by Lori L. Otto
“Nothing, it’s not him. Jen, I miss Nate... and I miss our baby.” I break down again, setting the makeup aside.
“Is that what’s been going on with you?” I nod and she embraces me again. “I had a feeling.”
“I want to go home,” I tell her, clutching my stomach.
“We can take you if you really want,” she says. “But I’m sure Chris would be sad to see us leave.”
“I would be,” my brother says, his head peeking in through the door to the lounge. “Is it safe to come in?”
“You probably shouldn’t,” Jen advises, “but there are no other women in here.”
“Did Jack do something?” he says, walking in and squatting down in front of me.
“Jack’s getting a bad rap tonight,” I concede. “Why does everyone think that?”
“He’s the only one you’ve been talking to since I got here,” he says. “And he just came to ask Anna and me if you were okay. She said you two were in here.”
“Emi’s just a little sad about things,” Jen says on my behalf.
“Do you really want to leave?” Chris asks.
“I don’t know if I can go back out there. I’m a mess and I’m having a difficult time putting on my happy face for everyone... and I’m trying to mask that with alcohol and I’m probably moderately drunk right now, which isn’t helping matters...”
“We can get you some water–”
“Jack already got me some... no subtle hint there.”
“He’s probably just looking out for you,” Chris says, smiling. “He’s a nice guy that way. He was always the responsible one.”
“Well I’m mortified,” I tell my siblings. “I made a fool of myself in front of him.”
“What do you care what he thinks?” my brother laughs. I care a lot. I wish I didn’t, but I do.
I simply shrug as my sister hands me a tissue. “Chris, I’ve got this from here,” Jen tells him.
“Are you going to leave?” he asks me.
“I’ll convince her to stay, somehow. Don’t worry. Just get out there to your guests.”
“I love you, Emi. And you, too, Jen.”
“Love you, too,” we say in unison as he leaves the ladies room.
“I tell you what,” my sister says. “Let’s put your make up back on... let’s try not to think about what’s upsetting you... let’s try to have a nice time tonight, for Chris... and after, you and I can go back to the apartment and eat cookies and drink wine and you can cry all night if you want. Can we try that?”
I sigh heavily before agreeing. I blot my eyes again with the tissue and my sister picks up the makeup bag and gets to work.
When we get back to our table, Jen takes her seat and Jack stands up to pull out a chair for me.
“Thanks,” I say, afraid to look him in the eyes, fearing he’ll see the evidence of tears in my own. I look down at my empty plate and take a long drink of water. Conversation is loud and cheerful as everyone eats appetizers, and I force myself to join in, even though I’m still embarrassed and a little confused. It’s a happy occasion. I can cry later.
After dinner and dessert, the guests begin to leave. My sister and Garrett are among the first to leave, and Jen stops by to talk to me before they say their goodbyes.
“Do you want to ride with me? I just need to drop him off,” she tells me.
“I can take her,” Jack says quickly. “If you’d like,” he says to me. “I think Chris and Anna wanted to talk about some wedding stuff with us before they leave...”
“Oh,” I say. “Um, yeah, I’ll catch a ride with him, then,” I tell my sister. “I doubt we’ll be long.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll stop by the store and get some supplies,” she winks at me.
“Thanks, see you in a few.”
The rest of the guests file out, couple by couple, and at the end of the night, it’s just me, Jack, Anna and Chris. We all order coffee and sit around one end of the table.
“Thank you both so much,” Anna says. “This was really fun.”
“Well, we couldn’t be happier for you both,” I tell her. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“So much better than baseball,” she says, winking at Jack. “So why did we have to pack suitcases?” Anna asks.
“Well,” Jack says, getting a card out of his wallet, “here is a key to your hotel room. The driver will take you there.”
“You really didn’t have to do this,” Chris says.
“We wanted to,” Jack tells him. “Enjoy yourselves.”
“Well, thanks, man,” my brother says, standing up. Jack stands, too, and they shake hands across the table.
“Didn’t you want to talk to us about something?” I direct my question to both Anna and Chris.
“Um, no, I don’t think so,” Anna says, looking confused at my brother. He shakes his head.
“Oh, okay,” I say, glancing at Jack, who’s looking down at his wallet, as if not paying attention to the conversation.
My brother and his fiancée both hug me before exiting.
“I’m sorry,” Jack says, sitting back down, signaling to the waiter to bring the check. “Listen, I sort of made that up. I just wanted a chance to talk to you, alone.” My heart rate speeds up as I wait for him to say more. “I’m sorry if I upset you earlier, before dinner.”
“Oh, no,” I stammer. “I don’t know what has gotten into me lately,” I tell him, attempting to brush off the incident. “It’s nothing you did... and I probably had a little too much to drink.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks, his voice full of concern. He seems like such a nice guy. In my current state, I consider telling him everything– but fear that I may scare him off in under twenty words.
I think to myself and sigh. “No, I don’t think so. But thank you.” I squeeze his hand, just a casual gesture to show I appreciate his concern. He looks down at our touching hands and flips his over so we’re holding hands. I pull mine away quickly when I realize what’s going on. I look at him and smile, unsure.
“I–” he begins.
“Here you go, sir,” the waiter interrupts him with the bill just as he begins to speak. Jack simply hands him his black credit card and clears his throat. He takes a drink of water and laughs quietly to himself.
“So, this was nice,” he says to me, and I nod in agreement. I know this is not what he had intended to say before he was interrupted. The waiter quickly returns with the card. Jack signs and stands up, as if impatient and ready to leave. “Let’s go,” he says. I lead the way up the stairs and out of the restaurant. Jack gives the valet his ticket and we stand, not talking, awkward, as we wait for his car, a practical four-door Volvo. He opens the door for me and shuts it gently before walking around to the driver’s side. He turns up the volume on the radio, drowning out the silence of our ride to my apartment. Once there, he parallel parks and lets the car idle, lowering the music’s volume.
“Emi, I don’t know if it’s too soon, but I really like you and I wonder if it would be alright if I asked you out sometime?” he says in one hurried breath, as if he was gathering the courage all the way from the restaurant.
His question catches me completely off guard. My stomach leaps into my chest.
Even he thinks it’s too soon. But of all the people I know, I’ve met, he is the only one who knows the loss I’ve experienced. He doesn’t know everything, of course, but he has been in my life through it all, from the night it happened to the hospital stay, to the suicide watch at Chris’s apartment, to tonight. Tonight, where I have proven to myself and the world that I need more time to heal. Sure it’s too soon.
Logically, I know this. But he knows I have baggage... and still, he wants to go out with me. I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t think that I am. But something in me takes control and blurts out an answer that surprises even myself. “I’d really like that.” What did I just say? Was that really my voice?
“Good,” he smiles with a sigh
of relief. “I’ll call you.”
“Okay,” I stammer and blush, shaking my head in disbelief. He gets out of the car and walks around to my side, opening the door for me. He offers his hand to help me out.
“Have a great night,” he says, pushing a strand of hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear.
“You, too. Thank you.” He walks me to the entrance of the building, his hand on the small of my back, barely touching me but eliciting something in me that I haven’t felt in a long time. I get chills as Marcus opens the door for me.
“Bye,” he says, turning to walk away. I wave, surprised at the ending to the night, at my response to his question... surprised at the warmth that washes over my body.
“Your face is flushed,” Jen says as I enter the apartment. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, I think. I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” I grab some pajamas and head to the bathroom to wash my face and change clothes. I can’t believe I said yes to him. Surely everyone will tell me it’s too soon. I don’t have to go, though, when he asks. I’ll come to my senses before then. I’m certainly not going to say anything to Jen about it.
My sister has set out a bowl of chips and a plate of cookies next to the bottle of wine she has just opened. She pats the seat next to her, inviting me to join her at the table.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
“I don’t know that it will help...”
“Well, what happened? What brought this on?”
I tell her about my discovery of the mural sketches, and about the subsequent physical pain that I’ve been feeling ever since that day.
“Do you think it’s normal to feel like that?”
“Probably,” she says. “Do I think it’s real or imagined pain? I’m not a doctor, I don’t know. It’s possible that your body knows that something’s... missing. I know you miss it. I think you have every right to feel this loss and this pain.”
“Shouldn’t I be over it by now?”
“I don’t think so,” she says. “I expected you to have another wave of depression around this time. We all expected it, the whole family. I mean, I’m sad for you, Emi. There have been times when I’ve even cried about it. Being a mom... I can’t even imagine that kind of loss. It’s okay to be sad.”
“But when will it stop?” I cry.
“I don’t know, Emi. I know you’ve been so strong and so self-willed to get through all of this on your own... but maybe it’s time to get some help... to go to therapy or something.”
“I don’t need therapy,” I tell her.
“It just might make you feel better. It’s one thing for me to say, ‘hey, it’s okay, you’re normal.’ It’s another thing for an impartial third party– a doctor, even– to tell you that... or to tell you you’re not normal,” she laughs.
“Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of,” I admit to her.
“Emi, there is no timeline for grief, no one-size-fits-all plan for healing. Everyone has different needs,” she says. “I’m here for you, no matter what. But I can help you find someone else to talk to, if you want.”
“I think I’ll just try to work through this on my own,” I tell her. “I’m sure after mid-August it will get easier. Maybe I need to just take this time to mourn.”
“I’ll give you a little space,” she says. “But I’m worried about you. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I think I’m just going to go to bed.”
“What? No cookies? No wine?”
“I’m just tired,” I explain. “I’ll get my share tomorrow.”
“Alright,” she says. “I think I’ll stay up and read awhile. Try to get some sleep.”
“I’ll try. I love you, Jen, and thank you.”
“Anything for you, Emi,” she smiles.
~ * ~
A week and a half passes before I hear from Jack.
I was beginning to think he had changed his mind, but it gave me time to deal with my conflicted emotions.
After crying for days in a row, and beginning to think my stomach was going to dissolve itself from the amount of aspirin I’d been taking for the headaches, I have been doing my best to find distractions. Part of me feels that it’s not healthy to do that, but another part of me thinks it’s unhealthy to just wallow in the sorrow. There’s a sane part in me somewhere that knows that therapy would be a good option, maybe the only one, but I am still determined to get through this alone. I was doing very well dealing with Nate’s death. I just didn’t go through the same sort of mourning for our child. It was just a mistake I made early on. I was accepting it now and handling it as best as I could. And right now, the best I can do is not think about it.
In my quest for distractions I decided that going on a date with Jack was a good choice. I would be nervous enough to focus most of my attention on that, but in reality, I knew it would be no different than hanging out with friends... because at this point, that’s all he is. Sure, he’s a friend who makes my heart beat a little faster, but he’s still just a friend. If I have no expectations of our meeting, it just makes it easier for me to accept. One day at a time. If we go beyond “friend” territory, I’ll deal with that when it happens.
When he finally calls, I let the phone ring three times before answering, even though it is sitting in front of me and alerts me immediately when his call comes in. I don’t want it to seem like I was waiting around for this.
“Hello?”
“Emi?”
“Hi,” I say through a smile, careful not to reveal who I’m talking to. I have decided not to tell anyone that Jack and I had planned to go out. I don’t want any of my friends or family to think that I’m ‘dating’ again. I’m not sure that’s what this is... and it’s just easier this way, to not have to explain or justify anything to anyone. I feel a little guilty, but I’ve decided that this distraction is necessary for my own well-being. I think I’ve earned a few hours of happiness, and I’m hopeful that it will be fun, comfortable. I don’t want anyone to change my mind, and I have a feeling one glance of uncertainty, judgement from someone, one reminder of the relationship I shared with Nate could do just that.
“How are you?” he asks me.
“I’m good, you?” Small talk. Breathe, Emi.
“I’m fine. Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I had to go to London on business last week. I just got in yesterday.”
“Oh,” I say nonchalantly. “It’s okay. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours, too.”
“So, do you have any plans on Friday?” he asks.
“Um, no,” I tell him.
“I was wondering if you’d like to come to my place for dinner... maybe we could watch a movie.”
“That sounds nice, sure,” I answer.
“So, I’ll pick you up around seven?”
“I can take the subway,” I offer.
“Emi, what is your fascination with public transportation?” he laughs.
“It’s what I do,” I tell him. “I don’t have a car.”
“Well, I do, and I like to use it every once in awhile, so humor me.”
“Alright, I’ll see you Friday at seven, then.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me, too. Bye.”
“Bye,” he says. I put the phone down and try to get back to work, as if the phone call didn’t just stir up a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.
“Who was that?” my sister asks me.
“No one,” I tell her.
“Whatever!” she says. “Friday at seven?”
“It’s nothing,” I tell her. “Just please don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m afraid I’ll back out.”
“Is it a date?” she asks. I glare at her, not wanting to answer her question. “It is,” she smiles. “Please, tell me who!”
“No,” I whine. “It’s no one you know, and it’s not really a date. He’s just a friend, and we’re just meeting for d
inner. Period.”
“Alright, I won’t push you now, but I may want details by Saturday.”
“Jennifer, please, just forget you ever heard any of that. I’m having a hard time dealing with this decision.”
“Emi,” she says. “Stop beating yourself up. I think this is good for you.”
“I’m trying,” I tell her. “But this is my own personal battle... so I’d rather fight it alone, okay? I’ll give you all the details when I’m ready.”
“Okay,” she says. “But I will stop you from backing out. Seven. Friday. I’ll make sure you’re ready.”
“Okay,” I concede. I will likely need her help by then.
~ * ~
On Friday, I’m dressed and ready to go by six-thirty. I have had no thoughts of backing out, but my sister has been following me around all afternoon, just in case.
“So what are you doing?” she asks.
“Just going to his place for dinner and a movie,” I tell her. “Just a casual night.”
“You know him well enough to go to his house on the first date?”
“I do,” I tell her.
“And I don’t know him?” she asks, skeptical.
“He’s an old friend,” I lie.
“Well, dinner at his house... you’re very dressed up for that,” she says, commenting on the knee-length black and white striped dress I’m wearing.
“Is it too dressy, really?” I ask, panicked.
“No, you look good,” she says. “Don’t change.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
I pace the loft as my sister continues to give me encouragement. At six-fifty, I decide to go downstairs, wanting to avoid the meeting between my sister and my date.
“Emi, have a good time. Just remember to have fun,” she says.
“I will,” I smile, looking forward to this more than I thought I would be.
“And just call me if you’re not coming home–”
“I’ll be home,” I snap at her. “God, Jen, I’m not ready for that.”
“Well, have an open mind.” I glare at her again.