Julia lowered her eyes. “Do you have children, Sue?”
“Nope. We were married a year and a half when he found out.” She looked at Julia. “Do you want kids?” Julia nodded. “Julia, forgive me, but if you were already married, I wouldn’t be saying any of this. I’ve been to dozens of support groups and I know a lot of people going through this. This is a different kind of cancer. It’s not like other people’s cancers. It’s cruel because it steals the body, then the mind, and some say, the soul. Your decision to stay with him has to be very deliberate, because it’s going to be one scary ride and you never know when they’re gonna let you off.”
Julia reached out and squeezed Sue’s hand. “I hear you,” she said. “And thank you for the talk.”
Frank called for Sue. “I have to go,” she said. She rummaged through her purse and handed Julia a card. “I hope I wasn’t too bold,” she said. “I just want to pass on what I know. Call me anytime.”
Julia examined the card and tilted her head in surprise. “Cancer Solutions LLC?”
“I’m fighting brain cancer by importing special vitamins and natural medicines. Reishi mushrooms, powdered kelp, and sea cucumbers are the thing now. I’ll send you some free samples and recipes if you e-mail me.” She lifted her chin, forced a smile, and tapped Julia on the shoulder like an old friend. “Girl, you can make the most amazing antioxidant jams, pies, cookies, and ice-pops out of berries and seaweed. Just throw in lots of sugar and a few sprigs of mint to mask the taste.”
Julia smiled weakly. “So what are you, the Martha Stewart of cancer?”
“Coming!” she shouted over her shoulder at Frank, who was standing outside the door. She looked at Julia pointedly in the eyes and whispered, “Run. If you can. If you can’t, then welcome to the club.”
After the Lorenses left, Dr. Levine said that he had one more test for David, and so Julia went back out to the waiting room, alone. She scrolled down the list of calls that she had missed, and listened to the messages: Taina, Holly, Adrian, and Raymond had all called for updates. There were two messages from Jonathan, describing his surprise when David had answered the phone and identified himself as her husband. She experienced a strange mix of emotions at the irony of it. She was both sad and angry that the man she had so patiently waited for was finally showing some competitiveness for her love, now that it was too late. There wasn’t a chance for them anymore; she had made this abundantly clear. But apart from withdrawing completely from his life, how could she make him understand that without hurting him? Sue was right. She had to have an exit plan.
The glass window opened and a nurse poked her head out, holding up a bottle. “Bit more champagne?” Julia accepted a half-cup and sat back down. All at once, she remembered the last time she had had tasted Cliquot. It seemed like years had passed since their breakup, but it had been just a little over a month before, on her birthday. She tipped the cup to her lips. It had been the worst birthday of her life.
Julia chose Tre Scalini, the fanciest restaurant on Wooster Street, to celebrate her thirty-fourth birthday. The waiter had just taken away their empty dinner plates when David slid a small black velvet box across the table. Finally! Julia thought. She sat up tall, pressed her lips into a tight, prissy smile, and stared down at the box. She reached for it, felt the prickly softness of the velvet on her palm. She heard the soft creak of the spring hinges release as she pulled back the top. Inside, a pair of sparking stones stared back at her like the glowing eyes of a black cat. Her heart sank.
“Studs? We can’t afford these.”
“I can afford them,” David said firmly.
She looked back down at the earrings, hoping they had magically morphed into a single stone. But no, there they were. So separate, so lonely. Maybe they weren’t real, she thought, her hope half rising again. Because if they were real, then there wasn’t going to be an engagement ring anytime soon.
“Like ’em?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” his voice rose to a falsetto.
She scrunched up her face at the bad taste in her question, but she had to know what she was dealing with here. “David, are these real?”
David threw his head back and laughed. “You think I’m that cheap?” He took her hand. “Of course they’re real. Put them on.”
Julia’s eyes filled with tears while David just sat back, pleased at the waterworks he had caused, imagining that he’d made her so happy that she was weeping with joy. That he was so clueless about the real cause was even more depressing.
The waiter arrived with a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and filled the glasses. David wished her a happy birthday and she managed to raise her glass for his toast. She watched him take a long swig, without tasting it herself. She asked point blank, “Why did you buy two diamonds instead of one?”
David blinked and turned his head slightly. “What would you do with only one earring?” She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but she guessed not.
“Is this a consolation prize? A ‘thank you for your patience’ gift?”
“It’s a birthday gift.” He drained his champagne and put it down.
She continued to hold hers up, suspended in midair. She stared at the rising bubbles, still unable to take a sip.
“I know where this is going,” he said. “But I’m not even forty yet.”
The glass came down, spilling champagne over the rim. “Forty?” she gasped.
Chocolate lava cakes appeared on the table. Hers had a lit birthday candle in it. David immediately gutted his cake and began to wash it down with champagne and water.
She slid the box across the table. “I can’t accept the earrings, but thank you. I don’t want you to think that I’m happy with the way things are.”
“I’m not ready for forever,” he said bluntly. “Aren’t you going to blow out the candle?” The candle was still burning—long, high, smoky flames, burning and whittling down to the little striped wax stump.
“I don’t even know what to wish for anymore, David.”
“Well I do,” he said. Then he took a deep breath and blew her birthday candle out. She stared at the burnt wick until it stopped smoking. She sensed that something big had just happened, that some inner light had gone out along with the birthday candle. For God’s sake, what did David wish for, if not a life together?
She stood up, excused herself, and went to the ladies’ room. Once safely inside a stall, she masked her sobs by flushing the toilet. Someone asked if she was okay. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself that her life didn’t have to implode tonight. Maybe, just maybe, what he needed was a push. The point was that they—no she—had to move out of their stagnation.
Back at the table, David had already paid the bill. As they made their way out of the restaurant and down the street back to their car, Julia watched, with an unfamiliar sense of envy, several groups of twentysomethings, some Yalies, some locals, flirting with each other, years of their youth still stretching ahead of them. And for the first time in her life, Julia felt old.
Their apartment had little furniture, mostly cheap, temporary stuff from Ikea, the clutter of a couple shacking up rather than starting a home. Their bedroom floor was littered with piles of clothes, projects, magazines, and sports equipment, and they slept on a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The only real piece of furniture was a scratched wood dresser Julia had bought at a consignment shop in college. Granted, they had only been living together a year, and it had been an unusually busy year, but it was obvious to Julia now that the spirit of nesting had never quite taken up residence.
Julia took her second shower of the evening, just to comfort herself. She put on pajamas and towel-dried her long hair. She stood in front of the mirror. She saw a pair of coppery, half-moon shadows beneath her eyes. Looking at herself critically made her even more sad and tired, and she dropped into bed and fell into a deep sleep.
That night, she dreamed about a new man. She woke up from the dream because there w
as motion in the bed as David got up to go to the bathroom. She could see the lighted outline of the bathroom door, heard him flush the toilet. She dug her head deeper into the pillow, grasping at the last shreds of the vanishing dream. David turned out the light in the bathroom, then turned it on again. She flipped over to avoid the light, growing angry at losing her grip on the dream. Come back, she pleaded. Who are you and why do you love me so much? Had she ever been loved this way? She felt as if she had known such a man, lived such a life. But she hadn’t, she was sure. She could hear the rattle of pills in the bathroom. David shuffled back to bed.
“I can’t sleep. Upset stomach again,” he said. “I took an antacid.”
The dream was gone, but she was drunk with longing. She reached out to David. “C’mere,” she whispered. “I know something you can do while you count sheep.”
But he kissed her on the forehead, a light dismissive peck. “Not now, it’s late.”
“Oh, c’mon. I was having a sexy dream.”
“Good for you,” he said, pulling the blanket tight over his shoulders as he rolled over. “Those are always fun.”
A week passed. When they woke up the next Saturday morning, the weather was unseasonably warm, and the sun was out. Julia suggested that they head down to the pier at Long Wharf.
The water had gentle caps sweeping over the surface in the morning breeze. The waves slapped against the edges of the pier. They looked out to the water and the rusty barges and industrial smoke stacks across the bay. David embraced Julia—partly out of affection, and, she suspected, partly to keep warm. The pale winter sun was in her eyes so she closed them.
“David,” she said softly, “will you marry me?” He smiled at first, and then his smile faded and he looked into her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m really asking.”
He blinked a few times. “But Julia,” he said, “you deserve to be asked.”
“So ask,” she said. “The hard part is done.”
There was a moment of limbo, a long embrace. He rubbed her back and whispered for her to hush, even though she was silent. He held her longer than she wanted to be held. She wondered if he could feel her shaking, or hear her molars chattering against one another. She pulled away and looked up at him. He looked stricken, pale. He lowered his lids, so that she could no longer see his eyes. It seemed like an eternity before he spoke. He lifted his head to give her a pained look. “Can we talk about this a little bit more?” he said. She shook her head, no.
“I can’t do it,” he whispered. “I just can’t.”
“I knew it.” She stared out to the water, trying to hold a focus on the barges, the pier, the few people walking their dogs, the sky, anything to keep from having to look at him.
There was nothing more to say, really. They drove home in silence. He must have been completely shocked, as she was—shocked at the frankness of their exchange after so many years of dancing around the subject, shocked that their time had run out and that now things were unraveling so quickly. Earlier that morning, they had gone for a jog together, they had made coffee, read the newspaper, and folded their laundry. The morning had been so lovely, so routine. For Julia, the wound hadn’t even begun to hurt; there was just numbness.
Back at home she began to throw some things into a duffel bag. She’d go to her mother’s house for the next day or so and take it from there. She threw an overnight bag over her shoulders and went down to get her purse, phone, car keys, and sunglasses. David was lying on the sofa with one of the cushions on his face.
“I’ll be back after work on Monday. We’ll need to talk about the lease and, well, everything,” Julia said flatly.
“I have the worst headache of my life,” he said. “Can you do one thing for me before you go?”
“What?”
“Can you bring me the mop bucket?”
She put it next to him.
“Are you okay?”
“Nauseous,” he said. “Definitely the flu.” He lifted his head and turned toward the bucket and dry heaved. Drama, she thought. Just drama. If he did in fact have the flu, then he absolutely should suffer alone. It would do him some good. She gathered her things, put her shoes on, and headed toward the door.
She had no idea how she made it to her mother’s house. A few days later she had no memory of it. She had gone on autopilot, her mind far, far away from the act of driving. Fortunately, the house wasn’t far. Her mother was still at work when she let herself in. She was grateful to be alone. She crawled into her childhood bed, a twin four-poster that still had the matching pink bedspread and canopy, walls covered in movie posters. How sad it felt to return to her younger self, she thought. She had gone in a big circle.
But in the meantime, Julia wondered if David had thought to put a cold cloth on his forehead, if he took a pain reliever, if he drank water. She knew deeply, and most humbly this: that she had wanted to marry David because she loved him and wanted to spend every day of her life with him. But now, she was so deeply disappointed in him, and even more so in herself. It had been a desperate and ridiculous gesture to ask him to marry her. She had known, deep down, that he would say no. But she did it because it forced her in a new direction, because it had become all too clear that they weren’t moving in any direction at all. Something, or someone, had to change and it wasn’t going to be him. He was, and would always be, devoted to the status quo.
She returned to their apartment at three-thirty on Monday, after work. David would be at the office for another three hours, and that gave her some more time to pack. She knew that she would have to be the one to go. She was the one actively seeking progress, so it seemed natural and even fair that she would bear the burden of motion. Julia’s mother had a home nearby with an extra bedroom, whereas David’s parents lived an hour away, in rural Connecticut, rather far to commute to work. Julia realized how much of her life was tied to David and to their families, friends, and shared hobbies. She had thought that this meant that they were transitioning from being twentysomethings into the next stage, the married thirties. But David was either emotionally stunted, irreparably damaged, as he himself had suggested, or he just wasn’t in love with her. If the latter was true, then, Julia thought, she had been deluding herself all along. And that both frightened and infuriated her.
At five-thirty, she was done with the boxing part of her packing. There was a pile of miscellaneous things she wasn’t sure what to do with, divisive things, photo albums and videotapes that archived their lives together; books signed and dedicated to both of them. It was a good thing they hadn’t gotten around to finding the right dog yet, she realized. David walked in at six, as she was making the last trip to her car. Her brothers would have to come back for the large boxes and the furniture. David stepped out of his Jeep Wrangler dressed in his daily work uniform: long-sleeve oxford shirt, Gap khakis, polished dress shoes. As they stood chatting, awkwardly, under the light of the front door, she noticed that he had his first strand of gray hair.
“How’s your headache?” she asked.
“It’s gone,” he said. “It got really bad on Sunday night.”
She harrumphed, gave him a few suggestions on how to avoid headaches, then got to business. “Taina called,” she informed him. “She said something about you going to New York this weekend.”
He nodded. “Adrian has a show.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Wanna come?”
Julia shook her head no.
David stepped closer, took her hand in his. “Julia, I’m so sorry that I’m hurting you. I do love you.”
“Are you seeing someone else?”
He pulled his head back. “Where did that come from?”
“Just making sure I understand all the forces at work,” she said.
“Juuuuulia,” he intoned, slowly, like it contained all the disillusionment of the universe. “C’mon, you know me better than that. I’m the most faithful guy who ever lived. And you’re the one leaving, not me.”
; She let out a sigh. She believed him. Again she forced herself to stay on task. “I was counting on your help to move me out. But you’re going to New York, apparently, instead of being present in this colossal thing that’s happening to us.”
“I can help you next week, if you can wait a little.” He shrugged. “You know how it is Julia, family comes first.”
Julia gasped a little at that last, thoughtless, and highly ironic statement. “I thought that we were a family, you and I.” Later, Julia would pinpoint that moment as the coup de grâce. His rejection seared itself into the meat of her heart. Almost immediately, a translucent but impermeable scar grew over the injury.
After her conversation with Sue Lorens, Julia got the idea of a summer gathering at Griswold Island. David needed to be surrounded by an army of emotional cheerleaders. He needed a purpose; something big enough to sustain his tolerance for pain and to embolden his fighting spirit. “Bravery is nourished by purpose,” an ancestor had once written in the margins of The Griswolds of New Haven County, volume two. In an instant, Julia bridged this old wisdom with the conversation she and David had had at the Christmas tree farm; how he had described the memory flashes as “an invitation.” This was the connection that David himself had just begun to figure out, Julia thought, with rising amazement. This was to be her gift, her role, her purpose—to enable David to fulfill his before it was too late. After that, the siblings would take over, and she could get on with her life. And so she decided that she would have to convince her own family of the solemnity of their small sacrifice. The starfish children of Mayagüez needed to gather. And what else characterized the Griswold family, with their one-hundred-and-twenty-one-year-old house, more than genealogical self-knowledge? Yes, it had to happen this summer, and it was vital that all five be reunited at Griswold Island. They would be changed by the experience, she knew. They would grow closer. And then she would quietly slip away and begin to rebuild her life.
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