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“I want a divorce,” I said. I stuck a fork in my chicken parmigiana. The mozzarella cheese atop the red marinara sauce slid to the right.
“We know,” Grandpa Tony said.
“You can read my mind?”
“Your heart,” he replied.
“How could we read your mind and know that?” my grandmother asked. “You haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.”
We were seated at our favorite restaurant in Little Italy. I looked around, remembering another time we were there a few years ago. I had been confiding in them about Mark and wondering what to make of my friend Veronica’s assessment that I was only back together with him because I was afraid to be single.
Now, Grandpa Tony snapped his fingers to the music coming from the band in the other room, his glasses sliding down his hooknose. They were playing “Only the Lonely.” Grandma Rose sat next to him, swaying back and forth to the beat. Her tight, dark curls were perfectly set, and her cat-eye glasses hung from a chain around her neck.
I leaned forward and raised my voice. “Every time he pinches the outer corner of his eyebrow, I cringe. There’s something about that gesture that makes me feel in my gut like ‘How did I end up with this one?’ We are not a match. It was a mistake.”
“No such thing,” Grandma said, her eyes now closed. “La, la, la, di, da, da.”
“And what do you mean I haven’t admitted it to myself? I’ve been Googling ‘Is my marriage beyond repair?’ for three years now. Three years! My social media feed is full of ads for marriage counselors.” I waved my hands in front of my swaying grandparents, trying to get them to focus. “Hello?”
“Sorry, dear,” Grandpa said. “Isn’t that a beautiful tune?”
“I’m not really listening to it.”
“Remember the last time we were here?” Grandma Rose swirled the red wine in her glass.
“Uh, yeah, I do. I was contemplating my relationship with Mark, after our breakup, before we were married. You couldn’t have stopped me then?”
“Doesn’t work like that,” Grandpa said, tucking the red cloth napkin into his collar.
“We don’t tell you what to do,” Grandma Rose said. “We guide you toward the path that will, ya know, be the right path for you, the one where you’ll learn the most.”
Marrying Mark was the right path?
Grandma Rose and Grandpa Tony guided me then as they guided me now, as they had guided me all my life. They were my mom’s parents, and they had both died before I was born. I was so comfortable there, with them, even though I had never actually known them in life.
That was how it worked. My grandparents had explained it to me on several occasions. “When you’re awake, alive, going about your life with your guard up, you can’t see or hear or feel us. But when you’re asleep, on another plane, you can see, speak, be with your loved ones on the other side—us and all of the ones who’ve gone before ya, even if we’ve never met on earth. You work it all out with your spirit guides even if you don’t remember, which you usually don’t. You may not believe in such things while you’re awake, but when you’re asleep, you are in a meeting. There’s a reason things always seem better in the morning.”
“Jada, we know you’re lonely, dear,” Grandma Rose said as she twirled her linguini. “We can see it.”
“Well, if you see things, you would know I’m not living in some basement, playing dominos by myself every night. Lonely? I would love to be left the hell alone most of the time.”
“Just because you’re not alone, doesn’t mean you’re not lonely.”
I would have described my current state as miserable, depressed, unhappy, or stuck. It had never occurred to me that I was lonely. I had so many people in my life: Mark, Ethan, my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, my nieces, my in-laws, my coworkers, my mommy friends.
“Well, okay, call it what you want,” I said. “But something has to change. I want a divorce.”
Grandpa Tony lifted his head from his bowl of linguini as he twirled the noodles with a fork and spoon into perfect spiraled bites. “Big talker.”
“I mean it.”
“Oh yeah?” Grandma Rose asked. “Something has to change? Tomorrow, you’re going to talk to Mark about this? Oh, Jada Ann, how you talk like you are so brave. But your mouth is bigger than your actions. Always has been.”
“Gee, thanks. Well, don’t we meet here so you can help me? That’s what I need help with.”
They smirked at each other.
“Please. Don’t you see my life? Don’t you know what I’m feeling?”
“Listen, sweetheart, we love you. But right now, we need a little extra help,” Grandpa Tony explained as he lay down his fork and spoon and leaned forward. “We gotta call in the big guns. Ya know what I mean? A different energy, as they’d say. We got no choice, especially with what’s coming next—”
“Tony!” My grandmother cut him off.
“What’s coming next?” Panic rose in my chest. “What does that mean?”
“We’re able to see things like a fly on the wall. That’s how we explain it,” Grandma Rose said. “We’re able to see what’s coming down the pike, what’s happening that you can’t see. But you will know soon enough. Ya know, like where you’re going to be at a certain time and place and who else will be there.”
“Huh? Who? Where? What are you talking about?”
“So with that being said,” my grandfather continued as if he hadn’t heard my pleas for more information, “we think ya’d do better with a different energy.”
“A big gun, like Grandpa said.”
“Who? What? God?” I asked.
“No. Not that big.”
“Who?” I pressed.
“Gina Rose,” my grandfather said.
My mouth went dry. I reached for my wine. My cousin. She was Gina to me. The only person who’d ever called her Gina Rose was her mom, Aunt Fran, my mother’s sister.
The car accident had happened twelve weeks before my wedding. I’d woken up in the middle of the night to my mother screaming into the phone and being held up by my father in the kitchen while she was still on the line with my uncle Eddie, Gina’s father. I had stayed at my parents that night because we were supposed to go to my sister’s maid-of-honor dress fitting the next day.
I’d visited with Gina on the other side in these dream visits before. She always seemed happy and had the same relaxed glow my grandparents had, which I guessed came simply with being there. But she wasn’t a regular. When I did see her there, it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t like meeting with my grandparents, who looked like they did in old family photos. Although they’d died in their thirties, they still carried the aura of being old and wise. Maybe it was their old-fashioned glasses, hairstyles, and clothes. It was different with Gina. It was hard to see someone who looked so young and “present-day” on the other side.
“Gina’s stopping by?” I asked.
“We’ll check in here and there,” Grandma Rose said as she inched to the edge of her chair to stand up.
“You’re going to leave me with her?”
“Speak of the devil,” Grandpa Tony said, waving his hand toward something behind me.
There she was, all spiky black hair and Converse sneakers. Her tiny diamond nose ring flickered as she stood there with her hands in her front pockets. “Hey.” She shrugged as if we’d just seen each other.
I stood and hugged her hard and tight. She was so tiny. I choked back a tear as her bony shoulder jabbed my throat.
“Jada, what the fuck?”
Still Gina. “Sorry. I guess it feels like...” Like you shouldn’t be here, and it’s tragic.
“Like what?” she asked. Was she going to force me to say that?
“Nothing.” I swallowed.
She peered over my shoulder. “Hi, Gram. Hey, Gramps.”
They said, “Hi, sweetheart,” and “Hi, Gi,” at the same time, like they’d just spent time with her yesterday, which they probably had. But time seemed to work differently there. It was not a three-dimensional world. There were no time, space, or other constraints, like calories, Grandma Rose often pointed out.
“How have you been?”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Good. I’m happy Grandma and Grandpa want me to help. We’ll figure this shit out.”
“What shit?”
She tilted her head. She looked exactly as I remembered her—five feet tall, barely a hundred pounds. She wore a white T-shirt with a drawing of a dragonfly surrounded by stars and planets.
We’d always had similar personalities but different styles and interests. While I had been taking the LSAT and pursuing law, she’d been taking drugs and pursuing music. She’d left Queens, too, and had lived in Manhattan the same time I had. But she’d hung out downtown, going to live concerts in art-collective lofts, while I’d drunk martinis and flirted with investment bankers. I often regretted not making more of an effort to hang out with her, especially considering we’d lived only a couple of miles apart.
“Didn’t you tell Grandma and Grandpa you want a divorce?”
“Oh. Yeah.” I lowered my gaze for a second. “You can help with that?” I followed her eyes toward our grandparents.
“Jada and Gina, together again,” Grandpa Tony sang as he stood behind us with his arms open wide. “We used to watch you from the other side and say, ‘We have two little rascals to look after.’ And here ya are.”
“All right, let’s get going, Tone. Vincent Bianchi died. Big welcome party. Shrimp the size of your hand, I hear. Come on.” Grandma Rose scooted him toward the door.
“You just ate,” I said.
“Yeah, and? What’s your point?” Grandma asked.
Grandpa Tony blew kisses. “We love you. We’ll see you soon.” Then he turned to Gina. “God help ya,” he said under his breath.
“I heard that,” I called to him.
He held up a hand and waved without turning around as we watched them walk out of the restaurant.
“How are you?” I asked Gina. “Are you happy? I like that T-shirt. Have you seen your mom and sister? Aren’t the girls cute?” I assumed she must see a lot of her nieces.
“Yes.” She waved to a server to order a black coffee and a piece of rum cake. “They’re so cute.”
“I should try to see Andrea more. I know they see Orly and her girls a lot.”
“Don’t worry about that kind of stuff. You’re busy. It’s okay. Let’s talk about you.”
“Do we have to?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“So how are you going to do any better?” I asked. “How are you going to help me? No offense, but what do you know?”
“Ha. Well, even though we never met Grandma and Grandpa while they were alive, they’re still our grandparents, and maybe some things are easier to talk about with your cousin than your grandparents.” Her rum cake arrived, and she forked a huge bite into her mouth.
“What? Like sex?”
“Like a lot of things. You’ll see.”
“See what? You’re all freaking me out this visit.” I reached for my temples.
“Okay. Let’s not talk about you. What do you want to talk about?” She scraped up every last bit of rum cake.
“Cori’s getting married. It’s so unfair, isn’t it? She’s there, getting married, and you’re here.”
Cori was Gina’s best friend. She had been driving the night of the accident. I couldn’t understand why she would ever send me a connection request on social media, but I’d accepted, and now I saw her doing all of the things Gina should have been doing—vacations, new jobs, new relationships, milestones. It’s so unfair. I knew I should have hidden her from my newsfeed, but I was too curious.
Now it was Gina’s turn to not want to talk about something. She flipped it back and got right to the point. “Why haven’t you ever said the words ‘I want a divorce’ to yourself? Like in your waking moments, not just here.”
“I don’t know. It feels too big, too final, and too overwhelming, I guess.”
“I want to help you.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Want?”
I shook my head. “You still smoke?”
She lit one, inhaled, and exhaled slowly. “God, I love smoking. Sure you don’t want one? We’re here, not there. It doesn’t count, like calories.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Isn’t it great? You go to bed, meet with your dead relatives, they talk you off the ledge, you eat junk food, smoke cigarettes—if you want—and wake up with a whole new perspective? A whole new life plan if you so desire.” She winked as she held the cigarette between her teeth.
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard that’s how it works.”
She took another seemingly satisfying drag. It was amazing to see her still being so very Gina. She’d never been prim and proper. She was born carefree, and it appeared she would stay that way. I guessed that was how it worked. You are who you are.
We’d both been willful children. According to family lore, when we were around six years old, Gina and I had fought over a Barbie doll at Orly’s birthday party. It was mine—Executive Barbie with a pink suit and pink briefcase—and Gina wanted to play with it, but I didn’t want her to play with that one. I had five other Barbies she could play with. That one was not to be played with by anyone but me. Still, she insisted. By the time our mothers tore us apart, Executive Barbie was missing a head and a left arm.
When Gina left that day, I repaired Barbie’s limb and put her head back on. We never did find the briefcase, but I substituted a beach bag from Malibu Barbie, and she was back in business. I’d hidden her under my parents’ bed every time Gina had come over after that. I told Gina I’d thrown her away because she’d ripped Barbie’s head off and that she should feel very sorry. Now, as she sat before me, I would give her a truckload of Barbies and more if it could reverse time.
“The feisty ones are the most fun to watch over,” Gina said. “Remember Barbie? Her briefcase ended up flung into a ball of wrapping paper from Orly’s presents. It got thrown away. I know that now.”
“Huh, so that’s what happened to it.” I cocked my head. “What else do you know?”
“You’ll see.” She exhaled a trail of smoke and smashed her cigarette out in the cake plate. “Buckle up.” She snickered.
“Will you people stop it, please, with these ominous statements? I’m going to wake up with a pit in my stomach. Thanks a lot.”
“Sometimes that happens.”
“Do you see us? Mark and me?”
“Two ships.”
“Passing in the night? Not really. More like two ships that came upon each other, tied their anchors together, and just float there. One of them has a water slide and a bar, and the other one has the PBS radio hour blaring from the speakers.”
“Which one are you?”
“Water slide, of course.”
“I don’t know if you see each other the way you really are, Jada. You’re not exactly a party girl.”
“Not anymore. I have a job, a kid, a commute.”
“You weren’t even when you were single. I mean, you had fun in college and law school with your friends Veronica and Lauren, but you weren’t a crazy girl.”
“Maybe not like you, but we have different styles.” I tipped my head and smiled, hoping that expressed what I didn’t want to say.
She read my mind. “I didn’t do that many drugs. The point is maybe Mark doesn’t think you’re all that much fun either.”
“Does he wish I’d steal his Planetarium Magazine and he would have to tickle me to get it out of my hands?”
“Maybe when he’s explaining the hydrologic cycle, he could be thinking, ‘Nothing, Jada? Not even a little curious?’”
“He thought that? Well, no, not curious. Not interesting to me. Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m just saying maybe you’re two ships with different ideas of fun.”
“Agreed. So how the hell did we end up together? I know—he was perfect on paper. But what a mistake.”
“There are no mistakes, only lessons.”
“Oh, please! What have you turned into?”
“I’m still me.” She reached for another cigarette. “But I’m here now, and I can see things differently. And I can help you see things from where you are.” She held her fingers in a V formation over her mouth while she savored the first drag. “I see what you’re going through, though. I do. You created a life that looks good from the outside but doesn’t feel good.”
I nodded. “Another one I’ve seen on a meme with an ocean background. They all have ocean backgrounds.”
“It’s still true, isn’t it?” She offered me a puff.
I accepted it this time and, like Gina, tried to savor the moment. My lips squeezed it slightly, and I inhaled. “It’s good to see you,” I said as I exhaled.
She toasted me with her coffee cup. “You too.”
“Gina Rose, you’ve been so missed.”
“Well, I’m here now. And you can’t get rid of me.” She smashed her cigarette into her dessert plate. “You can’t avoid me like you avoid Mark and the state of your marriage.”
“I don’t avoid him.”
She cocked her head to the side as she studied my face.
“Well, he avoids me too.”
She pointed her finger at me as if to say, “Bingo!”
I pushed her finger to the side. “It’s rude to point.”
“You have to do something for me. An assignment. Well, not for me. For you.”
“What?”
“Don’t sound so excited. I’m here to help you. Remember?”
“Will I remember this?”
“In your gut. You’ll see.”
“Like ‘Trust your gut. It’ll never steer you wrong’? Please stop talking in memes.”
“No. I mean ‘in your gut’ like I’m warning you to buy adult diapers.”
“Oh.”
“I’m kidding! Yes, trust your gut. It’s a message from us, over here.” She waved her hand above her head. “Some memes happen to be true. So listen to it.”
“Okay, what do you want me to do? Now I’m just relieved I’m not going to shit my pants.” I adjusted in my seat and rested my elbows on the table.
“Good. You have been Googling how to improve your marriage but doing nothing about it. What you actually know to be true is that you and Mark have gone as far as you can. What you want is a divorce, but you can’t admit it to yourself. You admit it here, but over there, you would rather suffer through this life and daydream about running away rather than admit ‘defeat.’ You are ashamed to have made a mistake. But there are no mistakes.”
“No mistakes. Yes, you mentioned that.”
She smirked.
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Two things. First, you have to admit to yourself what you truly want.”
“I know what I want,” I said.
“Oh, really? To improve your marriage? You and Mark should go to counseling, then?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not what I really want.”
“Exactly. You’ve never made the leap to admitting you want a divorce because you equate it with admitting defeat. You’d rather suffer as long as your life looks good on social media. You have to finally admit to yourself what you know deep down.”
“How?”
“Get quiet. Get off your phone. Get out of your head. Listen to what’s around you. Really listen. The answer will come.”
I blinked for a long second to stifle an eye roll.
“Roll your eyes all you want.”
“What’s the other thing?” I asked.
“Talk to Mark.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“Talk to him. Get his thoughts on the state of your marriage. See what he says. And do it before you go to San Francisco.”
“San Francisco? I’m moving?”
“No, traveling. You’ll see. Just listen to me. You and Mark need to speak directly and honestly, face-to-face, no distractions.”
“Like a date night? We haven’t had a date night since before Ethan was born.”
“I know. You don’t actually have to go out. I know you don’t trust a babysitter, your nanny works all day, and your parents and sister live in Queens. I know. I see it all. Put Ethan to bed, have a glass of wine, and talk.”
“About what?”
“About why he likes his eggs sunny-side up.”
“He likes to dip the bread in the runny part.”
“About the state of your marriage, you idiot! This kinda involves him, so you have to actually have a conversation that’s more than surface level.”
I bit my lip. “That’s kind of the problem. I can’t remember our last deep conversation, if ever. How is that possible?”
“I know. Just give it a try.” Gina leaned in. “I’ll know if you don’t.”
I leaned forward and met her gaze. “That’s creepy.”
We laughed. “Not really,” she said. “I promise.” She reached for her cigarettes and pulled out two. She lit one and handed it to me.
“Another one?”
“When in Rome. Or heaven.”
I took it and inhaled. “I’ve got a tough guardian angel.”
She lit her own cigarette and leaned back. “The best kind.”