The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go

by Amy E. Reichert

  Lorraine didn’t think she could have been any more shocked than she already was, but she was wrong. Not only did he just tell her he would be taking lovers—men—but that she could do the same. She had been worried he would expect to make love to her, but the truth was quite the opposite. The new information settled into her brain. Her soon-to-be husband was a homosexual. Their marriage would be . . . well, a working one.

  Other than caring for her children, her entire life would be an act, a lie. She would have to wake up each day and pretend their marriage was real, that their family was real. She and Floyd would protect each other with very few expectations beyond what was best for the whole. Was she trading her chance at another love for this stability Floyd was offering?

  But no. She’d already had her one true love. There would be no others. But there would also be no room for mourning Joe. She had a choice. She could live this life, give her children the future they deserved in a stable home, the knowledge they would never experience the heartbreak of growing up fatherless. Or she could be honest about Joe and struggle every day and every moment to survive on only happy, but brief memories. She wasn’t naive, her memories, she knew, would not be enough to sustain them.

  The reality of the situation, of what Floyd was asking of her and of what she was asking of him, hardened around her, a mask she could use. She would be the supportive wife and encouraging mother, always putting her children first.

  Lorraine let her hands fall off her belly and stood up taller. She wanted to be as tall as he was when she spoke, when she decided her own path instead of letting fate take over.

  With each moment of resolution, her protective armor grew more and more firm, her practicality rising to the surface.

  “I understand and agree to your terms, Floyd. We’ll be good for each other. Hopefully, good to each other, as well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need rest.” She patted her stomach. “I’m sure my father would enjoy speaking with you more in his study.”

  She about-faced, opened the bedroom door where Regina already lay, and left Floyd in the hallway, closing the door behind her on a sigh. It was done. She crawled into bed still wearing her black dress, clinging to the belief that a hard decision was still better than being flung about by love.

  Lorraine hadn’t remembered those early days with Floyd in many years. Looking out into the hallway, she was sad for both herself and Floyd that they’d never had the same intimacy as the couple in the hallway. Their marriage had been friendly, yes, if not affectionate, and she would always be grateful for the security the marriage had given her. She had been single-minded in her separation of her past and future, thinking the latter could not exist without abandoning the former. At her age, she was starting to realize her foolishness, and it stung.

  From behind closed lids, Lorraine heard Victoria return, sipping a cup of coffee and flipping through a magazine from the gift shop. Lorraine didn’t open her eyes. She had more choices to make, hopefully better choices than the ones she’d made in the past, and she wasn’t sure how long she had to make them.

  HOW ARE WE ALIKE? DIFFERENT?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Gina couldn’t believe it had been less than twenty-four hours since she had found her mom. Her eyes struggled to open, still heavy with the rest that hadn’t come after a sleepless night sorting out what she knew and what she didn’t know. She’d heard Vicky creep into the guest room sometime after midnight, and her sister was still sleeping when Gina left to go to Roza’s. Having solved nothing during the night, she left a note for May and Vic by the coffeemaker and headed out. She had so many questions that needed answering, and they needed answering before she took Grilled G’s out for the day.

  She stopped her car in front of Roza’s duplex, or a “Polish flat” as they were called in Milwaukee. It was tidy and white, with a base of painted cinder blocks and cheerful red trim. White painted stairs led to her porch on the second story. The first floor had a separate entrance in the back for her tenants who lived there. As long as Gina could remember, Roza had lived in this neighborhood of Polish flats and small yards. Neighbors had come and gone, but Roza remained. Her ancient blue VW Beetle sat on the street out front. She’d been driving it so long that it had evolved from rust bucket to restored vintage machine. Every part on it had probably been replaced over the years, many of them by Drew. Happy thought.

  Gina knocked on the front door, holding the mystery papers in one hand and a bag of Roza’s favorite candy, a Polish caramel in a white and yellow wrapper, in the other. When Roza had been their nanny, she used to sneak the caramels to her and Vicky to keep their mouths busy during errands or when they needed to be silent.

  Roza’s familiar smiling face answered the door in her housedress, pulling Gina into a hug before she could say anything, her wrinkled pale hands cool but strong from years of kneading dough and wrangling small children. As cool as her hands were, she was always warm, like her enormous heart could heat the entire world. Her house always smelled like something delicious—even at this early hour. Right now, it smelled like chocolate chip cookies. She must have grandkids coming.

  “Gina, what a perfect surprise! I was just thinking about you and your mom. How is she?” Roza guided her to the kitchen table where they sat down across from each other.

  Gina blinked. With all that had happened in the last day, she and Victoria had completely forgotten to tell Roza about the stroke. Guilt welled up inside her. How could she have forgotten to tell one of the most important people in her and her mom’s lives about what had happened to Lorraine? “Mom . . . Mom had a stroke yesterday.” Gina blurted it out, probably best to get the confession over as soon as possible.

  Roza brought her hands to her mouth. “Is she . . . ?”

  “She’s good. She can’t talk or move well. Yet. But the doctor says she can fully recover. She’ll start rehab soon. Vicky came up, too.” Roza still looked shocked. Gina set her candy offering on the table, sliding it across to Roza. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I should have.”

  Roza patted her hand and slid the candy over to the side.

  “These things happen. I don’t expect your first thought in a time of crisis to be me. Now my own kids.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s a complaint for another day. Thank you for the candy. I’ll have to hide it before the grandkids come. Today’s my daughter’s date night, so I get to spoil them.”

  As Roza spoke, she set a cup of light tan coffee and a plate of cookies in front of Gina. She knew her so well.

  “Tell me what happened, and not just the bright side. I want to know even the stuff your mom doesn’t want anyone else to know.”

  So Gina did, the weird word her mom said over and over, how unsettling it was to see her face droop, the terrifying black splotch on the brain scan. She even described how and why she had to change her mom’s clothes.

  “Smart thinking with the skirt. You did the right thing. That poor woman, her pride must hurt as much as the stroke did.” Roza bit into a cookie. “I’ll visit her later today.”

  “She would love that.” Gina reached into her pocket. “As big as that news is, that’s not really why I’m here. When I brought Mom to the hospital, I had grabbed all the documents they would need to admit her. In the paperwork, I found these.” She slid the birth certificate and photo across the table and tapped on the man’s face. “Do you know who this man is? And why this birth certificate is wrong? I thought you might know.”

  Roza’s lips pursed as she studied them. She picked up the photo, covering her mouth with her free hand, then set it back on the table.

  “Has Lorraine seen these?” Her voice was soft.

  That wasn’t the response Gina had expected.

  “Yes. I showed her at the hospital, but she can’t speak right now, at least not words that are English.”

  “What did she do?”

  Gina paused and remembered the look on her mother’s face, both pained and happy.

  “She tried to tou
ch the picture then spoke, but it wasn’t really a word. Dr. Patel said she could understand, but making her mouth say the words to respond would be the difficult part.”

  Roza nodded, sliding the photo back to Gina.

  “I don’t know who he is.” The words came out quickly, like a child disavowing any responsibility for the spilled cereal.

  Gina frowned. Roza was the most honest person she knew, always finding a way to tell you the worst news in the kindest way, unlike Vicky, who blurted out her opinions without any softening. When she was sixteen and crying over a boy who hadn’t called, Roza let her in on a valuable truth—if he had liked her the way she liked him, he would have called. And if he hadn’t, he wasn’t worth her time. She deserved to be called, Roza said. It wasn’t always easy, but it helped get her through some sad crushes.

  But this time, something was off.

  “What about the birth certificate? Why is Joseph Sandowski listed as my father? My dad’s name was Floyd Price.”

  Roza sat back in her chair, distancing herself from the papers.

  “No idea.”

  Yep, this time Roza was lying. Maybe she wasn’t sure if Gina could take the truth. But Gina didn’t even want to think that Roza would lie to her face. She’d give her one more chance before calling her out on her dishonesty.

  “You’re sure you don’t know anything?”

  “I have nothing to tell you about what you want to know.”

  Faced with confronting the woman who mostly raised her, Gina’s determination disintegrated. She loved Roza too much to be angry at her, or worse, call her a liar to her face. If Roza wasn’t telling her the truth, there must be a very good reason. She had hoped Roza would enlighten her, but she’d have to take her search elsewhere.

  Gina parked her Grilled G’s food truck in the usual spot near Red Arrow Park in downtown Milwaukee. Monica was already there, writing her specials on the board, and they exchanged a quick hello before getting down to business.

  First things first, Gina attached her daily to-do list with a magnet to the wall.

  1. Talk to Roza.

  2. Make bacon.

  3. Caramelize onions.

  4. Today’s special?

  5. Text Vicky about Roza.

  6. Visit Mom.

  She fired up the flat grill and set up her ingredients in an orderly line. It seemed like a month since she had last worked, when it had been only yesterday. Grateful to the routine, she lost herself in prep work, throwing bacon on the griddle, chopping onions to caramelize, and setting out the butter to soften. She needed the familiar to make sense of all the unknowns.

  “Drew, what am I supposed to do with this information? If you could even call it information.” She rubbed her rings, glanced at the truck’s ceiling, then returned to her prep work.

  A firm knock interrupted Gina’s thoughts, and she poked her head out the side door. Standing there patiently in the winter wind was a regular customer, Daniel, all six feet plus of him, bundled up in a dark fleece with a red and white winter hat. He always wore a hat, either a beanie or a baseball cap. Was he bald? Hiding a man bun? She could tell from his light brown scruff—which almost hid his dimples—that he had brown hair, not much different from her own. Not blond, not dark, but somewhere in the middle. She’d never asked his age, but Gina didn’t think he was much older than her, maybe even a few years younger.

  “Hey, G. I just came back from Texas and brought you this peach salsa. Think you can do something with it?”

  He held out a jar with five peaches across the top, all of them on fire.

  “Thank you, Daniel.” She popped off the lid and gave it a sniff. Her nose burned just from the smell. “Did you try this? It seems like it might be spicy.”

  He shook his head, the pompom on his beanie wobbling. After he’d been a customer for a while, he started stopping by her truck a little more often, always bringing her something new to try on her sandwiches.

  “Hop on in and let’s see what we have.”

  She pulled out a few tortilla chips from a nearby shelf, dipping one deeply and popping it in her mouth, then holding out the jar so Daniel could do the same. She was hit with the summery peach and brown sugar that sweetened the tomatoes, and then the heat built, numbing her tongue from the back to the front. She swallowed, eyes watering, and looked at Daniel, who already had his mouth open trying to cool it off. Most Wisconsinites couldn’t hold their heat, so she wouldn’t be able to use it straight, but there were some nice flavors in there.

  “Here.” She handed him a yogurt smoothie she kept in the fridge for days when she didn’t have time to make a sandwich for herself.

  “Sorry, G. I thought it would be delicious.” He had an easy manner, bordering on shy, but with a strong thoughtful streak. Gina appreciated his amiable company.

  “Ye of little faith. It has great flavor. It would be a shame to waste it. Have a seat and give me a few minutes.”

  Daniel settled on the overturned five-gallon bucket she used as a chair when it was slow.

  “Tell me about what you were doing in Texas,” she said.

  “My sister and her family live near Austin. I try to get down and visit her once a winter. It’s a nice break from the cold.”

  While he spoke she worked, mixing the salsa into cream cheese to cut the heat. She had some cornbread that she had made herself so it was the right texture to cut into slices—it would be the perfect accompaniment. She warmed up a little slow-cooked pork, tossing it with the peach salsa cream cheese mix, and put it between the cornbread slices with some shredded Monterey Jack, grilling it with butter to give the bread a crisp crunch. She cut the sandwich in two and gave half to Daniel. He took a huge bite. She liked that about him, he always ate with gusto whatever she gave him.

  “What do you think?”

  He finished chewing.

  “You’re a magician with cheese. Barely any heat at all.”

  He let the words float. Gina suspected he had a crush on her, but he never did anything other than bring her unusual condiments. Of course, her radar was way out of use. She hadn’t flirted with a man since Drew. What did adults do anyway? She heard customers talk about apps and swiping—it all sounded so impersonal. Thinking about it made her stomach twist, so she shoved those thoughts away. No need to fret over something that was never going to happen.

  She took a bite of her half. It really did work; the cornbread gave it a taco vibe. She could make a side salad to go with it with black beans, cilantro, and roasted corn.

  “I think we have today’s special. This might be the best yet. Thank you.”

  Daniel smiled at her, a blush tinging his face and his dimples denting his cheeks, implying a boyish innocence.

  “You’re welcome.” The words were barely audible. He stood to leave.

  “You aren’t going yet, are you? That couldn’t have been enough to fill you up. What can I make you, on the house, for such a great inspiration?”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Sit.” She pointed her spatula at the bucket. “You’re not leaving here without more food. How about I make you another pork sandwich? We need to name it anyway.”

  He nodded and retook his seat on the bucket, and Gina got to work.

  “So what do you do during the winter? Other than visit your sister in Texas, of course,” Gina asked.

  Daniel rubbed his hands together before answering.

  “I plan the spring’s landscaping jobs, get them lined up on my calendar.” Daniel owned a landscape company, she could tell it was a successful one from the way he talked about his jobs, but he never bragged outright. “I do plowing for a few customers when we have snow. But I have a lot of free time.” He paused and looked at the floor. “Maybe . . . sometime . . . we could . . .”

  Gina paused in her movements, but she never heard the end of the question. Vicky stomped up the steps at that exact moment and stood before them, her perfect ponytail swaying against her puffy black winter coat.
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  “You cannot send me a text then not answer my calls.” She looked down at Daniel and smiled. “Well, hi there, handsome.”

  Daniel turned truly red, way redder than his normal blushes. It was a just-chugged-an-entire-jar-of-five-burning-peaches-salsa kind of red. Vicky was too much for most people, let alone someone as gentle as Daniel.

  “That’s my cue.” He slid past Vicky, who was standing in front of the stairs. “Have a nice day, G.” And he was out the door.

  “Wait, you forgot your sandwich.”

  He poked his head back in. Vicky watched in amusement as Gina quickly cut and wrapped his sandwich and handed it to him.

  “You have a good day, too, Daniel.”

  Then he walked toward a large silver pickup truck on the edge of the park.

  “That man is sweet on you.”

  “Sweet on me? Since when are you from the South.”

  “Illinois is south. Of here.”

  Gina rolled her eyes, and Vicky plopped onto the bucket.

  “Daniel is kind, but there’s nothing more going on there. He swings by because he’s bored while his business is off-season.”

  “I’m sure he has other friends who are easier to find.”

  “They probably all have day jobs. And he likes to drop off fun things for me to add into sandwiches. We just both like grilled cheeses.”

  “He brings gifts of food and you give him sandwiches. He is sweet on you, and I think you feel the same. You should ask him out.”

  Gina’s chest clenched at the thought. It may have been almost two years since she had lost Drew, but the idea of dating pushed her toward panic. Her mother insisted it was past time to move on. Friends were trying to set her up, and now her sister was joining in. What all of these people didn’t understand is she couldn’t fast-forward her grief. It wasn’t another item on her checklist she could accomplish then cross out. Grief demanded to be felt on its own time. But how did you explain that to someone with a healthy husband? So she handled it the way she handled all of these types of situations: with a smile and topic change.