When I’m back, she is sitting at the kitchen table with her coffee. Eli is in her bouncy seat on the floor next to her. A fresh cup of coffee sits in the empty chair beside her.
I take a seat, her presence enough to soothe the fear in me just a bit. After I take a sip, I place the mug down and shift in my seat so I’m facing her.
“You look better this morning,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Does that mean I looked like shit last night?”
“No,” I reply quickly. “I mean … you look rested.”
“I’m kidding,” she says with a trace of laughter. “I did sleep well. Thank you. I do feel better this morning.”
“Good,” I reply carefully.
I don’t want to rush her even though I’m dying to ask her what this means. Her showing up here, spending the night, snuggling in my arms.
“I went to see my parents yesterday. Or my mom and …” she starts, then trails off for a moment. “I don’t even know what to call him.”
A stab of guilt hits me. “Jessie, I’m so sorry.”
She holds up a hand. “I spent a lot of time thinking about all of this on my drive. I should have never gotten so angry at you. It wasn’t fair.”
“Of course you should have. You have every right to feel however you want about all of this.”
She shakes her head. “No. I get it. You were put in the middle of my parents’ mistake. I don’t know what I would have done if I had been faced with that kind of decision for all those years.”
“Probably the right thing. You’re a much better person than I am. How did it go with your parents?”
Her shoulders tense. “Awful. They confirmed it.” She looks away from me and blinks rapidly. “I’m sorry.” She laughs and fans her face. “I keep crying.”
“I don’t mind tears. I’ve done my fair share of crying in the last couple of days.”
Her face falls. “You’ve cried?”
I pull at my neck, slightly embarrassed. I know men are supposed to be the tough ones who don’t cry, and admitting that to her isn’t exactly very manly, but I can’t help it.
“I did. When you lose the woman you love, you realize strength doesn’t mean a damn thing anymore.”
Her eyes soften toward me, but I don’t want to push aside what matters.
“How are you doing with it all?”
“Oh God. I don’t know. They told me the story. But even if I could find a way to understand the situation, it doesn’t make it any easier.”
She tells me everything that was said. About her dad wanting to leave, her mother feeling broken and needing an escape. All of it.
“It’s not exactly what I expected,” she admits as she stares down at her coffee. “I had my mother pegged as the reason it all happened. Now … I don’t know. I mean, I get it. You have a newborn baby, and your husband is never there. Then he wants to separate. That could break anybody. For the first time, I looked at her differently. Through all the pain and anger I felt for both of them, I felt a glimmer of understanding.”
I’m shocked. That’s not how I saw any of it going down either. “It just goes to show that everyone’s carrying something—a past, a reason they turn bitter toward the world. It doesn’t excuse what they do, but it explains it. We all have our scars, and maybe someof us learn how to grow through them faster than others. But for some people … it just takes longer to find their way out.”
She looks up at me, fear written all over her face. “But what if I can never find a way to forgive them? Do I just lose both of them?”
I grab her hand and hold it on the table right in between us. “You’ll find a way through the pain and anger. I know you will. You’re the strongest person I know. And I know your parents; they’ll be right there, waiting for you when you’re ready. You take all the time that you need.”
“You really think so?”
I give her hand a squeeze. “I know so.”
“Thank you for listening and for just … being here for me.”
