Thirty-One

Sara

It feels incredibly weird to even say this, but my mother-in-law is dating. Dean Francis’s profile photo is very attractive if you go for men with iron-gray hair, eager smiles, and tortoiseshell glasses. As opposed to men in their, say, mid-forties who have brown hair and secret families.

According to Dorothy, Dean is even more attractive in person than he appears online. She’s met him for coffee three times at three different Starbucks. I dropped her off the first time they met and actually watched through the window just in case, as if she were seventeen and not seventy-five. But you hear such awful stories about romance scams and con men who prey on lonely older women that I wanted to have eyes on him. She used her newly installed Lyft app to get to their second and third coffees. Yes, Dorothy is using Lyft, Uber Eats, and SilverSingles. So much for “old dogs” and their inability to learn new tricks.

I’m dressed for my shift at Between the Covers and have just enough time to down a bowl of raisin bran and a piece of toast.

“I have my own reusable coffee cup now,” Dorothy says. “And I get ten cents off every time I bring it in. Plus, I got a Starbucks card and I registered it, so that adds another 8.33 percent discount and free refills every time I use it.”

“He doesn’t buy your coffee?” I look up from the bowl of raisin bran that I’m shoveling in.

“Oh, he always tries to pay,” she says. “But I wouldn’t want to be beholden. You never know what a man might expect in return.”

I am careful not to laugh, partly because my mouth is full of raisin bran. But it’s hard to imagine just how much a man might feel entitled to in exchange for a cup of coffee and an occasional blueberry muffin.

“He’s made me promise that I’ll go to dinner with him next time. And he’s already warned me that he’ll be paying.” She harrumphs and attempts to hide her happiness behind her normal crusty exterior.

“Where do you think you’ll go?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says airily. “But Dean is used to dining at the best places. He’s had such an exciting life. After Harvard he was an investment banker in New York. On Wall Street. And then he was in LBOs, that’s leveraged buyouts, when they were becoming a thing. He ended up in Atlanta on a deal and never left. Now he serves on charitable boards. And consults. But what I love most is how fondly he speaks of his wife. But then they were married for over thirty years. I think that says quite a lot for his character.”

I choke slightly on my cereal at the mention of character, which my own husband, her son, so sorely lacks. “What part of town does he live in?”

“Oh, somewhere up off 85, I think he said. Around Duluth.” Her brow furrows as she tries to remember. “Sugar Coat Club? Or something like that, I think.”

“Sugarloaf Country Club?” I name the well-known and affluent suburb.

“Yes, I think that’s it. Although he has complained about rattling around in the huge home where they raised their children. Now that they’re both grown and living outside of Georgia, he’s thinking of downsizing.”

“How nice.” I don’t point out that we may soon be forced to downsize to no home at all, if my divorce doesn’t go as I hope.

“Did you know Annell met someone online, too?” Dorothy asks.

“Um, no.”

Dorothy’s hands flutter. A smile flickers on her lips. It’s amazing what a real smile can do to a person’s face.

“She texted me all about it.” This is another new skill my mother-in-law has developed in order to be able to communicate with her online heartthrob. And, apparently, with Annell. “He’s divorced, I think.” This is clearly not as attractive as being a widower. “But he loves to garden and read almost as much as she does.”

“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to ride with you to the store.” Her smile flickers back to life. “Annell asked if I’d come help with story time. And I’m eager to see photos of the man she met online. It’s really quite exciting.”

I nod and smile because no speaking is actually required. And because I can’t possibly be jealous that Annell and Dorothy are communicating directly. Without me.

When we arrive at Between the Covers, there is no surreptitious depositing of book club names or even blank pieces of paper.

I’ve barely set my purse on the counter or hugged Annell hello when she and Dorothy make a beeline for each other.

“I honestly can’t believe how perfect a match he is,” Annell says in delight. “It’s almost as if he was made-to-order.”

They decamp to Annell’s office so that Dorothy can get a look at Howard Franklin, whom Annell is already referring to as Howie, even though they haven’t yet met in person.

I hate to sound bitter or jealous, but they remind me of my middle schoolers down to the squeals of excitement.

I stuff a few book club name suggestions in the box, only it’s nowhere near as fun as it was when Dorothy and I were psyching each other out.

jaun·diced

\ ˈjȯn-dəst, ˈjän- \

adjective

1. affected with or as if with jaundice

2. exhibiting or influenced by envy, distaste, or hostility

Ex: “My view of men and relationships may be slightly jaundiced.”

Erin

Early Saturday afternoon, I pull up in front of my brothers’ house to deliver a care package from our mother, who, despite the height and weight of her three sons, lives in constant fear that they will somehow waste away to nothing if she fails to provide regular sustenance. Travis’s Jeep, which is the largest of their vehicles, is in the driveway, with its back window up and its tailgate open. Duffel bags and camping gear are stuffed inside.

I knock on their front door, which is only a formality because it is virtually never locked. “Mom sent you guys some homemade subs and brownies,” I announce as I walk in. I don’t mention the salad she’s also sent because I know it will never be eaten.

“Perfect timing.” Travis is packing a cooler that sits on the kitchen counter.

“It’s like she can read our minds or something,” Ryan says as he takes a six-pack out of the open refrigerator and hands it to Tyler, who then passes it to Travis to stuff into the cooler.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Road trip,” Ryan replies. “The Braves are playing a doubleheader against the Rays tomorrow, and Josh hooked us up with tickets. We’re driving down to Florida today and coming back on Monday. We’re all going to take sick days.”

I would never do that sort of thing to Jazmine or any other employer, but I am not my brothers’ keeper. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon as we have the Jeep loaded.”

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Ty asks. “That we’re still friends with Josh?”

Travis stops loading beer long enough to cuff him on the back of the head. He’s protective that way.

“Of course not.” My answer is automatic. I told Josh to his face that calling off our wedding turned out to be for the best, but was it true or was I just trying to save face?

I feel around inside searching for tender spots, hidden bruises. Nada. The well of loss that I once thought I’d drown in? All dried up.

The only thing inside me is . . . me. Which is kind of stunning. “It really, truly doesn’t bother me. Not even a little bit.” I straighten and examine myself one more time. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.”

Their faces show various degrees of skepticism. But I haven’t felt this good or this clear since the day Josh told me he couldn’t marry me. I love learning from and working with Jazmine. I’m building new skills and growing stronger and more confident every day. I can hardly wait to start representing clients of my own.

“In fact, I think it’s time to look at apartments.” The idea sends a little shiver of excitement darting through me.

“You can live with us if you want,” Travis offers generously.

“Yeah,” Tyler chimes in.

“Sure,” Ryan adds. “There’s that extra room just after you come in from the garage. You’d have your own space. All you’d have to share is the bathroom.”

My shiver of excitement turns to a shudder.

“It could be sort of like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,” Ryan says.

“Except there’s only three of us,” Ty points out.

“And we’re clearly not dwarfs.” Travis rolls his eyes.

They look at me expectantly.

“That is so sweet of you,” I say, going up on tiptoe so that I can kiss each one of them on the cheek. “But I’ve never really lived on my own, and I think it’s time.”

I am touched by their offer. Really. But the bathroom thing? Not even a zombie apocalypse could induce me to share one with all three of them. Ever.

Judith

I wander through the silent house, slipping in and out of empty rooms.

Nate’s clothes, including decades of lucky ties, still hang in our closet. The kids’ bedrooms haven’t changed since they were in high school. They’re hermetically sealed time capsules of the children they once were. Documentation of the family we used to be.

The all-white kitchen feels cold and sterile. It’s no longer a place where meals are cooked or shared. It’s a place I walk through or heat something up in, where I make my lone cups of coffee.

In the family room, I sit down in the recliner from which Nate watched a succession of ever-thinner, ever-larger televisions and stare unseeing out the French doors to the backyard, where sunlight dapples the magnolia leaves. I catch a faint buzz of a distant lawn mower as my neighbors go about their lives.

There are things I could do. Places I could go. But I sit here in the silent emptiness. I have to do something, change something. Become something. Because if I continue to try to fill this place up by myself, I’m going to snap.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I do the thing I’ve been unable to make myself do. I hit speed dial and wait for Ansley to pick up.

“Hi, Mom. We just got home. Can I call you back a little later? We . . .”

“No.” I say this quickly, before she can hang up. Because if I don’t do this now, I’m afraid I never will. “Hold on. I’m going to add Ethan to the call.”

When I have them both on the line, I dive in before I can lose my nerve. “I just called to let you know that I’ve decided to sell the house. It’s too big. It’s too full of . . . everything. I need to sell it. And I . . . I just wanted to let you know so that you can come back and select whatever you’d like to keep before I put it on the market.”

Silence follows. I warn myself not to overreact. But I’m not remotely prepared for what comes next.

“Oh, no,” Ansley cries. “You can’t do that!”

“Why would you even want to?” Ethan asks. “Dad loved our house. He always said he’d never move, that he’d have to be carried out . . . feetfirst.” His voice falters as he realizes what he’s just said.

I blink back tears as I remember the EMTs pulling the sheet up over Nate’s face. I steady my voice, determined to sound stronger than I feel.

“As horrible as it was to lose him, your father’s gone. But I’m . . . I’m here in this huge house all alone, and it’s . . . I just don’t want to do this anymore.”

“But giving up the house would be like losing him all over again,” Ansley declares. “It would be the end of . . . us.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Ethan demands.

“How can you be so selfish?” Ansley adds.

Am I being selfish? Was I wrong to think they’d understand?

Silent tears stream down my face as they berate me. My heart aches in my chest. Their anger is hot and scathing, but it’s their anguish that pierces me to the core. I have loved my children beyond measure since the moment of their birth. I’ve spent my entire adult life cherishing and protecting them. I have always put them and their well-being first. How can I possibly do something that will inflict more pain?

“I’ve got to go.” I can barely get the words past the ball of hurt and disappointment that clogs my throat. “We’ll . . . we’ll talk about this later.”

I hang up quickly, then sit and stare through the scrim of tears. I’ve spent these months living with Nate’s absence, but Ansley and Ethan haven’t processed their loss. Will time help? Do I owe it to them to give them that time? I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this house and on this same path without losing my mind. But if I do move forward, will they forgive me?

My sobs are the only sound that breaks the silence that surrounds me. When the tears finally subside, I call Meena in desperate need of one of her pithy pep talks or at least some sympathy.

“Aww, Jude. I’m really sorry to hear that. Your kids are only thinking of themselves at the moment, and that’s so unfair to you. Life can be so . . . unpredictable.” It’s only when she pauses and takes a shuddering breath that I realize she’s crying, too. “Just when you think you have it figured out . . . things just . . . fall apart.”

“What’s wrong, Meena?” I ask, my own voice faltering. I’ve heard Meena cry maybe two or three times in all the years I’ve known her. “Did something happen to the kids? Or to Stan?”

“No.” She sniffs. “I’m so embarrassed to be crying over something so silly, especially given what you’re dealing with.”

“What is it? Can you tell me on the phone? Or do you want me to come over?” Meena has always been there for me. I don’t know how I would have survived any of what’s happened without her.

“It’s Frank.”

“Oh my God! Was he in an accident? What happened?”

“I don’t know. Everything was so great. We had that wonderful vacation, and he’s been so sweet. I even told him that I was willing to be exclusive. You know, to see how it went.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I really don’t know. But when I told him I didn’t want to live together, he just . . . ghosted me.”

“He what?”

“He disappeared. He doesn’t answer my emails or respond to my texts. I tried reaching out through his profile on Match, but it’s gone. He’s taken it down.”

Her drama somehow helps distract me from my own, at least for the moment.

“Can’t you go by his house and try to talk to him?”

There’s a silence. “I don’t know where he lives. I’ve never been there.”

“What?” Now I wonder if Frank is married. If Frank is even his real name. He could be anybody.

“He told me he lives in Alpharetta. But like I told you, he has an office here in Buckhead, so we just always made plans around my place. Because there’s so much more to do here in town.”

There’s more sniffling.

“I’m on my way, Meen. I’m coming over and we can talk about it. Make some kind of plan for both of us. And cry on each other’s shoulders.”

“But promise you won’t tell anyone about the Frank thing, okay? Not yet anyway. God, I feel like an imbecile. After raving about online dating and talking everybody into trying it, I feel completely ridiculous.”