Thirty-Two
AURELIA
Beatrix and Margaretjump from their own chairs and are by my side in half a second as I turn into a total sobbing mess. Margaret climbs into the recliner with me and wraps me in her arms while Beatrix holds my hand and strokes soothing circles with her thumb. I hear the door click quietly as my friends hold me.
“Shh, shh,” Margaret coos as she wipes away my tears. “Let it all out, dear.”
I hiccup and snuffle like a child for several minutes while my friends murmur encouragement and affirmations, calming me with soft touches and gentle rubs.
It’s like the whole day has weakened all my defenses, and everything I’ve been trying to keep pressed down for the last few weeks is leaking out from every pore. All the fear I had about opening up to a man is nowscreaming at me for my stupidity. The affection I felt for Friedrich is threatening to crush me under the pain of losing him. Shame tries to battle its way through, and I don’t think I’m mentally capable of batting that down right now. Mostly, I’m angry at myself for even letting things get so far. This was supposed to be casual and fun, and I let emotion get in the way and all I have to show for it is brokenness and a deep aching hole in my chest.How could I have been so freaking stupid?
“I’m the worst idiot,” I croak when I’ve cried all I can.
“No, sweetheart.” Margaret swipes away the hair that had fallen in my face. “You’re just a woman, and we women feel things deeply, no matter how hard we try not to.”
I can feel Beatrix nodding next to me. “We were wondering when this would happen today. Nothing like putting your body in such a state of relaxation that your mind finally loses its grip, too.”
“You wanted me to lose my marbles all over these poor spa therapists?” I sniffle.
“We wanted you to let yourself feel.” Margaret hands me a tissue, and I try to be delicate about blowing my nose, but it’s no use. I’m a total snot monster when I cry.
“Y’all, I’m so ashamed.” I drop my head in my hands, unable to even look at them
“Don’t be darling. I’m sure you’re hardly the first, even this week, to have a good cryin here.”
“No,” I mutter behind my hands. “It’s not even that.”
Margaret pries my fingers away and holds my hands so I can’t hide again. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“No, really,” I insist, my voice getting a little stronger. “I should have never gotten involved with him. And I definitely shouldn’t have given up my body to him like that.”
“Fuck that,” Margaret and Beatrix say in unison. They giggle, but I can’t resist the shame welling up in me.
“No, it’s exactly like they always said, my body is a temple and I defiled it.”
“I’m sorry, who the fuck said that horse shit?” the princess sputters.
“Her fucked up church and her batshit crazy mother.”
Beatrix stands and practically stomps over to an ice bucket with a bottle of white wine stuck down inside. She pours a glass for each of us, filling them much higher than wine etiquette dictates.
“I think we’re all going to need a little help for this particular conversation.”
We each take a glass, and the princess settles in on the arm of my recliner, an arm draped around my shoulder, while Margaret is still cuddled against me on the other side.
I take a long drink to steady myself. “So, you know I grew up in the United States, right?”
“I mean that much is blatantly obvious.”
Margaret shoots Trixie a glare and waves for me to continue. She’s heard the story of my childhood in bits and pieces throughout the years of our friendship, but watches me with rapt attention.
“In the Deep South, religion is everything. Churches everywhere, prayer even in public schools and before football games, that kind of stuff. I mean, heck, the measure of your social standing is graded by who your family is and which church you go to.”
“Well, the family part I fully understand, but the church you attend?”
I nod. “It’s the way of life there. My dad wasn’t particularly religious, but after he left when I was thirteen, my mom got deeply involved in a local Baptist church. Like, very deeply. She was there any time the doors were open, as long as she wasn’t working and always made sure there was someone to bring me when she couldn’t.
“And mostly it was fine. I made friends and stuff. I had a place that I sort of belonged and people who looked out for me when my mom was working a lot. The church was its own little community.”
