On Second Thought

by Kristan Higgins

I grabbed my knapsack and headed home on my bike. Ainsley was there when I went in. She was dressed, as always, in a cute outfit, the kind I never could pull off--an ivory skirt printed with black bicycles, a red shirt with a boatneck collar, little black ankle boots. All part of her 1950s housewife vibe.

  Her eyes weren't red. That was a good sign, I guessed.

  "So," I said.

  "Yep," she said, pouring herself a big glass of wine.

  "Can I do anything?"

  "Nope."

  "You gonna kill him?"

  "I think his mother will take care of that."

  I smiled. Eric did have nice parents. "So...are you guys...?"

  "I think he's having a nervous breakdown."

  He'd sounded pretty calm on the blog to me. Sanctimonious, hell yes, but calm. First, he broke up with her. Now he put it out there for the universe to read about. And knowing Eric, he was loving the attention.

  "You seem pretty chill," I said, accepting the glass of wine she handed me.

  "Well, I've had all day to read comments. That dickhead boss of mine wouldn't take it down."

  "Too much free publicity?"

  "Exactly. I can't decide which man I hate more, Eric or Jonathan. I think it's Eric. Yes. Definitely Eric."

  "We can burn him in effigy if you want. That Japanese maple is perfect for it."

  She snorted. "I appreciate that." But her eyes flickered and welled. Like a normal person, she cried when the situation demanded it. Me, I was still dry. I handed her a tissue and she blew her nose, then took a swallow of wine.

  "Are we going to that grief group tonight?" she asked.

  "Oh, we don't have to," I said. "You've had a rough day."

  "No, let's," she said. "It'll be fun."

  I waited.

  "Not fun. Shit. It'll be helpful. It'll be helpful and cathartic. Or horrible, and if it is, we can ditch it and go bowling. Let's order a pizza, okay? I need dairy and gluten."

  "Coming up," I said.

  At 7:00, my sister and I drove to St. Andrew's Church, where the grief group met. We got out, a fine mist blanketing my hair almost immediately. No one told me how much it rained in Cambry-on-Hudson. Almost a completely different weather pattern than in Brooklyn.

  "You really don't have to come in, Ains," I said. "I can walk home or get a ride."

  "No, it's fine. I'm here for you." She looked at me, as if really seeing me for the first time today, and gave a little smile. "No one should have to do this alone. Not the first time, anyway."

  She was so damn nice. "Okay. Thanks."

  Time to open a vein.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ainsley

  Apparently, St. Andrew's was the happening place when you had a problem. There was an AA meeting going on in one room, an NA meeting in another, a divorced people's group and ours--I mean, Kate's. One Step Forward: Support Group for Widows & Widowers, the sign said.

  Kate's shoulders were clenched around her ears. "Maybe this isn't a good idea," she said.

  "Why don't we give it a try?" I countered. "You might be surprised."

  "You'll stay, right? God, I sound pathetic."

  My heart pulled. "Of course I'll stay." Finally, I was needed. It felt good after the battering my ego had taken today. God, was it only today? I felt a million years old.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Eric.

  Guess what? GMA wants to have me on the show!!! Jimmy Kimmel, too!!! Seems like the CCs have really struck a chord. Did you see today's post??? Went totally viral!

  My eye twitched. If Eric was here right now, my phone would be shoved into his frontal lobe. Or up his ass.

  I'd received three hundred and seventeen emails today. Eleven of those were from Judy, panicking about what her son wrote about me with just a hint of pride thrown in, as well. And now Men's Health wants him to write a column about his fitness regime! He does look good these days, don't you think? Then, seconds later, another email, But don't worry. He'll come to his senses. He loves you.

  The urge to go back to Kate's fabulous house right this minute and guzzle pina coladas was strong within me.

  Then Kate reached out and grabbed my hand. My sister needed me. Whatever I was going through, Kate had it worse. In the thirty-two years I'd known her, I'd never seen her lost before.

  The group was held in what was clearly a nursery school classroom by day. There were little tables and tiny chairs, and cotton-ball lambs decorated the wall along with the alphabet and numbers. A bookcase and carpeted area were on one side of the room, and the place smelled comfortingly of paint. In the middle of the room was a circle of gray metal chairs, looking out of place in the cheerful, diminutive decor.

  There were six or seven people here. Two men, one extremely attractive... Too soon to fix Kate up? Yes, of course it was. Jeesh. I sounded like Gram-Gram. The rest were women, one about Kate's age, one older, one younger.

  "Hello, I'm Lileth," said one of women in a smooth voice. "I'm a licensed clinical social worker, and I run this group. You're welcome here, and I'm so glad you came. Here are the rules." She smiled sadly, a professional mourner's smile, and handed us a ream of papers.

  "Wow. Lots of, uh, information. I'm Ainsley, and this is my sister, Kate," I said. Kate said nothing, so I felt obliged to fill the gap. "Her husband died a few weeks ago."

  Kate cleared her throat. "Yes. April 6."

  "Nathan Coburn?" one of the women asked.

  "Yes."

  "I know his sister." She smiled.

  "Hey, Kate," the hot guy said. "Sorry you belong to this shitty club. Jenny told me you might show up." He smiled.

  "Hi, Leo," she said.

  Right, right. He'd come to the wake with the wedding dress designer.

  Who wouldn't be making my dress, as I wasn't engaged.

  But it was Kate's turn to be miserable. "Is it okay if I stay? Since it's Kate's first time?" I asked Lileth.

  "We prefer that you don't," she said.

  Leo sighed dramatically. "It's fine with me," he said.

  "Me, too," said one of the women.

  "Me, too," said another.

  "I don't mind," said a little old man.

  "It's just that you don't share the experience," Lileth said. "And the group might not be comfortable with someone who's not a widow."

  "So she's not a widow," a woman said. "Good for her. It's not like we're going to stone her."

  "That's a relief," I said.

  "The rules--which exist for good reason--say only widows and widowers." Lileth cocked her head, fake-smiled and waited for me to leave.

  "Are you widowed?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "No. But I'm a licensed clinical social worker."

  I felt myself bristling. Kate was still clutching my hand, and I liked the sense of being needed. "Think of me as a therapy dog," I said.

  "Oh, let her stay, Lileth, for God's sake," one of the women said. She had a glorious Bronx accent, the orangey skin of a tanning addict and crispy dyed black hair. "We're all bored with ourselves and our whining, anyway." She patted Kate's shoulder. "So sit already, tell us your story."

  Lileth didn't look happy. I hated her already.

  We sat on the cold, hard folding chairs. "A few ground rules," Lileth said. "Which are covered in the information packet I just gave you. One. Our group, One Step Forward--"

  "Two steps back," Leo interjected. Lileth ignored him.

  "--is a safe place, and everything we share is meant for this group only. Two. Confidentiality is expected." She glared at me, as if I was live Tweeting already. "And this one time, I suppose it's all right if--I'm sorry, what's your name?"

  "Ainsley."

  "--if Ainsley stays. Unless anyone has a problem with that? This is your group, and if anyone has even the slightest bit of--"

  "Let her stay," said the man who was not Leo. "She's pretty."

  He was about eighty and gave me a smile. I smiled back. Take that, Lileth.

  "Three. We take turns. Eac
h person may choose how much to share, but everyone--"

  "It's not rocket science, Lileth," Leo interrupted. "Kate, if you feel like talking, talk. You already know me a little, so I'll go first. Here's the sad story in a nutshell. My pregnant wife--Amanda--died in a car accident. I was driving. They both died, our unborn son and her." His face seemed to change without actually moving, and suddenly his tragedy, easily spoken of, filled his eyes. Filled the whole room. I teared up, trying not to picture what that day, and all the days after, must've been like.

  Leo cleared his throat. "That was three years ago. And now I'm with Jenny, and she's really fantastic, but I have my moments of deep dark despair. She thought this group might help. And it has." He smiled, the sorrow shifting, if not leaving, and I found myself liking him.

  I looked at my sister. Still had that deer-in-the-headlights look.

  "I'm LuAnn," the orangey woman said, her Bronx accent so thick you could practically taste the Yankee Stadium hot dogs. "Cop's wife. Widow. God, I hate that word! Anyways, last year, Frank, my husband, he goes on a DV, right? Domestic violence for you civilians. Worse kind of call. Knocks on the door, the husband answers, shoots him point-blank, dead. We got four kids."

  "Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Kate said, her voice tight and strained.

  LuAnn shook her head. "Here's the thing, Kate, hon. I am so mad at Frank, okay? Seriously. How the hell could he do this to me? If he was alive, I would kill him. I would kill him in cold blood."

  "Of course you don't mean that," Lileth said, "though it's natural to indulge in--"

  "Oh, give me a break here, Lileth! I'm in the anger phase today, because our son? Frankie Junior? He comes home with an F--an F!--on his math test, and I'm like, 'If your father knew how you were screwing around, he would smack some sense into you and don't you roll your eyes at me!'"

  Lileth made a sympathetic sound. "Hmm. Mmm. Children can--"

  "--And Frankie Junior, he says, 'Ma, who even cares? Dad's dead, you can't use the guilt card on me forever.' So that's what I'm dealing with. A no-good son. Who even knows with the girls? They'll probably be pregnant before long. My twelve-year-old, Marissa? She tells me she has a boyfriend, and I'm like, 'Not while I draw breath, you don't,' and then it's tears and drama, and shit, I could use a vacation already!"

  I loved her. I grinned at Kate, but she just sat there, a little frozen.

  "I'm George," the older guy said. "My wife and I were married for forty-three years, and she just slipped away in her sleep. Bad heart. That was last year." He paused. "It doesn't seem possible that I've made it this long without her. Every day is so long. But I can't complain. We were lucky, Annie and me. We had a lot of good times."

  My sister gave a small squeak, and I squeezed her clammy hand.

  The other women went. Janette's husband died of pancreatic cancer on their fifteenth anniversary. "His last words to me were 'I'm sorry to be dying on our special day,' and I said, 'Well, you've always been a selfish bastard,' and he laughed, and then he just...sank a little into the pillow. He died at that exact moment. And I panicked, you know? Like, seriously? Those were my last words to him? So I grabbed him and shook him and said, 'Hey! I love you, idiot!'" She laughed through her tears.

  My sister's forehead was shiny with sweat.

  "You okay?" I whispered.

  She nodded.

  Bree's husband died after a sheet of ice flew off the truck in front of him on Interstate 87 last winter. "It's hardest when I try to talk about him with the kids," she said to Kate. "Camden is four, Fiona's eighteen months. I don't know how to keep his memory alive. The other day, I asked Cam if he remembered the time he went fishing with Daddy, and he didn't. He's forgotten. And Fiona thinks Daddy is the word for picture. We went to Target the other day, and in the frame section, she kept pointing at the shelves and saying 'Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?'"

  Someone was panting.

  It was Kate.

  At first, I thought she was crying, but no, she was hyperventilating. Drenched in sweat, too. "Uh-oh," I said. "Okay, slow down. In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three." There was the rare occasion when Candy's profession came in handy. Panic attacks had dotted my early childhood, and she'd taught me how to breathe through them.

  Kate sounded like an overheated dog in the middle of summer. "In for three, hold for three, out for three--Okay, she's gonna faint. Lean over, Kate."

  Leo helped me maneuver her head between her legs. "I'm s-s-so-sorry," she managed. She gripped my hand hard enough that bones crunched. "I think I'm having a heart attack."

  "Nah. Just hyperventilating," I said. "Remember me and the thunderstorms?" She nodded. "Does anyone have a paper bag?"

  George (I was already crushing on him) found one, and Kate held it against her mouth, her eyes wide, face white. "In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three," I said, rubbing her back.

  "We all lose it at one point or another," LuAnn said. "Me, the first time after Frank died, I was watching Real Housewives. We watched it together, right? So it's two weeks, maybe three, after he died, and I sit down and I say, 'Frank! Housewives is on!' and then he doesn't come, and I actually call him again. And then it hits me. He's dead. No more TV watching together. I freak out, just like you."

  "Our bodies sometimes acknowledge what our brains can't," Lileth said. I wondered what fortune cookie she got that from.

  "Doing better?" I asked Kate. She nodded but kept puffing into the bag.

  "So let's get it out of the way, hon," LuAnn said. "How did your husband die?"

  Kate was in no shape to form words. "Want me to tell them?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  I kept rubbing her back. "He, uh...tripped and hit his head. Freak accident, really."

  "He was getting me wine," Kate said into the bag, which expanded and contracted with each breath. "I needed more wine. Because Ainsley's boyfriend was making a speech, and he wanted us to toast her, and I hate parties, so I drank my first glass really fast, and I needed more, so Nathan got me more, and now he's dead and it's my fault." The bag inflated and deflated faster now.

  There was a pregnant silence, just the sound of the paper bag. I could've sworn Leo was trying not to laugh.

  "It's really Eric's fault, though, isn't it?" I said, still rubbing her back. Soon, I would burn a friction hole in her shirt. "He's the one who said to raise your glass. Plus, he's an asshole."

  Leo did laugh then. So did LuAnn. Kate may have smiled, but it was hard to tell with the bag over her mouth.

  "Speaking of assholes," Bree said, "did anyone read about that guy who ditched his girlfriend once he got over cancer?"

  For a second, I didn't remember it was me she was talking about. But no, I was the lucky girl, wasn't I? "That was my boyfriend," I said. "I'm Sunshine of The Cancer Chronicles."

  Bree's mouth dropped open.

  "That dickwad is your boyfriend?" LuAnn asked. "Holy crap. Want us to kill him for you?"

  Turned out most of them had all read or heard about Cutting Free from the Corpse of My Old Life, not including Lileth, who was probably above social media and read self-help books instead.

  I was famous.

  Since they were abuzz with questions, I relayed the story of my lobster dinner, the ring, the denied credit card. The eviction.

  Janette threw up her hands. "He kicked you out? I can't believe it."

  "Thank you."

  "And here's the other thing," LuAnn said, leaning forward. She looked a bit like Steven Van Zandt when he was in The Sopranos. "So many assholes out there agree with him! What's that even about, am I right?"

  "He's going on Good Morning America this week," I said.

  "Are you kidding?" Kate asked, sitting up. The color had returned to her face a little.

  "I forgot to tell you," I said. "And listen to this. My boss wants me to get him to sign an exclusive contract with our magazine. Put him on the payroll and everything."

  I sat back and enjoyed the group's mora
l outrage. Kate even patted my knee.

  "Sounds like you dodged a bullet," Leo said.

  "You know whachoo need?" LuAnn said. "A rebound fling. Pronto. I have brothers, I can help."

  "I'm good," I said. "But thank you. I...well, I actually think we'll get back together. This is just a...meltdown or something. A lapse."

  "No, it's not," Leo said. "Sorry, kid. There's a pound in Tarrytown. Time to get a cat."

  I shook my head. "No, really. I know he sounds like an idiot, but he's been an amazing boyfriend for a long time. Eleven years. He just freaked out when Nathan died. Before that, he was almost perfect. Right, Kate?"

  "There's a group for divorced people down the hall," Lileth said, smiling her fake smile. "I'm sure they'd be more than supportive with your, ah, unfolding drama. But we have our own issues--"

  "I'm sick of our issues," Janette said.

  "Me, too," said George. "Kate, was he really perfect?"

  Kate blinked. "Um...well, no one's perfect."

  "So what you're saying is, he was a self-centered bastard," Leo said.

  Kate winced. "No, not...well, not a bastard. He was--is--self-centered, though. I mean, don't you think so, Ainsley?"

  I shifted in the hard chair. "Yeah, well, he's also smart and funny and nice."

  "He called you a corpse," Leo said.

  "Metaphorically." My face was hot. Defending Eric wasn't easy, but we had eleven good years. Great years. "It was the cancer, then Nathan dying. He just panicked. He'll come around."

  "Before or after his Alaskan adventure?" George asked.

  "The Discovery Channel makes it look so great, doesn't it?" Bree said. "I wonder if I should pack up the kids and go up there."

  "There are a lot of single men," I said. "You know. For when you're ready."

  "Keep us in the loop," Janette said.

  "Will do."

  It seemed as if my public humiliation had greatly cheered the mourners, and for that, I was genuinely glad. Our hour was up; Lileth pointed out the cookies and coffee and her availability for one-on-one discussion and reminded Kate to read the tome of rules before next week, then smiled that mournful, practiced rictus.

  I snagged a couple of cookies and walked with my sister down the hall.

  "How do you feel?" I asked as we went outside. The earlier mist had stopped, and the air smelled like wet soil and copper. Kate stepped around an earthworm--funny, I'd forgotten that she was afraid of them.

  "I'm okay," she said. "A little embarrassed."

  "You're entitled, Kate. And everyone in the group has been through it, and here they are," I said. "Doing okay. Still alive."