On Second Thought

by Kristan Higgins

  Before April 6, my still-shaky place in the family had been natural, normal. All I had to do was be pleasant and hang in there, and eventually, I'd belong.

  Now I'd forever be a reminder of their lost son and brother, forever included in family events that would be steeped in grief for the rest of our lives.

  How did people survive this?

  I can't believe you abandoned us like this, Nathan. Pretty selfish, don't you think?

  He didn't respond.

  "Let's do this again next week, shall we?" Eloise said when the interminable lunch was finally over, and I couldn't help flinching.

  "Sure!" I said. "That would be great!"

  The food sat heavily in my stomach as I drove home. Eloise followed behind me the entire way, which made my driving jerky and uncertain. Their house was less than a mile from Nathan's place. Our place, I meant. Mine, actually.

  I pulled into the driveway. Someone was standing on my doorstep, surrounded by suitcases. Someone holding a little dog.

  "Ainsley?"

  "Eric and I broke up," she said, and my mouth fell open. "Dumped me, cleaned out our account and told me to move. Can I stay with you for a few days?"

  "Yes! Of course, come on in."

  The joy that flooded through me was shameful. But thank God, I wouldn't have to be alone in this house another day.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ainsley

  As Kate helped me lug in my three suitcases, as Ollie charged through the exciting new space, a corner of his blanket clutched in his mouth, I seemed to be stricken with verbal diarrhea, hoping desperately that she didn't mind me showing up here. For a flash of a second as I drove over, I'd forgotten that Nathan was dead, and in that flash, I felt such relief... Nice Nathan, who really seemed to like me, would definitely be on my side.

  But he was dead. And his death was why Eric decided to move to Alaska (the state's name now imbued with dripping sarcasm).

  "Yeah, so he dumped me Friday. I thought he was going to propose, but no, and the thing is, the lobster was so good, and all night long, I kept thinking about it. And the ring, Kate! The ring was so sparkly! I found it in his underwear drawer the night of--um, a few weeks ago. Anyway, no proposal. He dumped me, so I figured I'd do exactly what he said, right? He wants me out, I'm out."

  "Good for you, Ainsley." Rather than the typical expression of slight concern whenever she saw me (and a little condescension), she looked genuinely pleased.

  I lifted the heavier suitcase so as not to scratch the floors. "I think if I just leave him alone for a few weeks--um, or days--" she doesn't want you here for weeks, dummy! "--he'll come to his senses. Wow, this place is beautiful! Eric always had a woody for it. I swear to God, he wanted to be Nathan."

  Who died on your stupid granite countertop. Shut up, Ainsley.

  Kate just looked at me. "Well, come on upstairs and pick your bedroom, okay?"

  We went up the stairs and down the long, white hallway, which Ollie was using as a racetrack, filled with glee. I looked in the first bedroom. "This will be fine," I said.

  "No, no, take your time. Look around. The corner room has a great tub. But this one has a skylight. And I love those red pillows." She paused, pushing her hair back. Her shoes didn't match, I noticed, and my heart twisted.

  "They're all beautiful. I really appreciate this."

  "Nathan has--had--great taste."

  "Absolutely! That's for sure. I still can't believe you actually live here. You're so lucky."

  Ah, yes. Just what to say to the grief-stricken widow. Maybe I should write for Hallmark Cards. Your husband may be dead, but think of the extra closet space you'll have! "I...I meant I love this house."

  "I know. Don't worry. You don't have to walk on eggshells." She gave me a rueful smile, and I felt a twinge of little-sister hope. Then again, I'd felt that twinge once a year for my entire life.

  "Thanks. We'll have a great time." And there I went again, saying the exact wrong thing. "I should shut up now. Sorry again."

  She laughed a little. "It's okay. You're a breath of fresh air."

  "Are you hungry?" I asked.

  "Um...yeah. I think so. I just had lunch with Eloise, but I didn't eat much."

  "I'll cook us dinner! Okay?"

  "There's lots of food in the freezer. Well, you know that already. Thank you, by the way. For coming by and organizing stuff." She swallowed with difficulty, it seemed. "Anyway, get settled in, and I'll pour you some wine and you can tell me everything. It'll be nice not to think about...my own stuff."

  "Kate." I hesitated, then gave her a hug. "He was the nicest guy in the world."

  "You know what's funny?" she said, her voice husky. "You knew him longer than I did." She gave me a brisk pat on the back, then pulled away. "Check out all the rooms and pick your favorite."

  She went down the hall to her own bedroom, and I caught a glimpse of her giant bed. My heart wobbled with grief. Thirty-nine years old, and a widow.

  And here Eric was having a midlife crisis. If anything, Nathan's death should've taught him to cherish the people around him, the ass-hat.

  This Jack London phase wasn't going to last. Really. Eric shuddered at those shows about the Alaskan mountain men on the Discovery Channel. If he made it out of New York, I'd be stunned. But right now, I was furious. I deserved to be married. I wanted that ring, that piece of paper, that Mrs. title in front of my name, and I'd earned it.

  I loved Eric, had always loved him, had always been his biggest fan.

  What an idiot. Me, I meant. I wiped my eyes with angry hands.

  Okay, well, I had to unpack. I opened the door to the corner room and sucked in a breath. It was impressive, all right, and so different from my bedroom at home. One entire wall was brick, and a black, modern four-poster sat in front of it, made up entirely in white. Fluffy white pillows, white on white duvet cover, a fluffy white throw. There was a vast black bureau topped with three modern long-necked bird sculptures. A furry, blissfully soft white rug on top of the cherry-stained floors. Ollie ran to it and flopped down, rolling in delight. Against one of the white walls was an asymmetrical couch, a fainting couch, I think it was called, upholstered in gray velvet with a small red pillow. The wide windows overlooked the courtyard or patio or whatever they called it. A Japanese cherry tree was in bloom, its elegant branches swaying slightly in the breeze.

  I couldn't help the juvenile pang of envy I felt. Let's face it--Kate walked into this life without any effort on her part. A wonderful husband (I would've dated him if I'd been single), the prestige of marrying into the Coburn family, this incredible house.

  Everything I had, I worked for. Yearned for. Spent years planning.

  My own house--Eric's house--was filled with color and comfort. Sure, we had nice things, too, but not like this. This was the kind of room an Oscar winner would sleep in.

  But it was mine for now. I would read on the couch, I thought, and sip tea, and look out at the cherry blossoms while Eric rued the day.

  The bathroom...whoa. I walked in and the lights turned on automatically, dimly at first, then to full power. Wow! A little room for the toilet, a separate shower and a huge wonking bathtub with eight (count 'em) jets. Long quartz countertop, strange, beautiful sink, four little succulent plants in a row.

  I went back into the bedroom and pulled out my Winnie the Pooh, who'd been with me since birth. For the past eleven years, Pooh had been relegated to a shelf or chair in the guest room, as it didn't feel right to have my beloved cuddle friend watching as Eric and I had sexy time. Now I wanted him with me again.

  "I love you more than Eric," I told Pooh and kissed his worn little nose. He wasn't the classic Pooh; he was Disney's version--red shirt and denim overalls. After thirty-two years of love, he was missing both eyes, just a black thread trailing down from one socket like a worm, and his red shirt had more patches than original fabric. Kate used to sew him up for me.

  I set him on the bed between the pillows, a splash of comforti
ng tackiness in all this sophistication.

  Then I took out the picture of my mother and me, and put it on the night table. It was the only picture I had of the two of us.

  My mother had been a beauty, that was for sure. She'd had black hair like mine. Hers was wavy in the way of a 1950s pinup girl, as if she'd slept in rollers all night. To the best of my knowledge, it was natural. Talking about her had never been encouraged.

  Once, when I was about seven, I'd asked Candy if she knew my mother. "Only in the sense that your father and she were having an adulterous affair," she said, aborting the conversation with surgical efficacy. Dad tended to say things like, "Oh, Michelle was...well. She was terrific, your mom." And not much else.

  In the picture, she was holding me on her hip, smiling right into the camera. Pooh was clutched to my chest, both eyes then intact, his fur a yellow not found in nature. My mother's hair was blowing in the breeze, and I had on a rather adorable pout.

  I'd tried a thousand times to remember that moment. Tried, and failed.

  I liked to think she and I would've been friends. That we'd be close still, like Judy and I were, except even better. That she'd have visited me at NBC and would've loved Eric, would've helped me paint the rooms in our house and gone shopping with me for all the little things that made our place so cozy and fun.

  I used to think she'd have been proud of me.

  Today, though, a rejected, underemployed woman who wanted nothing more than to get back together with the man who'd dumped her...today, I wasn't so sure.

  *

  By Monday morning, I still hadn't heard from Eric.

  That scared me, but I was trying not to think about it. After all, it had been only two days. And Kate seemed quietly glad for my company. On Saturday night, we'd watched the last half of the Yankees game to catch a glimpse of our father behind home plate, not that you could see much with all his gear.

  While staring at the TV, stroking Ollie's belly as he lay in the chair next to her, Kate told me she hadn't had her period since Nathan died, but didn't seem to be pregnant, either.

  "I always thought you'd make a great mom," I'd said, once again sticking my foot in it. Her face rippled with sorrow, and she didn't look at me. When our father called the batter out, Kate said good-night. Ollie, good doggy that he was, trotted up after her.

  And yet, yesterday afternoon, we'd played Trivial Pursuit, the first time we'd played a board game since Candy Land. Sean called, and I talked to him a little bit--a rarity, as he never deliberately called me, though Kiara did once in a while. Sean was under the impression I was staying here out of the goodness of my heart, rather than because I was currently homeless.

  It would be good to go to work. Get my mind off things and on to such burning issues as the latest trends in local goat cheese. I poured myself some of Kate's great coffee--an Ethiopian blend Eric would covet if he knew Nathan had once loved it.

  Kate wandered into the kitchen, her hair a little matted. "How'd you sleep?" she asked.

  "Like the dead," I answered. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Like a rock. Very well. I slept well." I closed my eyes for a second. "How about you?"

  "Not bad," she lied. The shadows under her eyes told the true story.

  "I have to get to work. Jonathan's really anal about us showing up on time."

  "Okay. Have a good day," she said.

  "Can I do anything for you while I'm out?"

  "No, no, I'm fine." She rubbed her eyes. "I have to go to the studio and return some phone calls and stuff."

  "Good, good," I said. "Tell Max I said hi." Once upon a time, I had a huge crush on Max and his whisper-scary voice.

  "Will do. And, Ainsley...you know, stay here as long as you want. Even if Eric comes crawling back--as he should--you're welcome to have a little breathing room here. But I don't need you to stay, either. I mean, just do what you want. You're welcome here." Grief and exhaustion had softened her a little; she was usually a lot more brisk where I was concerned.

  "Thanks, Kate. And hey," I added, "remember that, uh, that grief group I found? It meets tonight. Maybe, if you don't want to go alone, I could go with you the first time. Or something. If you want."

  She nodded. "Yeah, that might be...good." Her mind was already wandering. I wanted to hug her, but I always felt a bit like an ass, hugging my ultracool sister (half sister, I could hear Candy saying).

  I went out to my car, breathing in the sweet springtime smells from the gorgeous flowers and trees of the landscaping. The exterior of the house was just as sleek and fabulous as the inside. A sweep of grape hyacinth grew along the steps and four flowering pear trees marked the curve of the driveway.

  I wasn't sure I was doing Kate any good by being there.

  Then again, I wasn't sure where else to go. Candy and Dad's--no. Candy would let me stay, of course, but I couldn't bear to be another nail in her crucifixion. Plus, I didn't want her and Dad to think badly of Eric, because once we got back together, it would be awkward.

  Same with a friend's place. So it was Kate's, or Gram-Gram's. Despite not being my biological grandmother, Gram-Gram adored me. And speaking of the sweet old lady, I hit her name on my phone. "Hi, Gram-Gram!"

  "Is this Ainsley? Hello? The name says Ainsley on the phone. Is that you, honey?"

  "It is! Hi, Gram-Gram!"

  "How are you, sweetheart? Are you married yet?"

  "Nope, not married. Just calling to say hi."

  "Oh, dear. Was it your husband who died?"

  "That was Kate, I'm afraid. Remember? Nathan was her husband."

  She sighed. "That's so sad. Do you think she wants to be fixed up? I know a nice young man."

  "It might be a little soon."

  "How about you? Would you like to meet someone?"

  "No, not right now. I'm on my way to work, Gram-Gram. I just wanted to say hi, and I love you."

  "Aren't you sweet! Thank you, darling! You made an old woman's day! Oh, I wanted to tell you something! Last night, I heard a noise! And you know I live here by myself, of course."

  Not exactly. She'd recently moved to a swanky senior housing development, the same one where I brought Ollie once a week. She had her own apartment, but it was in a giant building with about three hundred other residents.

  "Anyway, I went outside, and I took a butcher knife with me! Just in case!"

  "Oh, Gram-Gram. That's not a good idea."

  "Well, guess what it was?"

  I glanced at my watch. It was 8:28, and Jonathan hated when we were late. "What was it?" I pulled into the lot behind the Hudson Lifestyle offices. Of course, there were no free spaces, so I had to back out on the street and try to parallel park.

  "It was a skunk! Can you believe it? A little black-and-white skunk! Oh, it was adorable! I left it some cat food."

  I turned off the engine and grabbed my purse and phone. "You probably shouldn't feed it, Gram-Gram."

  "Well, I did. I'm an independent woman. I can do what I want."

  I laughed. "I guess that's true. I have to go now. Love you!"

  "I love you, too, honey. Come visit me! We can go to Walgreens together."

  It was her favorite place. "That sounds like fun." I did love the As Seen On TV aisle.

  "Or a wake. Someone's bound to die soon. All these old people. An ambulance comes here every day! And you never know. Wakes are great places to meet someone."

  I snorted. "Bye, Gram-Gram." Granted, I didn't really want to go to a wake with my grandmother, but her friends were dropping like flies, and she liked to show me off at wakes and funerals. She always called me her granddaughter. Never once used the word step.

  I ran up the stairs to the office. Everyone looked up and went quiet. Lateness was on par with beheading puppies as far as our boss was concerned. His door, at least, was closed. "Hi, everyone," I said in a low voice, hoping to slip into my cubicle like Bob Cratchit avoiding Scrooge.

  His door opened. "You're late," he said. "Please come in for a moment."

  "H
i, Jonathan." I stood up, my face flaring with heat. Was he going to bring up Friday night? Or the fact that Eric announced that I complained about my job? More likely, he was going to deliver another lecture about punctuality and godliness. He did have that Calvinist preacher vibe.

  Jonathan closed the door behind me and sat down, regarding me with his unblinking, pale blue eyes. His office was not a place where happy conversations occurred. Not with me, anyway.

  "I'm sorry I'm a tiny bit late. I was talking to my grandmother, and she has dementia, a little anyway, and it was hard to get her off the phone. But she's very sweet. A widow for a long time. How was your weekend?"

  "Please sit down," he said. His voice was very deep, almost a growl, like the dragon Smaug from The Hobbit movies. Rachelle was convinced it was the one sexy thing about him, but everything he said to me always sounded very...disdainful.

  "Have you seen The Cancer Chronicles this morning?" he asked.

  "Uh, no." The CCs were supposed to be done, though Eric had run a maudlin piece about Nathan just after he died. "Jonathan, speaking of Eric, I'd like to keep our, um, little scene from the other night to ourselves, okay? We're...well, we're getting back together."

  "Are you?" An eyebrow lifted.

  "Yes. Probably. I mean, definitely. It's just a blip."

  He sighed, then turned his monitor around so I could see.

  It was Eric's blog, running as usual under the banner of Hudson Lifestyle Online.

  The Cancer Chronicles by Eric Fisher, it said, and then the headline:

  Cutting Free from the Corpse of My Old Life.

  On Friday night, it began, I made a difficult, exciting decision. To live life large. In order to do this, I had to assess what had been holding me back. Now that my Cancer Journey has drawn to a close, and because the Universe has shown me how fragile life is, I had to make some changes.

  The first step was big. I had to separate myself from a person close to me, even knowing it would cause her pain. But sometimes pain makes you stronger. It did in my case. The pain of cancer was the fire that burnished my soul. (Sigh. There really hadn't been much pain.)