The Empty Jar

by M. Leighton

  Travel has just been a bonus. Nate and I have enjoyed the resources to be able to travel all over the country, and even to some of the Virgin Islands. But never to Europe, even though it’s the one place we’ve both really wanted to go. We just never made it a priority.

  While I’ve enjoyed the travel, it was never that important to me. Unlike Nissa, my biggest aspiration has been to have children with my wonderful husband. Or at least have a child. But fate never took our side, never helped us out. Neither had modern medicine with its infertility treatments and in vitro fertilization. Nothing had worked.

  We’ve discussed adoption, but I wanted to hold off until I turned forty. Being a nurse, I know the risk of birth defects increases at that magical age. By then, I thought I’d be willing to concede and go another route. “At that point,” I’d told Nate a dozen times, “I’ll happily explore adoption.” Until then, however, I’d been unwilling to give up on my dream of giving birth to a child that would, in my eyes, be the best of my soulmate and me—my dark blonde hair, Nate’s jewel-green eyes, my ready laugh, his sharp mind. But now, at forty, I wished I’d chosen more wisely.

  If only I’d known…

  “Europe. God, this is a huge deal, Lena! Europe?”

  I nod, pushing my melancholy aside. I’m perfectly content to let my best friend’s enthusiasm drown out all that plagues my mind. Or at least muffle it to a tolerable gurgling sound in the background of my every thought. I know there is no escaping it while I’m conscious, so I have to settle for as many short-term distractions and mufflers as I can get.

  As we chat about the plan, Nissa finishes off the majority of the ’81 Dom Perignon Nate brought, along with a half gallon of orange juice, while I nurse my single flute. It’s nearly eight o’clock by the time Nate stumbles into the kitchen, his attractively graying hair standing on end all over his head. He looks like a perfectly rumpled version of the man I’ve loved for over half of my life.

  “Did you sleep here?” he asks Nissa, his voice still rough with slumber. I’ve always adored that sound. It’s sexy and intimate and so totally Nate that it makes my heart ache like ancient bones on a cold day. But then, when he turns his gaze to me, one side of his mouth twisting up into a grin, memories of last night’s endless lovemaking brings warmth rushing in to chase away the chill.

  “No. I don’t sleep. You know that.”

  “Then is Mark home?”

  “No, why?”

  Nate shrugs. “I just figured you’d have an army of mouths to feed by now.”

  Nissa gasps. “Holy Lord, my kids! I forgot my kids! They’ll burn the house down trying to work the toaster!”

  Nissa hops up so quickly she nearly upends the table. With reflexes peculiar to mothers of small children, she somehow manages to steady both of our glasses as well as the mostly-empty champagne bottle before they do much more than rock on their bottoms. “Whew! That was close,” she exclaims, gingerly releasing the glasses as she bends to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be back over later to help you pack.”

  “You told her?” Nate asks from in front of the refrigerator where he’s lazily sifting his way through closed containers of leftovers, peeling back lids, and sniffing contents.

  “She did,” Nissa chimes from half in and half out of the door. “You just leave it to me. I’ll make sure she packs something sexy. She’ll turn every head.”

  “We’re going to Europe, not a swinger’s club.”

  “Nothing wrong with a few strange eyes on a man’s wife to make him appreciate her.”

  At that, Nate turns and pins Nissa with a frown. “I do appreciate her. More than anybody on the planet.”

  Nissa nods. “Well, you’ll want to appreciate her naked when you see what I’m sending. Things from my closet.”

  “You’re bringing me clothes to wear?” I ask, surprised. Nissa does a lot of shopping and buys a lot of clothes that Mark, her husband, doesn’t really take her anywhere to show off. My friend is beautiful and sexy even in her terry cloth robe, but Mark never seems to be quite as impressed by that fact as everyone else. I think Nissa buys the clothes that she does in hopes that her husband will see her the way he used to, but so far it hasn’t worked. At least not that I can tell. Nissa is just as desperate, and Mark is just as oblivious as ever.

  “I am. It doesn’t look like I’m ever gonna get to wear ’em, so somebody should. I’d like to see them on a body rather than a hanger before they die a lonely death in my closet. You got a problem with that?” she asks Nate, throwing a little stink eye his way.

  Already bored with the conversation, Nate shrugs and returns his attention to the makings of breakfast.

  “What’s his deal?” Nissa jerks her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Nate.

  It’s my turn to shrug. “Dead-headed. I don’t think he got much sleep last night.”

  Nissa’s eyes narrow on me. “I’ll stab him if he’s mean to you.”

  At that, a bark of laughter bubbles from my lips. I can’t help thinking she has no idea how way off track her thinking is. “Duly noted.”

  “I heard that,” Nate mumbles from what sounds like the inside of a cabinet at the island.

  Probably in search of a pan.

  Nissa sticks her tongue out at Nate then tosses a sassy wink over her shoulder at me before darting out the back door. She makes her escape before any further commentary can be made.

  I watch her cross the short span of grass that separates my patio from hers and see her disappear into her own house.

  “Did you decide to tell her?” Nate’s question comes as he reappears in front of the stove, sauté pan in hand.

  “No. I’ll tell her after we get back. By then…”

  I turn toward the window, my mind racing in a million directions yet always ending up back at the same place—the diagnosis.

  The scruff of Nate’s cheek scrubbing lightly over mine brings my attention to him where he has materialized behind me. He wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in his scent, his protection, his love.

  “I love you,” he mutters tenderly, his lips moving against the curve of my jaw.

  “Are you sure this is what you want, Nate? I need you to be sure. You know I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “This is what I want. I promise.”

  I close my eyes and let his reassuring words and the certainty in his voice soothe me. Well, at least as much as anything could soothe me at this point.

  Three

  Take Back the Night

  Lena

  “And I brought this one for a night out on the streets of gay Paris,” Nissa says with a flourish, holding up a red sheath that fastens over one shoulder, leaving the other one bare.

  “Will that be warm enough? According to Google, September temperatures over there can get pretty chilly at night. ”

  I don’t mention that I’ve Googled information about the countries we’ll be visiting at least a dozen times and can never seem to retain what I’ve read. My mind always drifts back to our somber reality.

  “That’s why I brought this to go with it,” she explains, her smile proud and satisfied as she holds the dress in place with one hand and reaches behind her with the other. From the pile of clothes on the bed, Nissa produces a red silk shawl with a fine silver thread running through it. It’s beautiful. A beautiful shawl for a beautiful dress to be worn in a beautiful place. “And the clutch and shoes that match.”

  I take the wispy drape from her, letting the slippery material run slither across my palm. “I never thought it would be like this.” My whisper is unintentional, the words out before I can stop them. They weigh so heavily on my heart, it’s as though my tongue is a flap too flimsy to hold them inside.

  Of all the times I’ve fantasized about a romantic trip to Europe with Nate, I’ve never once considered that it might be under these circumstances. I guess no one plans for disaster. Not really.

  “Be like what?” Nissa asks.

  Startled, I glance up guiltily from my
perch on the bed. “I-I just meant that I never really thought I’d get to go. I mean, Europe! After all this time. Finally!” I add the last with as much dramatic flair as possible, smiling widely to better sell my lie.

  Nissa’s sharp blue eyes narrow on me, our friendship too old, our relationship too close for her to miss the slip and believe the lie. “Is something else going on?”

  “Of course not.” I shake my head and frown, my expression clearly accusing her of being silly.

  At least I hope it is.

  Nissa lets the red dress drop over her folded arm then pushes the pile of dresses and blouses and lingerie out of the way so she can sit on the bed to face me. “Are you sure? Because you can tell me. Do you think something is going on with him? Him and…and someone else maybe?”

  I stare at my friend, noticing for the first time that she appears to be ill at ease. Nervous almost. But why? What does she have to be nervous about?

  As I study her, Nissa begins to worry her bottom lip with the point of one tooth, something she often does when she’s uncomfortable. I think back to the past few weeks, to all the times she’s seemed about to say something and then suddenly made an excuse to leave, or when she’s abruptly changed the subject to one of random unimportance. Behavior like that isn’t entirely out of character for my bubbly, eccentric friend, so I’ve never suspected that it really meant anything. But now, in retrospect…

  Fear knots my stomach and questions fly through my mind.

  What is this about?

  What’s going on?

  The longer we sit watching each other, the more uncomfortable my oldest friend seems to become.

  I finally prompt her when she seems hesitant to continue. “Nissa?”

  Nissa tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, her gaze sinking to her lap where her trembling fingers are fiddling with the red material puddled there. She clears her throat before she begins. My heart pounds with dread “Lena, I…”

  She seems to quickly lose her courage, and when she stops again, my palms grow damp with increasing anxiety. What could be this bad? What could she have so much trouble telling me?

  “I think Nate might be…might be seeing someone.”

  In the space of a few seconds, a reel of memories from the past plays across the screen of my mind. Millions of happy moments that I’ve shared with Nate race by in a flash. Tropical trips and glamorous parties, erotic showers and quiet dinners, heartfelt truths and teasing lies—it’s all there, stored in the ridges and valleys of my cerebral cortex. But more importantly, they’re stored in my heart, right alongside the knowledge that my husband has and will always be faithful.

  Yes, there were some tense times in our past—fights I wasn’t sure we’d make it through, arguments that had seemed unending. But never once did I ever consider that Nate might cheat on me.

  We have our differences, just like everybody else. And we have our faults. I’m stubborn as hell and Nate has a temper if he gets poked the right way. But we love each other. Deeply. Truly.

  We share the kind of love that picks you up when you stumble, the kind of love that catches you when you fall, the kind of love that rescues you when you need saving.

  The real kind of love.

  And I believe that it will last long after the door of life closes on one of us. I believe that more than I believe anything else.

  What I can’t, what I won’t believe is that my husband is capable of risking all that for a fling. It’s not part of the Nate I know. And I know Nate.

  Nate is my “in sickness and in health”.

  Nate is my “until death do us part”.

  Nate is the staying kind.

  He proved that beyond the shadow of a doubt when he quit his job so we could spend the next three months together living out one of our dreams. He gave up everything so we could have this one last big adventure. Those aren’t the actions of a man who isn’t fully committed.

  Those are the actions of a man who is fully devoted.

  “Lena?”

  Nissa’s voice jars me from my thoughts, bringing me back to the conversation. “What? Sorry. I zoned out for a second. What did you say?”

  “I was just telling you that I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you. And it’s probably nothing. I mean, I know how much Nate loves you. Anybody can see that. But I know how men are, too. I mean, even my dad…” Nissa stops midsentence and shakes her head as if ridding it of an unpleasant memory. “Anyway, it’s probably something completely innocent. But even so, I couldn’t not tell you. Not for one more day. You’re my best friend. If it were me, I’d want to know.”

  That’s it in a nutshell. Poor Nissa lives her life expecting news such as this. That’s what happens when you marry an asshole.

  She deserves so much better.

  “How long have you been carrying this around?”

  I feel as much as hear Nissa’s sigh when her warm breath fans my cheek. “About a month, I guess.”

  “What makes you think he might be seeing someone?”

  “I saw him. With a woman. On two different occasions. Both times they were at a little bar off 7th Street.”

  “Maybe it was someone he works with.”

  “It could very well have been. I just thought it was odd that they were at a bar.”

  “Maybe they had to work late and went out for a bite. Nate works late a lot.”

  I can tell Nissa wants to argue. Her brow furrows, and her mouth opens and closes a few times. After a few attempts to quell her urge to rebut, Nissa finally manages and she gives me a watery smile along with a weak, “Maybe so. But I wanted to tell you. Just in case.”

  Pity and compassion coil behind my chest wall.

  I know my friend’s suspicions about her own husband are playing a role in her thoughts. It’s only natural for Nissa to include other men in her doubts, to sort of lump them all into one unfaithful heap. I, however, just don’t believe that’s the case.

  At least not with my Nate.

  I reach for Nissa’s hand and squeeze, giving her my broadest, most genuine smile. “I’m glad you did. That’s what friends do. They tell each other the hard things.”

  “Yes! Exactly!” she exclaims, looking pointedly at me. I ignore the remark. What I don’t tell Nissa is that sometimes not telling the hard things is the kinder option.

  When I don’t take the bait, Nissa moves on, asking instead, “So, what will you do? About Nate, I mean.”

  I shrug, unconcerned. “I might ask him about it.”

  “Might?”

  “Yeah. Might.”

  “Don’t you want to know for sure?”

  I turn my sad eyes, sad because my best friend in the world doesn’t have this assurance, and I tell her, “Honestly, I already do.”

  Nissa is thoughtful as she considers me. For long minutes, she simply watches me before she finally nods. “I’m glad, Lena. I’m glad that you two have that kind of relationship. The kind where you know. I wish Mark and I had it, but…”

  She doesn’t have to finish. She knows they don’t. And I know they don’t.

  I say nothing, mainly because I can’t offer words of comfort. Mark and Nissa have a troubled marriage. It’s no secret. It’s because of their children that the situation just gets politely ignored. It’s still there, though, like an underlying medical condition. Nissa treats it with a healthy prescription of expensive clothes and shiny baubles. Mark treats it with ambivalence.

  I squeeze her hand again and give her my quiet support. For my friend, I’m as solid as the floor beneath our feet. “I hope that one day you’ll be able to say the same thing about your husband.” Even if you have to get a different husband, I think the last rather than adding it aloud.

  Nissa only smiles, visibly skeptical. “Well, at least now I know you can enjoy your trip. Your dream trip. I just can’t believe that you let Nate plan it.”

  I smile. Nate has always teased me about being a neurotic planner. A control freak. And, for the most pa
rt, he’s right. Before this, I would never have dreamed of taking a spontaneous trip to Europe. Never. Not in a million years. That would’ve been out of the question. But things change. Circumstances change. And dreams aren’t what they once were.

  These days, dreams are desperate attempts to pack as many memories and intentions and as much living as we can into a few short weeks.

  These days, there is no time for planning.

  Time.

  I smother my sigh.

  Time isn’t what it used to be either.

  “I’m not going to let anything ruin this. Not even my obsessive need to plan everything a year in advance and right down to the last minute. It’s time to follow the lightning bugs and just…go with it,” I pronounce resolutely, clinging to the tiny bit of calm that thought infuses into me. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of them.

  “Follow the lightning bugs? Do they even have lightning bugs in Europe?” she asks dubiously.

  I snort, “Not literally, silly girl. It’s just something my dad used to… It’s something my dad mentioned once when I was young, after we said our prayers.”

  “You said prayers?” Nissa scoffs disbelievingly. “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing.”

  “I don’t. Not anymore. But he did. Not that it did him any good.”

  “Well, you don’t need prayers for this trip. It’s going to be perfect, which is why I brought you this for those long, Tuscan nights,” Nissa says brightly, discarding the red dress in favor of a slinky black negligee. She holds it up and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Can I pick or can I pick?”

  I reach for the lingerie. “You can definitely pick. Nate will love this!”

  “He absolutely will,” Nissa agrees, smiling sweetly at me. It seems her suspicions have been put to rest.

  I just wish all things could be put to rest so easily.

  Four

  Seat Next to You

  Lena

  The hour is late and everyone on the airplane has settled in for as much rest as can be had at thirty five thousand feet. Nate chose a flight that left late so we could sleep in the makeshift beds in first class. His idea was to thwart jet lag by arriving in London in late morning. I admire his efforts, but I’m skeptical. I figure the best chance we have of this working is our level of exhaustion when we departed. We were both running on steam by the time we boarded.