“Then I shouldn’t even try?” I ask. As lighthearted as I try to sound, I can’t help the slight melancholy in my voice. I don’t even know why. It’s not like marriage or the ostentatious display of soulmates is something I was striving for or even on the horizon for me.But to learn it may all be some kind of weird propaganda to uphold the sanctity of weddings and vows and all that “’til death do us part” bullshit feels a little heartbreaking. Like learning your favorite celebrity is actually an asshole in person.
“No,” she argues with true sincerity.
“No?”
“As bad as the divorce was, I don’t regret it,” she continues. “I loved being with someone and knowing I was going to grow old with him. To have someone to come home to, eat dinner with, watch movies with.
“I was never really…alone.”
“And now you are?”
“My ex-husband’s grandpa passed away about two years after we got married,” she says after a pause. It’s an unexpected segue, but I listen. “He was devastated. He’d lost his grandma about eight months before, and he was still grieving her death.
“We got to the grave site, and I saw his grandfather was being buried right next to his wife. They were going to spend their afterlife together. And I thought how grateful I was that I would be buried next to Frankie. I’d have someone to spend my afterlife with. I wouldn’t be stacked under a bunch of coffins in some single section of the cemetery. I’d be with my other half.”
“But then you got divorced.” I don’t mean to say it out loud, don’t mean to spotlight what she views as a flaw or vice of her character. Her plans didn’t pan out the way she thought, and it changed more than her marital status. It changed her opinion of herself into some spinster destined for solitude.
“But then I got divorced,” she repeats. “So, I guess it’s either let my mom continue to set me up on these blind dates, or, you know, check out the single side of the cemetery for future prospects.”
I laugh a soft, morose chuckle which Grace mirrors, and then she starts picking at the skin lining her thumbnail. “I don’t know,” she murmurs. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe it’s me…”
Her voice trails at the same time she ducks her head. Whether in shame or because the conversation took a turn she wasn’t expecting, I’m not sure. And it doesn’t really matter. Butwhen her gaze remains solemn with it zoned in on her lap, I no longer fight the urge to comfort her.
She notices me when I slide in next to her. She looks a little surprised—a little confused—but when I gently place my hand on top of hers, she doesn’t pull away.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Grace.”
She scoffs. Her weak protest falls short when her lips turn wobbly. “I wish it was that easy,” she whispers. “Someone telling me there’s nothing wrong with me and just accepting it and believing it. But thank you.”
I realize then that, while she’s clearly made it out of her divorce alive, the aftereffects of it have left her broken. She really believes it was her doing. She blames her hopes and dreams for the downfall of her marriage. And it’s completely unfair.
I don’t try to argue with her. Debating and discussing something she so strongly holds on to, no matter how incorrect she is, isn’t what she needs right now. What she needs in this bubble of heartache and regret is for me to be her friend. What we’ve already established we are. But with her small hand hidden under mine, I wish I could do more. I wish I could show her all the ways she’s completely enough. Sit her down for an hour-long PowerPoint presentation with a laser pointer in my hand, running down a long bullet list of things that make her the perfect partner. No, not just a perfect partner, but a perfect person. Someone who’s kind and funny and considerate. Someone who sits through a two-hour-long movie she has zero interest in just because she wants to know about the things I love. Someone who guards her friendship with my sister because she’s basically family at this point.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her. My head tilts a little toward her, but her temple sitting mere millimeters away from my ear doesn’t meet. I hover over her, letting myself imagine what it would feel like to hold her. And before we know it, our coffeeis refilled once again. We ignore the fact that what we have is starting to blur. Calling her a friend feels inaccurate. To the point I feel we need to create a brand new word to describe our natural affinity for each other. Something that aligns more closely to words like want and need and adore.
“Teeny said Sadie didn’t break anything,” she informs me, looking at the new message on her phone. “They’re getting ready to be discharged.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
She’d just finished telling me about her trip to Japan last year, her mouth nearly overflowing with saliva as she talked about all the food. While the interruption from Teeny comes with good news, I know what’s next. It’s a reminder. A little alarm chirping in the form of a text. Time’s up. And just as predicted, Grace sets her phone down and searches the restaurant, looking to flag down our server. I can see how her eyes have already changed, returning back to a place where our friendship will always have a curtain pulled in front of it.
We settle the check—a swift battle that I win with wits and speed—and walk out in silence. I press my hand to her lower back, an impulse I don’t mean to act on but can’t help.
“Thanks for breakfast. And the company. And conversation.” We’re standing in front of her car, each holding a Styrofoam box of leftovers. It’s finally time to say goodbye, and I don’t want to.
“Yeah, well if you ever want a…friend, you know who to call.”
“Yeah,” she says softly.
I watch as she gets in her car and drives off, leaving behind a small divot in my chest. It’s barely noticeable now, but I can imagine how much bigger it will get with every goodbye.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Grace
I’ve gotthe TV on, the flashing lights glaring from a jumble of lightsabers and mythical creatures. I even have Buster’s attention, his whimpers expressing his discomfort with every loud noise or jump scare. He responds with a restrained yelp when he sees anything particularly jarring, looking to me for comfort while I myself try to make sense of the movie I chose tonight. When I put it on, I told myself it was curiosity. An inquisitiveness that piqued my interest after dipping my toes into theStar Warsfranchise. But now that I’m sitting here, more confused than ever, while wishing Andrew was sitting next to me to answer all my space warfare questions, I realize it was to fill a void I didn’t realize I was missing.
