It was a nice service,” Jill says, clearing the last of the deli platters from the folding table someone set up where Tommy’s bed used to be. It’s amazing how fast they made everything disappear, how quickly everything changed. It’s like I went to sleep one morning and July had somehow turned into August and Tommy was gone.
“Very nice,” Becky agrees.
“Nice,” I echo with just a bit of sarcasm. It’s such a pedestrian word for something so life-alteringly devastating.
If Tommy were here, he’d raise his eyebrows and give me a look that said, Don’t be mean. Later, in a quiet moment, he would get all shrinky and tell me everyone handles grief differently, and that no one knows the right things to say because sometimes there aren’t any.
“I’m going to make some tea,” Jill says, moving around the house as if it’s hers. “Do you want some?”
“She drinks coffee,” Becky says, looking up from the stack of folding chairs she’s refolding. “Well, half coffee and half skim milk with one and a half Splendas. Sometimes two.”
They look at each other and then back at me, waiting. As if the choice of a hot beverage I don’t even want in the first place could determine which one knows me best. Really, it’s just further proof that I’m like two different people—Alexis back in Atlanta and Lexie down here. Tommy was the one common denominator that bridged the gap and held the two pieces of me together.
“Tea’s fine,” I tell Jill, who smiles and retreats to the kitchen. “Coffee will just keep me awake,” I tell Becky.
Becky abandons her task and sits next to me on the love seat where I’ve been holding court most of the afternoon. “I bet you’re ready for this day to be over.”
“Yes and no.” She looks at me, curious. “I was ready for the funeral. Well, not ready.” I hate when I can’t find the right words. “I knew it was coming.”
“Too soon.” Becky sighs.
I nod in agreement, although any time before never would have been too soon. “But after this?” I look around at the aftermath of the shiva-ish thing everyone thought would be nice to have after the service. “I don’t know what to do next.”
“You’ll take it one day at a time,” Becky says, laying her hand gently on top of mine.
I can’t blame her for the cliché advice—just a few short months ago, before words like “terminal” and “cancer” and “stage 4B” were part of my vocabulary, I probably would have said the same sort of thing. Hell, I’ve probably written those exact words on any number of letters and pamphlets on behalf of Dox Pharmacy.
I know this isn’t the right time to make Becky tell me about what’s been happening at the agency, but getting back to work would help take my mind off everything I don’t want to be dwelling on. If Tommy were here, he would remind me that I was fine all summer, that I got used to not thinking about work after the first two weeks. He would tell me to be careful, not to use work as a crutch, an excuse to run away. He would tell me to be here, to be present in the moment for myself and for CeCe. Of course, he wouldn’t be wrong.
“When do you think you’ll come back home to Atlanta?” Becky asks.
“I just said I don’t know,” I snap. She tightens her grip on my hand, letting me know she knows I don’t mean it. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, lovey.” I put my left hand on top of hers and I know we’re both staring at the diamond ring that looks so out of place on my finger. “It really is beautiful,” she says, lifting my hand for a closer look.
Something falls in the other room, clattering to the floor. “Everything’s okay,” Jill calls out. “Nothing’s broken.”
“She’s a good friend,” Becky says.
“So are you.”
“I should have come down sooner.” The words catch in her throat and I can tell she’s trying not to cry.
“You made it to the wedding, you brought the ring and Tommy’s tux, and you kept everything running back at the office so I could be here, where I needed to be,” I say, comforting her in an odd twist that makes me feel more normal than I have in weeks.
“And now the funeral.” She takes her hand back, wiping away a lone tear. “I’ve got to tell you: the wedding was much more fun.”
We both laugh, stopping as quickly as we started. This isn’t a time for laughter.
The silence that follows feels awkward and unnatural, another reminder that I have no clue how to do any of this.
The kettle blows, its sharp whistle a welcome distraction.
“Tea’s ready,” Jill says, coming down the hall with a dishrag in her hands, looking like she’s busy at work in the café. “Do you want a cup?” she asks Becky.
“I’d love one, thanks.”
I give Becky a sideways glance. She hates tea, unless it’s the Long Island iced variety. “You don’t have to,” I whisper.
She ignores me, turning her smile up a notch, and I laugh again, appreciating her gesture. If only these two could stay by my side for all the days ahead, then maybe, just maybe I can get through this.
“Where’s the love bug?” Becky asks.
“Up in her room, I think?” I’m a terrible mother. “Or maybe she’s still out for a walk with Beau.”
“Your tea, madam,” Jill says, handing me the blue mug that’s always been mine. “Careful, it’s hot.” I notice she took a generic mug from the cupboard for Becky’s tea and I’m grateful she didn’t use the red one that was Tommy’s.
It’s too hot to take a sip just yet, so I set it on the coffee table. Before my hand leaves the handle, Jill swoops in with a coaster. I bite my lip to hold back a smile as Becky places her mug on the second coaster Jill made sure was ready and waiting.
“I’m going to run down to my house for a minute,” Jill says. “You’re out of Saran Wrap and I don’t want all this food to go bad.”
“We’re not out,” I tell her. “I don’t think we ever had any.”
Jill smiles. “I’ll just be a second.”
I reach for her hand. “Sit down.”
“But—” she protests.
“Sit.”
“There are a lot of things that still need to be done.”
“And there will be just as many things to do in ten minutes. But sit with me first. Please?”
Jill sighs and throws the dishrag over her shoulder before sitting on the arm of the love seat. “I’m sitting,” she says. “Better?”
“Almost.” I hook my arm around her waist and pull her down beside me. The three of us, squeezed onto the sofa made for two. I link my arm with Becky’s and lay my head on Jill’s shoulder.
“Now it’s better.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, wishing I could hold on to this moment, surrounded by the two people left on this planet who know my flaws but love me anyway.
I hear Jill take a sharp breath and I reach for her hand. “In case I haven’t said it enough, I love you girls. Thank you for everything, for being here.”
“Of course,” Jill says, her voice wavering.
“There’s no place I’d rather be, buttercup.” Becky leans her head on my shoulder. “Well, that’s a lie. I’d rather be in Paris with the hottie I sat next to on the flight down here.”
“Wouldn’t we all?” Jill agrees.
“We’re all single women now,” Becky says. “Too soon?”
I laugh in spite of myself. I can no easier picture myself a single woman than I can a widow. I stop when I hear a creak on the front porch step. I wonder if it’s Adam. He didn’t come to the house after the service. His kids didn’t exactly make him feel welcome, which I can’t blame them for. Maybe he needed to go for a stiff drink first—that would be like the Adam I used to know. I lift my head, waiting for the knock that should be coming.
“Did you hear something?” I ask when it doesn’t.
Becky shakes her head.
We all listen, but don’t hear anything other than the air-conditioning kicking in. “Must have been my imagination,” I say even though I know it wasn’t.
Knock, knock.
Jill sits up; she heard it, too. “Come in,” she calls.
The door opens, slowly at first and then all at once as she walks in, sucking all the oxygen out of the room.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt. I just . . .” Monica stops midsentence.
The jet-black hair CeCe was trying to emulate falls in soft, frizzless curls in spite of the humidity. Her skin looks flawless as usual and her green eyes have a dewy look about them as if she’s been crying. Which she probably has. As long ago as it was and as badly as it ended, Tommy meant something to her once.
Jill’s the first one off the couch. “Monica,” she says.
“Jill.” They hug curtly and I push the memory of the two of them sitting at the café together out of my mind.
“Would you like something to drink?” Becky asks. “We were just having tea.”
“Tea would be lovely, thank you.”
Jill and Becky make eye contact and both head toward the kitchen, leaving Monica and me alone in the room where, not that long ago, she was reunited with Tommy.
“Do you want to sit?” I offer. I can see her hesitation and I don’t blame her. “Actually, I could use some fresh air.”
Monica looks relieved. She follows me out the door and we both take a seat on the front porch swing, as much space between us as the small bench seat allows.
“It was a very nice service,” she says, using those words again. I’m surprised I didn’t see her there; the crowd wasn’t that big, and she has a knack for making an entrance. “I was a ways back, I didn’t want to make a scene.”
“Thank you.”
“I just, I’m just so sorry,” Monica says. It’s hard to hate her when she sounds so sad and sincere. But it’s also hard to forget that she’s the woman who broke Tommy’s heart before it became mine.
I can hear his voice in my head, echoing one of the last conversations we had. His words about how lonely she is in spite of all the glitz and glamour. About forgiveness, and if he can forgive her, why shouldn’t I?
“I have so many regrets about the things I did, the choices I made. I know Tommy was able to forgive me because he ended up where he was supposed to be, with you and CeCe. She really is something, you know.”
I narrow my eyes at her; the audacity of this woman continues to amaze me. “Of course I know.”
“She’s been coming by the set on her days off,” Monica says.
I sit up straight, trying not to let the shock show on my face. The whole point of Jill giving CeCe Wednesdays off was so she wouldn’t be at the café when Monica showed up, not so CeCe could have the day free to spend with her.
Monica doesn’t pick up on my shift in demeanor or she doesn’t care, because she keeps talking. “It’s hard not to think about what might have been, if things had been different. If I had the baby.” My fists tighten as she says the words that confirm my suspicions of her motives with CeCe. “Anyway, my offer, what I told CeCe, to have her come out to L.A. and stay with me for a few weeks, it’s still open.”
“She is my daughter.” I say the words slowly and clearly so there’s no mistaking the matter. “You may regret what you did, but you can’t undo it. And you can’t have my daughter. She is not going to Hollywood or anywhere else with you.”
“I hate you!”
I look up. CeCe is standing on the sidewalk, listening to us. Her words shoot straight to my heart.
“Dad would let me go,” CeCe says, and I know she isn’t wrong. She takes the porch steps in one giant leap, throwing the front door open as if she can’t get away from me fast enough.
“CeCe,” Monica calls, trying to help. It doesn’t.
My lost and sad and angry daughter hesitates at the door, glaring in my direction. “I wish it was you that died.”
I stand there, accepting my punishment as I silently count to ten, when I know her bedroom door will slam so hard I’ll feel it in my bones.
Monica stands, looking as out of place here as I would in her world. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”
“That’s one thing we can agree on.”
“Let me just give you my card, in case you change your mind.” She reaches into her expensive purse that matches her expensive shoes and pulls out a shiny white business card.
I fold my arms, making it clear I have no interest in having any contact with her, not now or ever. I walk past her and into the house, closing the door on her once and for all.