Good Luck with That

by Kristan Higgins

  CHAPTER 39

  Georgia

  Let go.

  In mid-December, about six weeks after Will and Marley had gotten engaged and I’d poured out my heart to Rafe, Mason and I took our usual walk to the park.

  My nephew was doing so well. I didn’t know if my brother (half brother) had changed that much—do people ever?—but Mason was doing great. Since that meet, he hadn’t mentioned Hunter so much, and his nails weren’t chewed to the quick anymore. He was running indoor track, and last weekend, he’d seen the latest Marvel Comics flick with some of his friends.

  It was cold enough that we could see our breath, and Admiral wore a little sweater, because he was skinny and spoiled. His ears pricked up at the sight of the baseball field, and Mason let him off the leash. Round and round he went, a gray blur of athletic doggy perfection.

  “I asked my dad if I could take piano lessons. Said it would be a nice Christmas present,” Mason said.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said we didn’t have a piano, and I told him you did, and you lived down the street from a piano teacher. So he said he’d think about it.”

  “Good for you, honey.” I looked at him, this favorite person of mine. His face was changing, losing its boyish softness, his jaw becoming more defined. There was even a little stubble on his chin. “Mason,” I said carefully, “I have to ask you something.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Did you try to kill yourself last April? Because I know you didn’t just have a bad headache.”

  He looked at me with his mother’s clear, kind gray eyes. Then he scratched his head and turned back to watch Admiral. “I didn’t have a headache,” he admitted, his voice calm, and deeper. “I just wanted to go to sleep for a while. A long while. I didn’t want to die, but I was just so tired of being, like, miserable and lonely all the time. I thought if I could sleep for a weekend or so, I’d feel better. I didn’t know about the liver stuff. But no, G. I didn’t try to commit suicide.”

  “You’re happier now, right?”

  “Totally.”

  “And you’ll never hurt yourself?”

  “We’re not talking sprains, right? Because I can’t make those promises. But if we’re talking about, you know . . . suicide, yeah. I promise. Don’t worry, G. I won’t leave you.”

  The words brought a lump to my throat. He would leave me, of course. Even now, he was leaning on me less, doing things with his friends, bonding with teachers. In three and a half years, he’d go off to college, out into the world, and the memory of these years when his aunt was his favorite person would be just that—a memory.

  He’d leave, but in the right way, and I’d let him go.

  I squeezed his arm. “I love you like you were my own son, you know.”

  He snorted. “Kind of gross, since you’re my father’s sister, but thanks.” He looked at me a long minute. “I love you, too, G. You’re the best.”

  * * *

  • • •

  That weekend, Marley and I drove down to Delaware to kick out the evil cousin and turn the keys over to the new owners.

  We’d had painters come in and give it a nice fresh coat (which had made Ruth complain about the fumes), sand the floors (ditto) and get rid of most of the furniture. We were keeping some things in the house—the cute little enamel-topped kitchen table, the Fiestaware. The TV. We’d ordered furniture from our favorite stores and had a truck meeting us there.

  It was with great satisfaction that we pulled up in front of Emerson’s house to find Ruth standing there, looking like she’d just eaten the rotting testicles of a dead hippo. The furniture store truck was already there, and one of the movers gave us a wave.

  “Well, I guess this is it, Ruth,” Marley said. “See you never.”

  “I’m sure you’re very proud of yourselves,” she said, “kicking an old woman out of her home.”

  “I know I am,” I said. “And you’re forty-eight, Ruth. Only your heart is shriveled and dead.” I handed Ruth an envelope. “Your eviction notice.”

  “I’m not poor,” she said. “You can laugh over how that fat pig screwed me out of an inheritance, but I saved. I won’t exactly be living on the streets.” She went to her car, pulled out a box and dropped it unceremoniously on the curb. “Here. Even though you’ve been very unkind to me, I thought you’d like to have these.”

  “Also, that pesky law,” I said. “We own everything in the house, so if you didn’t give it back, it’d be larceny.”

  She humphed and got into her car.

  “Good riddance,” Marley muttered, giving her the finger, though Ruth was already pulling away.

  I went over to the box and drew in a sharp breath.

  Emerson’s journals.

  “Marley,” I said. She came over.

  “Oh. Oh, jeesh.” Her eyes filled. “Should we read them? I mean, they were her diaries.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “We’ll take them back. We can decide some other time.” But I cracked one, and the sight of her pretty handwriting made my eyes well.

  “No crying,” Marley said.

  “Hypocrite.”

  “Come on. We have work to do. We’ll cry later. For now, let the good times roll,” Marley said, and I loved that about her, her ability to pivot, to keep moving forward.

  We unlocked the front door and stood back as the movers brought in our purchases. A lovely blue velvet couch, a polka-dotted recliner. A coffee table, end tables, some lamps, beds for all four bedrooms, including a California king for the mom. Pots and pans, a mixer, a blender, a coffee maker. A rug for the living room. New glasses, new dish towels, a bright yellow kettle. A few dog statues, because we couldn’t resist. But mostly we just supplied the big-ticket items. The Williams family could do the rest. It would be their home, after all.

  We’d also left them gift cards to Pier 1, HomeGoods and Ikea. Had to be true to our design aesthetic, after all.

  It didn’t take as long as I expected. Just a few hours after we got there, Emerson’s house was a far cry from the first time we’d seen it just four months ago.

  Then we went in the backyard and stood in front of the window that had been Emerson’s glimpse of the outside the last year of her life.

  I took the list out of my pocket. Marley had the matches. She struck one, sheltering the flame with her hand, and I held the paper to it. In silence, we watched as it caught. Then I dropped it to the ground.

  In just under a minute, it was blackened ash.

  “To Emerson,” I said, hugging Marley tight.

  “To Emerson,” she said, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  When we pulled apart, we looked at each other, both of us teary-eyed. “We did it,” I said, my voice shaking.

  “We are awesome.” She handed me a tissue, and I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Marley said. “Let’s do some good in this world.”

  I grabbed my bag, which held the envelope that contained the deed, and we walked around the block.

  Emerson’s lawyer had ascertained that the Williams family still rented the house on Emerson’s block, and it wasn’t hard to spot their place, the sore thumb of the otherwise charming neighborhood. We’d learned that Natasha Williams had been widowed seven years ago, when her littlest was just a baby. She had two other girls—an eleven-year-old and a fourteen-year-old. Natasha worked as a licensed practical nurse, and her mom had come to live with them this past year, the lawyer said.

  Three generations of girl power under one roof would’ve made Emerson happy. After all, she and her mother had been so close. The memory of the house as her prison would be erased by the family, we hoped.

  We knocked on the door. “I’m nervous,” Marley whispered. “My heart is pounding.”

  “Mine too.” I grabbed her hand for luck.

>   A woman opened the door, and I immediately remembered her. The lady with the casserole. She’d come to Emerson’s wake with her girls.

  “Natasha Williams?” I said.

  “Yes. You’re . . . you’re Emerson’s friends, aren’t you?”

  Marley squeezed my hand, and I looked at her. “Do you want to tell her?” I asked.

  “No, you do it.”

  I looked back at Mrs. Williams. “You’re right, we’re Emerson’s friends, and we have some happy news for you.” I paused. “Emerson left you her house in her will.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “She wanted you to have her house. She said you were very kind.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “Not at all. Can we come in? I have the deed right here.”

  Looking very suspicious, she let us in, and as we sat in her tiny, worn kitchen, I explained the details, how a trust would pay the taxes, how there’d be some money put aside each year for home repairs. The sight of her name on the deed was what made her start to cry. “I barely knew her,” she whispered.

  “Well,” Marley said, covering her hand with her own, “you made a big impression.”

  “This feels like a dream,” she said. “I can’t believe it. Are you sure you have the right person?”

  “She was very specific,” I said.

  “I helped her once. When she fell. Otherwise, I’d just wave if I saw her. My girls shoveled her walk when it snowed.”

  “Sometimes you never know how much those little things matter,” I said.

  “Want to come see it?” Marley asked. “It’s furnished. You could sleep there tonight if you wanted.”

  “Are you sure? This is really happening, right?”

  “It’s really happening,” Marley said.

  Natasha wiped her eyes. “Girls!” she called over her shoulder. “Mom! We just got some news. Some amazing news.”

  A few minutes later, the five of them stood on Emerson’s front porch. You know those shows where a family gets a house . . . They opened the door. There was squealing, a lot of crying, a lot of exclamations. The grandma blessed us over and over.

  Marley was crying. I was, too. Happy, happy tears.

  Emerson would’ve been so glad.

  The ride home was so different from the last time we’d left Delaware. Instead of grief and shock over our friend, we felt only love. We talked about Camp Copperbrook, the time we’d met in Philly for a weekend, the other time on the Jersey Shore.

  My ulcer was gone, according to my GI doctor, and I was eating more. I’d gained a little weight back, but I liked it. I wasn’t skinny, I wasn’t fat. I was just me. I was pretty sure I was almost normal in terms of size and eating. I’d never get that perfect body, and there’d be times when I ate Oreos for lunch, and times when I skipped lunch altogether, but that wasn’t the end of the world. Mostly, I was just happy to be myself. My body worked. It was getting stronger every month, thanks to the gym. I was alive.

  “How’s Will?” I asked.

  “Getting there,” Marley said. “He went grocery shopping Sunday and came back completely soaked in sweat, but he did it.” The pride in her voice was obvious. “And . . . guess what? He’s taking me to his parents’ house the day after Christmas. Meet the parents! Ta-freakin’-da, Emerson! The last thing on my list!”

  “Whoo-hoo!” I said, beeping the horn. “Emerson! Did you hear that?”

  We talked and laughed and sat in silence the way old friends can, and in what seemed like no time, we were crossing the beautiful Tappan Zee Bridge. It had started to snow, lush, lazy flakes drifting slowly from the sky.

  “My mother wants to know if you’ll come to Eva’s on Christmas Eve,” Marley said as we took the exit for Cambry-on-Hudson. “Have you ever had the Feast of the Seven Fishes, G? My mother makes Mario Batali look like a microwaving hack.”

  “Thanks, but I’m staying over at my dad’s on Christmas Eve,” I said. “I love seeing the girls on Christmas morning.”

  “And how does Big Kitty feel about that?”

  I shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I’m going to her house Christmas afternoon for exactly forty-five minutes and one glass of wine, and then Admiral and I have plans to snuggle and watch movies for the rest of the weekend.”

  “Or,” Marley said, looking out the window as we approached our house, “you might have plans with that guy there.”

  I glanced where she pointed, and then lurched to an awkward stop, my front wheel scraping the curb, nearly hitting a tree.

  Rafael Esteban Jesús Santiago was sitting on the front steps of my town house, talking to Mason, petting Admiral. Rafe wore a blue-and-green plaid scarf, and snow was falling gently, dotting his dark hair. At the sight of my car, he looked at me, and smiled.

  He smiled.

  I just sat there, strangling the steering wheel with both hands.

  “Get out of the car,” Marley said.

  “Right.” I obeyed, my arms tingling with nervousness. My legs wobbled, too.

  “Hiya, G! Look who I found sitting here.”

  Rafe stood, brushing the snow off his hair. “Hello, Georgia,” he said. “Marley.”

  “Come with me, Mason,” Marley said. “We have very important things to discuss. You too, Admiral.”

  She gave me a huge smile, took my nephew by the arm and towed him away, Admiral following.

  “Hi,” I said. My mouth was dry.

  “How have you been?”

  “Good. Great. And you?”

  “Very well. Your family is good, yes?”

  “Yes. As good as we get. You know.”

  “Mason seems wonderful.”

  “Yep. Yes. He is.” I swallowed.

  “Corazón,” he began, and suddenly tears swamped my eyes, and I looked down. A sob hitched out of me. “Ah, Georgia, please wait to cry until I have finished my speech,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

  Please, I thought. Please.

  “Look at me, Georgia,” he said, folding his arms.

  I did, even though it was hard.

  He didn’t speak for a long minute. “I have to admit, after you came to the restaurant, I was angry with you. It has taken you five years to say what I hoped always to hear.”

  I nodded, dropping my gaze to his scarf.

  “And there was Heather. She was also angry with you.”

  “Right,” I said.

  Then he tipped my chin up so he could see my face. “However, there is the fact that I have never stopped loving you, either, Georgia Sloane. You said I was the love of your life. You are the love of mine. So. Let us try again, shall we? We will do better this time.”

  Then he smiled with his eyes, his mouth, his whole beautiful face, and I kissed him with all the love I’d ever had for him, and not just love. The gratitude, the joy, the wonder you feel when you finally surrender to love, to trust, to your true self.

  Life was kind and full of chances. Sometimes we didn’t take them. Sometimes we hid our truth and acted out of fear. Sometimes we turned away and closed the door.

  But sometimes, there were moments like this, when I was kissing the only man I had ever loved, and the snow fell gently around us, like a blessing.

  Good luck, I imagined the universe saying kindly, infusing the phrase with gentleness and faith. Good luck with everything.

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. The author chose not to reveal the exact weights and sizes of Georgia and Marley, leaving you to draw your own conclusions. Did that bother you, or did you appreciate that choice? How did you picture Marley and Georgia? What size do you consider overweight? How do you think body image affects women who aren’t overweight? Do you think not knowing their weight affected your understanding of them as people? Does someone’s weight influence how you judge
them?

  2. Do you think Marley and Georgia each had an accurate view of her own size? How do you think a bad self-image follows you, no matter what the scale says? Is it true what Georgia says: “Once a fat girl, always a fat girl”?

  3. Why do you think Marley has a more positive self-image than Emerson or Georgia? She comes from a family that loves to eat, where everyone is overweight (except for the younger brother). When you grow up in a family that overindulges regularly, do you think you can ever get past those habits and the emotional components involved with food?

  4. Marley is a twin without a twin and feels the need to fill that void through friendships and relationships. How do you think the ghost of Frankie has helped and hurt her through the years? What about her family’s treatment of Frankie? How much do you think the loss of Frankie affected Marley’s physical self?

  5. Marley is someone who embraces the idea of “healthy at any weight.” She eats well most of the time, loves to exercise and has a pretty positive self-image. In one scene, she takes a hard look at her body and decides she will not only accept it in its current size, but appreciate it. Do you think it’s possible to overcome negative stereotypes you hold about yourself?

  6. Georgia feels that her food issues destroyed her marriage. Was she naive in thinking she could be married to a chef? What might she have done differently to protect against her negative self-image coming back to haunt her once she’d fallen in love?

  7. Georgia’s brother, Hunter, is negative, intolerant and often cruel. Have you ever met someone like him? How do you think his treatment of Georgia as a child sabotaged her in her adult life? Do you think it’s possible for someone like Hunter to be a good parent? Do you know anyone like Georgia and Hunter’s mother, who treats her children in a vastly different manner?

  8. Emerson’s weight and eating issues are not romanticized—the difficulty of her day-to-day life, her isolation, the lies she tells others and herself, the constant obsession with food. Do you know anyone like her, and if so, do you ever discuss food issues with them? How has that been?