“I mean, how do you want to spend these three months?” She shakes her head with a judder of her shoulders, slugging some whiskey. “I can’t believe I’m even saying that. Shut me up if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh no, Liv. I need to get out of my head and talk.”
“Okay, but you’ll tell me if I’m pushing a boundary, won’t you? This is uncharted territory.”
“Sure.”
“So . . . what then?”
“Well, I’m going to work for as long as I can.”
“Seriously? I mean, I get that you want to play normal, but you can’t spend the end of your days working. That’s like requesting beans on toast for your last supper.”
“I love beans on toast.”
She half laughs. “Come on. I’m not going to let you get away with this. Isn’t there anywhere you’ve always wanted to go?”
I pause for reflection. “Cuba, Vietnam,” I say. “Cambodia, Kyoto, Venice, Argentina. How long have you got? But I don’t want to travel. I need to stay close to home. To a hospital. I’d be scared to get on a plane and risk being one of those poor bastards the captain has to make an announcement for. ‘Is there a doctor on board?’”
She nods. “Yeah. I think I’d be the same.”
“I should have a plan though, shouldn’t I?”
“Other than work. I think that would be wise.”
I nod. “I should try to do something significant. Worthwhile.” Why haven’t I thought about this? Was I seriously thinking I’d simply carry on working, hoping it would all go away? “Okay. So, I’ll give up work. When I’m ready.”
“Have you told them?”
“No. Not yet. You’re the first. I tried telling Frank today and then Pattie, but I couldn’t. The words got stuck in my throat. Probably just as well. I obviously needed to cry and I couldn’t have done that in a professional space.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to expect you to be professional now.”
“Well, I want to be. I don’t want people’s pity. I don’t want to become that person they don’t know how to talk to anymore, who they avoid because they don’t know how to behave around me.”
“People might surprise you.”
“I work in HR. Nothing surprises me.”
“So . . . what have you always wanted to do?”
I think for a moment but I’m stumped. I search for a reply. “I’ve never had a bucket list. I always thought they were for pessimists.”
She smiles. “Anything you regret not doing then?”
“Oh, definitely. Lots of regrets. I regret not eating more pancakes with maple syrup, and more chicken burritos. I regret saving my nicest clothes for that special occasion. Like I was expecting some knight in shining armor to show up and I’d throw on my best designer frock and he’d take me away from all this, even though I like all this. How stupid is that?”
“Not stupid. Very familiar. What else?”
“Well . . . I regret not helping Mrs. Mumford with her shopping.”
“Who?”
“This woman in my neighborhood. She’s lived here forever. She must be well into her eighties now. Occasionally I’ll see her shuffling along, struggling with one of those old lady trolleys full of shopping and I’ll tell myself, I should go out and help her but I’m on the phone or about to leave for a meeting and it’s never the right time. Only now I realize there is no such thing as the right time. I should have made time. I should have gotten her shopping for her. But I never did.”
Olivia laughs. “Oh my God, Jennifer! That thought wouldn’t even occur to me. That’s so considerate, you shouldn’t feel bad. You meant well.”
“What good did that do her? And now there’s no point in starting what I can’t finish. Oh, Olivia!” I tut. “You don’t need to hear my moans. Please make me shut up.”
“Absolutely not! You need to talk about this stuff. If anything, I need to hear more.”
I scoff. “Oh, there’s plenty more. I’ve been looking back, and there are so many things I wish I’d handled better.”
“Like?”
“Well . . . for starters, I wish I’d told Andy what I really thought when he announced he was leaving me that awful Saturday. You know, when he confessed to cheating on me with Elizabeth.”
“I always said you were too nice.”
“But he was crying. It made me feel terrible.”
“That was exactly what he wanted. So that you’d let him off the hook without a fight.”
“You think he was just being manipulative?”
“Of course!”
“No,” I say, decisively. “You’re wrong. Andy couldn’t summon up crocodile tears if he was desperate. He was genuinely remorseful. But I shouldn’t have let him go without making him think a bit harder about what he was leaving behind. I should have told him I thought we had a decent marriage worth fighting for and it deserved another chance, that even though I felt hurt and betrayed, I still didn’t want to lose him. Instead, I stayed silent and listened.”
“Then you need to tell him this! Now!”
“Don’t be silly. It’s so long ago. He’s been married to Elizabeth longer than he was ever married to me. Only now I guess I’m angry at myself for holding back. I wonder if I’d told him how I felt at the time, he might have stayed. And then I’d have someone to go through this with.”
“I’m here for you,” she says, looking somber.
“Yes, you are, Liv.” I squeeze her hand. “Thank you. But you have Dan. I would have liked to have someone here twenty-four seven. Who knows me so well he doesn’t have to ask how I’m feeling. Who can look at me and tell.”
“Was Andy like that?”
“No!” I hoot. “But he might have been if he’d given our marriage a chance. And then there’s Harry. I always felt we would get back together and now there’s no hope. I’ve never stopped wondering about him, whether I could have handled things better. If I was too hasty to judge him.”
“Seriously, Jen! After he behaved so badly?”
“But did he? Maybe I should have believed him when he said he and Melissa were just friends.”
“You saw him on camera with her!”
“With his arm around her. It was hardly intimate.”
“Oh, come on!”
“Okay, fine. But was it a deal breaker? Who’s to say we couldn’t have gotten back on track? I know you never liked him, but he was smart and sophisticated and he was good for me. He gave me my confidence back.”
“You mean, before he took it away again.”
I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I wish I’d given him more of a chance.” I throw my hands in the air. “Oh, listen to me! I’m hopeless. My life has been one big round of repeat behaviors. I’ve never learned a single lesson.”
“That’s so not true.”
“It is true. I’m a coward. Never daring to confront people.” I nod my head in disappointment. “And I think I must be lousy in bed. All men cheat on me.”
“That’s because all men are cheats.”
“You think Dan is a cheat?”
“NO!” she says, affronted.
“I rest my case.”
“Anyway,” she rebuffs. You’re not a coward. Look at how you’re dealing with this news. You’re brave and fabulous. You’re witty and kind. You’re the most genuine person I know.”
“Stop it!”
“No. Take it!”
“Thank you . . .” I ponder a moment. “Admit it, though. I have been a bit of a coward. I’ve never fought for the things I wanted most.”
She brushes some nonexistent creases from her trousers then takes my face in her hands and looks me in the eye.
“And that’s why you need to tell those guys all the things you wish you’d said at the time. They need to hear that stuff. For th
eir own sake as well as for yours.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say. “I’m only telling you to get it off my chest.”
“Why is it ridiculous? What better catharsis? If you’re going to face this illness head-on, you need to finish your unfinished business. You need to be at peace with yourself.”
“Listen to you! You’re going all Anna Maria on me.” Anna Maria is the third point of our friendship triangle. The third Musketeer, if you like, only she’s quite different from Olivia and me. She’s into all things alternative. She wasn’t always that way, used to be a bit of a party girl, until one day she woke up with a man she didn’t recognize, in a bed she didn’t recall getting into. Finding herself alive, and subsequently not pregnant, was the moment Anna Maria found her spiritual side.
To be honest, I think we preferred her when she was a party girl. Since Olivia and I were the school nerds, having a wild friend made us feel that a part of us must be a bit wild, too. It probably worked in reverse for Anna Maria. But I’m not sure what a friend who’s into reiki and chakras and Tibetan singing bowls says about us, which explains why we don’t see her quite as much. Once in a while is fun; too often, and you start wanting to chew your sleeves. But, like family, there are some friends with whom you have an umbilical bond, and Anna Maria is one of them.
“Well, sometimes she has a point.”
“She’s taken ayahuasca. She’s done rebirthing. Three times. She’s mad!”
Olivia laughs. “I’ve been telling you that for years. So . . . who else would you like to take issue with?”
Her face has changed. She’s animated. I decide to go along for the ride. I consider mentioning my oldest friend, Emily, whom I’ve known practically since birth. She lived on my street. I saw her all the time. She was like family. But when we moved up to secondary school and I started hanging out with Olivia and Anna Maria, she never quite fit. She drifted around us a bit, but mostly she and I would see each other outside of school. Then a few years ago, Emily dropped all contact. I said something that upset her and she did not want to give me the chance to explain. She is the only friend I’ve ever fallen out with and right now, drowning in nostalgia, I really miss her. But it goes too deep to dredge her up and besides, Olivia was never keen on her. “The doctor for a start,” I say.
She looks surprised. “Really?”
“Yes. He was awful. He gave me this terrible news then told me off.” I repeat Dr. Mackenzie’s reprimand. “‘I wish you had come in sooner.’ As if it was all my fault that I didn’t connect feeling a bit tired with something going horribly wrong with my blood.”
“I can’t blame you for wanting to shoot the messenger.”
“And Elizabeth.” I’m on a roll now. “After all, it wasn’t just Andy who had the affair. She was complicit, and yet she treated me was as though I was the guilty party. She’s so uptight and vindictive, she drove a wedge between Andy and me when we were trying hard to be amicable. She needs to be told she’s an evil bitch.” I smile. “Merely saying that feels good.”
“Way to go! You see!” She goes to high-five me then thinks the better of it, diverting her palm toward a stray strand of hair, which she sweeps behind her ear.. “So . . . Andy, Elizabeth, Harry, and the doctor. Anyone else?”
“Isabelle.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah. She may be my sister and I love her—most of the time—but she can be pretty hurtful. And for whatever reason, I’ve always let her get away with it.”
“Well, if we’re being confessional here, let’s say it never went unnoticed. Even at school, I thought she was mean. Some of the things you’ve told me over the years, I’m amazed you’ve never had a falling-out.”
I shrug. “It’s always been like that. My parents never said a word against her either. What does it say that I never told her about the miscarriages because I thought she’d make me feel even more of a failure? My sister! She should have been my closest confidante. I had to swear my parents to secrecy. I’m so lucky to have you.” I squeeze her hand. “So now you know everything about my dark side and I’m drained.”
She puts her arm around my shoulder, allowing my head to rest into her neck. “Better to get it out into the light, though, isn’t it?”
I nod. I can even feel a smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“So how are you going to tell them all this then?”
I pull back and catch her look. “Come on, Liv. I told you. I’m not actually going to tell them.”
She frowns, genuinely shocked. “Why not?”
“Because, it’s crazy.”
She fixes me with a steely gaze. “Jennifer. What are you waiting for? Isn’t it time for a little bit of crazy?”
Day 80
They say you should write letters to the people who’ve hurt you as a form of catharsis and then file them away. Or tear them up. “They” being the gurus. Yeah, you’ve guessed it. I may not be as extreme as Anna Maria or Andy Kaufman but I’ve dabbled a bit. Read a few books, been on a couple of those motivational courses. Not the ones where you walk across hot coals—that’s not my bag—more the ones where someone screams at you for a few hours and you scream back and promise you’re going to change your whole life forever, until you get home and within one night’s sleep your whole life looks exactly the same as it always did—only you’re a bit poorer because those things cost a frigging fortune.
Olivia is right. Now is the time to say all the things I should have said to the people who matter. I don’t want to die weighed down with regret. I need to find peace. It may well be a crazy idea but I have nothing to lose. Right?
So if writing everything down is a form of catharsis, then I’ve decided to write letters to everyone. Yes! Old-fashioned letters. Only I’m going to post mine. What’s to gain otherwise? Of course, I could always send emails but emails get skimmed. Letters get read. The handwritten ones anyway. They’re such a rarity nowadays, they feel like something worth consideration. Well, that’s what I’m hoping.
In the end, I’ve only written three but they each took an eternity. I agonized over every line. Checked to ensure nothing had a double meaning or could be misconstrued. I wanted to be totally understood.
The first was to Andy and Elizabeth. In her last aggressive rant, when she was telling me to get out of their lives, Elizabeth pronounced they were “as one” so I’ve written to them “as one.” Total transparency. I don’t want there to be any secrets withheld from either of them about either of them. I wrote that I thought since they were the ones who had cheated on me, they could have been kinder. That my reticence at the time didn’t mean I didn’t care. It hurt. It still does.
I had just suffered my third miscarriage. I was sad and deep in grief but instead of working through it with me, Andy, and finding consolation in each other’s arms, you went elsewhere. And, Elizabeth, even though you didn’t know me then, you knew exactly what you were doing: betraying the sisterhood at a time when I was at my most vulnerable. But the most galling thing you did was to lay the blame on me. I was the one who had been robbed of everything—my babies, my marriage, my confidence, and my sense of trust—and you both behaved as though I deserved it. It was as if I’d forgotten to lock my front door, and this somehow entitled you to walk in and take whatever you wanted with impunity. And foolishly by saying nothing, I became complicit.
Finally I told them I should never have had to spell everything out for them but since I was dying I felt compelled to—over three heartbroken pages.
The letter to Harry poured out of me alongside the tears. I had to rewrite it a few times simply to ensure it was legible.
My darling Harry,
I am sure you will be shocked to see my handwriting and just to warn you, it doesn’t augur well. But I hope all is good with you.
For my part, I am truly sad to tell you that I have been given three months to live. I’m writing this becaus
e I didn’t want you to hear the news through the grapevine and felt you deserved better, which is funny really bearing in mind how much you hurt me. Because you did hurt me, Harry. You’ll probably say you never realized and you’d be right because I never told you. But you did. And now I’m telling you.
The fact is, I loved you and you betrayed me. I’m sure you will maintain you didn’t, the way you protested at the time, but I think this is a moment for candor so I’m opening up my heart to you in the knowledge that it’s now or never—literally.
My dearest Harry. I will never forget catching your eye that night in that chichi city bar and wondering if it was me you were looking at. Turns out it was. And you were so comfortable in yourself, strolling over to my gang of women the way you did. You immediately put me at my ease. I’ve never had anything like that happen to me before or since. It was magical.
I always told you, you were the man who gave me back my confidence but you should know that when you walked out of my life, that confidence left with you. Betrayal does terrible things to a person, Harry, and what is worse, you knew it was my Achilles heel.
How often did we talk about it? That having been betrayed in my marriage, it was the thing I feared the most. And you were so understanding, so sincere, I felt I could trust you. But I couldn’t, could I?
Call it women’s intuition, call it what you will, but I knew Melissa was waiting in the wings no matter how strongly you protested she was only a friend. Whoever believes that? Although I confess there have been times when I wish I had. But in that moment, during that awkward discussion, I didn’t want to be the victim again. I needed to be the one in control—so I ended it.
Now I wish I hadn’t been so proud. I was too hasty. All this time, I still wonder “what if?” What if I had fought for you? What if I had told you how much you meant to me instead of pretending I no longer cared? What if I had believed you? Because we were good together. And that kind of relationship doesn’t come easily. I miss you so much, Harry.
So there you have it. Full disclosure.
Death and Other Happy Endings Page 3