Ana is coming down to visit tonight. Susan invited her to stay for the weekend and she accepted. She should be here any minute, and I am excited to show her how nice it can be to just sit by a pool and feel the sun beating down on you. I went to the store this afternoon to get us snacks and wine coolers. I got the wine coolers because I thought they were funny, but then I drank one this afternoon, and you know what? They are actually pretty tasty.
Ana shows up around six, and Susan has a whole dinner planned. I get the impression Susan is deathly bored. I think my being here makes it easier to fill her days, but before Ben died, before she and I became close, she was supremely, soul-suckingly bored. She’s in a lot of book clubs, but as far as I can tell, that’s about it. So when Ana comes for dinner, it gives Susan an excuse for a seven-course meal.
I walk into the kitchen and find an extra apron. I put it on and splay my hands out. “What can I do?” I ask.
Susan is chopping vegetables so fast I’m sure she’s about to lose a digit, but she doesn’t. Her cutting board is full of various chopped stuff that she slides easily into a big bowl.
“Can you hand me that jar?” she asks. I do. She sprinkles whatever the hell is in it, possibly Parmesan cheese, onto the salad and puts the salad on the table.
“Salad’s ready. The roast beef is cooking. Mashed potatoes are mashed. Yorkshire pudding is in the oven. I think I’m pretty much done,” she tells me. “I hope Ana isn’t on a diet. I cooked all the food in Orange County.”
The doorbell rings, and I answer. Ana is wearing a white dress and a black cardigan; she’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand and her purse with the other. I’ve spoken to Ana on the phone many times since I got here, but it swells my heart to see her face. She is the life I want back.
She hugs me, and I can smell her perfume. It reminds me of our early twenties, when we went to bars and I stood in the corner nursing a fruity drink while she was in the center of the room. It reminds me of Sunday morning brunches and hangovers. A single life. A single life I loved before I knew anything better.
It’s been so long since I’ve smelled Ben that I have forgotten the scent. I could recognize it in an instant, but I can’t describe it, I can’t feel it. I knew this would happen. I feared this would happen. Now that it has, it’s not so bad. It is. But it isn’t.
“You look great!” she says. It brightens my mood immediately.
“Thank you! So do you!” I don’t like that our conversation has a somewhat formal quality to it. We are best friends, and best friends don’t talk like this.
We walk into the kitchen, and Ana hugs Susan. “What can I do?” Ana asks, and Susan waves her off.
“You girls are so polite,” she says. “I’m almost done. Have a seat. Do you want a drink?”
“At least let me get those,” Ana says and starts looking for glasses.
“Top cupboard above the dishwasher,” Susan says without looking. Ana grabs three glasses and pours us some wine.
It’s about five minutes before we sound like ourselves again, and I think how odd it is that I’ve only been away from Ana for a few weeks, and yet, I already feel estranged. Then it occurs to me that I haven’t been away from Ana for a few weeks. I’ve been away from her since Ben died. I let myself die when he did. I wonder if it was longer than that. I wonder if when I met Ben, part of me lost Ana. If so, I want her back. I want what we had back.