Page 90 of This Is How It Started
“What is your time frame, Vivian?” Raj asks. “If you’re worried about uprooting the children, perhaps you can ease into it by explaining that there needs to be change. Give them a little time to get used to the idea.”
Vivian sniffles and nods. “That’s what I was thinking. Maybe put it off until the new year. That way we can spend one last Christmas in the house.”
Daishi, who’s recently joined the group after losing his wife to a stroke last winter, pats Vivian’s shoulder. “You should be with your parents. Change is good.”
Change.
I remember the day not so long ago when I had to flee our apartment, how it had become a shrine to Josh, and I had become its prisoner. Yes, change is good.
More people go around the campfire. Daishi wants to start dating again. And Sylvia would like advice on whether she should hire a lawyer for a living trust. Doris wonders if it’s unhealthy to have running conversations with her dead husband.
When it comes to my turn, I freeze. These people are warm and kind and in a way kindred spirits, but I’m not sure I can articulate the profound ways in which my life has changed since Josh died.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat, “next month will be the one-year anniversary of the accident that killed my husband. In my religion and culture, we have this thing called yahrtzeit, where we go to temple on the deceased’s anniversary, say a special prayer, and light a memorial candle. I’m going to Chicago to do that for Josh with my in-laws.” The group hums its support, and I suddenly feel emboldened. “In other news, I’m watching my sister’s marriage disintegrate, I’m stalking my late husband’s ex-girlfriend, and the man I’ve loved since I was twelve years old is moving to the other side of the world. Oh, and I’m thinking about sleeping with my father’s former anesthesiologist.”
The group goes silent.
Chapter 32
A New Story
I’m in the Mission on Monday at the butt-crack of dawn, waiting in line with a dozen other suckers at a well-known Mexican bakery that’s famous for itsbolillorolls. Brooke wants them fortortas,Mexican sandwiches, her contribution to a bon voyage party for one of the nurses in her unit. She worked past midnight last night, so I volunteered to get them for her.
Big mistake. I had no idea the rolls were such a hot commodity and that the bakery usually runs out by eight a.m. There are five people ahead of me, and if they get whatever rolls are left, I’m screwed. The man behind me is talking incessantly, and I haven’t had my coffee yet. He wants to know why a “beautiful woman” like me isn’t married. Yeah, he actually uses that line while staring at my naked ring finger.
I took off my wedding set and locked it away after the Beth sighting at Les Puces. It wasn’t just me lashing out at Josh for Beth, which I know is childish. It was time. It was time to stop pretending that I’m still married. Like Doris says, you can’t spend your life married to a ghost.
The line inches closer to the door, and by the time it’s my turn, there are only two dozen bolillos left. I take a dozen, leaving the now six people behind me to duke it out for the rest.
There’s nothing like the warm smell of bread. Even though it’s earlier than my usual breakfast hour, my stomach growls, and I can kill for a cup of coffee.
I’m only a few blocks from Josie’s. It’s a nice morning, so I decide to hoof it, stopping off at my car to stash the bolillos and then a coffee shop along the way. Shopkeepers are out, sweeping and setting up sidewalk signs. People are walking their dogs. One woman is walking her cat. On a leash. I’ve never seen that before.
On the street in front of Josie’s studio apartment, there’s a pickup truck that looks awfully familiar. But then again, don’t they all look the same? I don’t pay it a second thought while I try to juggle two lattes and a bag of almond croissants. I climb the stairs to Josie’s studio apartment. The scent of fresh tortillas makes me hungrier than I already am. I’m discovering that I can get used to this morning thing. Everything is so vivid...and hopeful.
When I get to her door, I hear voices coming from inside. Two voices. And I recognize both. That certainly explains Stephen’s truck out front, but not why. I twist the knob and it’s unlocked, so I don’t bother to knock, just walk in.
And what I find is my sister and Josie kissing. Like really kissing, kissing like they mean it. I manage to catch the carrier with the lattes before it drops. That’s when the two of them see me and pull apart.
They both stare at me like I’m an apparition.
We stand there awkwardly until I say, “The door was unlocked.”
Josie takes the coffee carrier from me and puts it on the table.
“I only got two,” I say stupidly. “And croissants.” I hold up the bag.
“I’ll make more coffee.” Josie busies herself in the kitchen, leaving me alone with Hannah. At least as alone as we can be in a studio apartment.
For a long time, the two of us don’t speak.
“I guess mazel tov is in order,” I finally say, breaking the silence.
“Are you mad?” Hannah asks, her expression contrite, the same way she used to look when we were kids and her friends would slam her bedroom door in my face, letting me know I wasn’t welcome in their big-girl circle.
Adam may be disappointed. But I’ve always wanted Josie to be an official Gold. “Why would I be mad?” Though I am a little. Not mad, just scared that I’m losing them both.
“That we didn’t tell you,” Hannah says. “It’s just...so new. I’m not even divorced yet. But I’m so happy, Rach.” Joy radiates off her like the sun. Once, a long time ago, she used to smile like that whenever she was happy. Before Stephen.
