Page 5 of Backslide
Total avoidance.
Cara
Not going to be possible.
Nellie
Anything is possible. If you believe.
The dots appear, then disappear. Then appear again.
She is losing patience with me. Or she would be, if she wasn’t Cara and the most tolerant human on earth.
I exhale. I’m sure she’s worried that I’m about to ruin her whole celebration with my bullshit. I’m not quite sure why since it’s semi out of character, but Cara is clearly puttinga lotof stock in this trip she’s planned for us all—checking, rechecking, and triple-checking every detail. And to be honest, she has no clue the amount of emotional baggage I am currently carrying. It makesmy giant suitcase look like a fanny pack. There is so much I am saving for a more appropriate time. And most of it has nothing to do with Noah. But, right now, I need to offer her reassurance. Because her stress about this potential complication is no good. I can’t have that.
I text:
Nellie
Don’t worry, CB!
CB is short for Care Bear. Sabrina and I gave Cara this nickname in drunken celebration after shefinallydumped a particularly simpering boyfriend who called her “Funshine” earnestly after one of theCare BearsTV characters—a major red flag. (Cara had more than one simpering boyfriend before Ben.) But the name also seemed to match her maternal instincts. She is our mama bear.
So, I continue:
Nellie
Please don’t stress! I’m just fine and I will behave. This week is about you having fun and celebrating the love of your life and drinking a lot of alcohol. But, like, the classy kind.
Cara
And leaving my kids at home! Don’t forget that!
I grin.
Nellie
And leaving your kids at home.
A piercing shriek announces that the baggage carousel is about to begin moving. It rotates five feet, then stops dead in its tracks. False start.
Same, dude. Same.
I roll my shoulders, tight from contorting myself into something approximating a comfortable position during the flight. Extra legroom my ass.
The truth is my right shoulder has bothered me on and off since high school when I damaged my rotator cuff during our senior trip to France. I would like to say I was skiing down a black diamond in the Alps when I took a dramatic tumble, but I was actually tearing a chunk off a deeply stubborn Parisian baguette.
It was so good. I still kind of think it was worth it.
My phone serves up another alert. I’m hoping it’s Sabrina this time, the third on our “Funshiners” text chain, to chime in on my behalf. She and her wife, Rita, are driving up from LA, and should have already arrived. And she is suspiciously silent on this topic.
Historically, she loves to rail against Noah. And basically everything else.
But it’s Cara again.
Cara
BTW as a reminder: there will be a driver holding a sign with your name on it at the curb.
