset her. At the same time, though, I should’ve picked up on what was going through her mind the moment she used the word ‘bitch’ to describe another girl. Grace can be feisty when she wants to be, but ultimately, she is the essence of her name: graceful. She believes wholeheartedly in achieving self-respect and having respect for others. She chooses her words carefully before she says them. She is thoughtful and collected, and like Zoe said, whimsical. She doesn’t just throw around words like that when she’s okay, and that’s something I should know by now.
I turn off the vacuum because the store is surprisingly bustling now, at least for our town’s standards. Gevali is a close-knit community tucked between our state’s capital, Montpelier, and the happening city of Burlington. There’s only one store of every kind, so the faces I see in the shop are usually familiar. Today, however, a surprising amount of tourists buzz around the store. No doubt they’re here to stock up on their hiking gear and see the beautiful autumn maples that Vermont is famous for.
I make my way back to the register, and to my surprise, a familiar face steps up to the counter.
“Hey, stranger,” Kaya says, placing a blue, retractable dog leash on my counter.
“Hey!” I smile back, genuinely glad to see her.
“Long time, no see, right?” She winks.
“For real,” I say, scanning the tag, “You doing okay?”
“I’m doing wonderful,” she says, “and how about yourself?”
“I’m hanging in there.” I say.
“Is that you, Kaya?” A voice says from behind her.
She turns to see who said her name.
“Marj, hey!” Kaya says, wrapping her arms around the older lady behind her in line.
The old lady — Marj — takes Kaya’s smooth hands into her wrinkled ones, displaying an expression of pure concern.
“I am so sorry to hear about your diagnosis,” she says, “Richard and I haven’t stopped praying since we heard the news.”
Diagnosis?
Kaya just smiles and squeezes Marj’s hands, “Thank you so much. Please let Richard know how much I appreciate you both.”
Marj shakes her head, clearly distraught, “I just don’t understand how you maintain such a positive attitude, my dear. And for someone so young.”
“Ah, can’t take all the credit there. I couldn’t do it without my helper,” Kaya winks, “You know that.”
At this, Marj smiles, “Oh, don’t I know that. You’re a good girl, Kaya.”
An impatient tourist behind the two clears their throat unnaturally loud.
Kaya looks up at them and smiles before turning back to the counter.
“I’m sorry,” She says, retrieving a credit card from her pocket, “I’m holding up the line aren’t I?”
“It’s okay,” I say, accepting her card and sparing her my sales speech.
As I hand her the bag, I look at her a little closer. She doesn’t look any different … She seems to be her vibrant, normal self.
She thanks me and proceeds out the door, still with pep in her step.
The old lady steps up to the counter, holding a pair of children’s sneakers in her hands.
“Did you find everything okay?” I ask her out of habit.
“Oh, just fine, dear.” She replies, “Shopping for my grandbaby, of course.”
I nod as I bag her item, mustering a smile. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I know Kaya too. She’s a close family friend. You mentioned something about … a diagnosis?”
Marj winces, looking deeply saddened, “That’s right. The poor girl.”
“I hadn’t heard about it.” I frown, handing her the shopping bag.
“I remember the acronym …” Marj says, contemplating as she heads for the door, “E … E.W.S.? Or something like that?”
***
When my shift is over, I pull out my phone and google E.W.S.
My eyes widen when I see that it stands for Ewing’s Sarcoma — a form of cancer in a person’s bones or tissue; one that is common for children but rare for adults.
She must have been diagnosed before I started coming back to A&B, but why didn’t mom tell me? Did she think I wouldn’t care about someone who’s been a family friend for years? Did she think I wouldn’t pray about it, so there’s no real point in telling me?
Would you pray about it?
The thought hits me out of nowhere, and suddenly I feel defensive. Of course I would. Absolutely. Never mind the fact that I haven’t said a real prayer in a long time.
Kaya is a person deserving of prayers. You’d never know anything is wrong just by watching her. When I asked her how she was doing, she’d said she was wonderful. I’ve never seen her without a smile on her face, and she is always so caring towards others. It makes me wonder how. How can somebody who’s been diagnosed with cancer be so sunny and loving instead of resentful and downtrodden?
Kaya had said something about this when Marj asked the same question. Her reply had been, “I couldn’t do it without my helper.”
What did she mean by her helper? Is she seeing someone new who eases the blow of such a diagnosis?
The thought warms my heart. Either way, she has me intrigued.
Who is this helper, and how are they bringing her so much joy, that cancer is just a mere detail in her mind? Moreover, how can I get some of him or her in my life too?
11
Grace - Monday
Loneliness can be strangely productive. I haven’t booked any clients the past couple of days, so instead I’ve busied myself with sorting through and donating the last of Grandma Jackie’s things, reading some of my favorite self-help novels, and making products for my business. In total, I’ve made four lotions, six soaps, three medicinal tinc
tures, and eight candles — a product I’ve learned to love making because Rae’s mom taught me how in Junior year of high school. If I’m honest, Mrs. Brooks is really the one who ignited my passion for holistic medicine and making all-natural goods. She encouraged me to pursue my certifications in aromatherapy and herbalism, which kicked off my home-based business. My actual mother and I have different beliefs about medicine, her being a nurse and all, but Rae’s mom was always an advocate of me pursuing my passion for homeopathic living.
These thoughts make me miss Mrs. Brooks. They make me miss Rae. I never did call her back to apologize and I feel bad for it, but I’m also still a little mad at her for everything. She really didn’t have any right to dabble in this part of my life, in which I’m still licking my wounds. I’ve resolved that I need to take some time for myself — to cleanse and renew. Hence, the indulgence in self-help books and intense clean-out session of my house, which is tidied to perfection and finally rid of the last of Grandma Jackie’s books. All but one.
I’ve been ignoring the Bible for no rational reason, which has felt more childish than liberating. It’s almost as though I’m scared of what it might tell me I’m doing wrong … like the reason my life sucks right now is all because of me, and it’s nothing more than a direct result of my own ways.
I glance around my living room which appears bright and airy since I’ve drawn back the window shades. I’ve purged the room so deeply, there’s not a single thing left to clean. A single ray of sunshine beams directly on the Book, illuminating its gold-rimmed pages.
I sigh in resignation. With no more products to make, nothing more to clean, and certainly not anyone to talk to, I saunter over to the book and pick it up.
The weight of it shifts in my hands, unassumingly.
I settle into my favorite chair next to the window and begin untying the strings that bind the book. I open the cover just a sliver before closing it back up.
Maybe I should pray or something first … isn’t that what Kaya said last week?
I recall her briefly mentioning that when you read the Bible, it should be a conversation rather than a one-sided lecture session. We can ask questions and make requests in our prayers, and the Bible, in theory, is supposed to be what God says back.
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