On Second Thought

by Kristan Higgins

  I hadn't read those emails yet, either. I just couldn't, and now the thought of them sat in my mind like a tumor.

  Being with my family would be a good distraction.

  My parents' house had been redecorated since the last time I was over, before Nathan died. Everything was now white, save for the abused "pop of color" notion that embodied itself in orange throw pillows--three in a line on the couch, one on each white chair.

  I went into the kitchen. "Hi, everyone."

  "I'm so glad you're here," my mother said. "We all want to see how you're doing."

  "I'm okay," I lied. There was no way in hell that I'd tell them about finding the emails.

  "One month is usually a turning point," she said. "Especially since you really didn't know Nathan very long." She poured herself some wine and fluffed her stiff hair, ignoring the fact that her words had just stabbed me.

  I remember going to one of her book signings, where people would break down, telling her how her wisdom and kindness had changed their lives. She'd take them in her arms and often wipe away her own tears. Genuine tears.

  She'd always been better with strangers.

  "Hello, my darling!" said Gram-Gram. "Oh, you look so pretty! Shall we have lunch together sometime?"

  "That would be really nice, Gram-Gram."

  "I have a wake to go to tomorrow. Would you like to come to that? We could get sushi afterward. Did you know sushi is raw fish? I just found that out!"

  "Yes to the sushi, no to the wake," I said, forcing a smile.

  "How's my princess?" Dad asked, coming inside from where he'd been avoiding the rest of us. He squeezed my shoulder.

  "I'm fine, Dad. How are the Yankees?"

  "Horrible this year. The Orioles, though--shockingly good so far."

  "Nice call the other night. At second?"

  He grinned, the eternal boy of summer. "Thanks, babe. It was a close one, but the replay proved me right."

  "Hey, Kate," Sean said, giving me the requisite fraternal half hug. Even better, he gave me Sadie.

  "Hi, sweet pea," I said, kissing her head and breathing in her smell. "Hi, Esther, hi, Mattie." The other kids gave me dutiful hugs. "God, Matthias, you're getting tall."

  "So good to see you," said Kiara, kissing me on both cheeks. "The kids have missed you!"

  "Is this true?" I asked my nephew.

  "Absolutely," he lied, the good-hearted boy.

  Sadie wriggled to get down, then tugged on Esther's skirt. "Come play!" she demanded, the little tyrant. My arms felt lonely without her.

  "Please stay off the white chairs and couch," Mom called.

  "How have you been?" Kiara asked, her eyes kind. "Do you need anything from me?"

  Drugs? She was a doctor. How about some nice anesthesia? For a second, I thought about asking her to come stay with Ainsley and me for a few days. We could make margaritas and binge-watch trashy reality TV shows.

  But Kiara was a surgeon, and a mother of three. She didn't have time to babysit her middle-aged sister-in-law. "I'm doing okay, I think," I said. "Sleeping better." A total lie.

  "Good, honey," she said. There was a crash from the living room.

  "Kiara, those couches are brand-new." My mother sighed. Kiara lifted an elegant brow at me and went to check on the state of the white.

  Still, this night was the Check On Kate Night, and in a way, it was nice. Sean, being the provider of the grandchildren and a surgeon, usually got the most attention, and Ainsley got a fair amount, too (though not always the best kind...the sort of sad, squinty type my mother was so good at). Then again, Ainsley was Dad's favorite, being Michelle's daughter.

  Me, I was always a little invisible. Which was usually okay, being able to drift in and out without so much attention or criticism. Sean called me the family ninja. But now, with Nathan gone, I felt too invisible, like I was disappearing bit by bit, parts of me dripping onto the sidewalk and evaporating. I wasn't Kate O'Leary as much as Nathan's Widow, left alone in his house, in his town, in his life.

  And knowing that he'd kept a secret from me--a huge secret, it felt like--made me wonder if the validity of my widowhood was being taken from me. I was in mourning for this guy I'd known less than a year, but maybe he wasn't the man I thought. All those emails might tell a different story, one of infidelity or longing for his old life.

  "It's so good to have all of us together," Mom said. I gave her a pointed look. "Well, except for Ainsley, of course. How is she? She's well rid of that Eric. Oh, there was something your father wanted to ask you." This was her line whenever she had something awkward to say.

  Dad stayed mute, so Mom kept going. "He wanted to know, did Nathan have life insurance? That is to say, will you be all set financially?"

  I sighed. "I can support myself, Mom. I have for a long time, in case you forgot."

  "I haven't forgotten. Please stop taking offense at everything I say, though it's natural to lash out at those with whom you feel safe when you're grieving." She looked pleased with herself at the line, which basically excused her from any responsibility and made me look like an unstable ass. "Did he, though?"

  I paused. "Yes."

  "Is it enough?"

  "It's fine. Yes. It was...generous."

  "Oh, hooray!" Gram-Gram said. "You're a wealthy woman! Let's take a trip!"

  I was wealthy. His insurance policy had been for more than a million dollars. The house was also in my name. There'd been some money for Atticus and Miles, too, but the bulk of everything was left for me, his wife of ninety-six days.

  Now it reeked of guilt-money.

  I would have to read those emails, damn it.

  "Did you guys see Eric on TV?" Matthias asked. "I can't believe that guy! He's such a d-i-c-k." He smiled at Sadie. "That means stupid person."

  "I not stupid!"

  "Nope. You're supersmart."

  We passed the platters of food around--salmon, spinach and Mom's special couscous with the pine nuts. All my favorites. Though she wasn't the cuddliest mother in the world, it was awfully nice that she'd made this dinner for me.

  We fell silent for a few minutes, and I watched as my brother, parents, nephew and nieces shoveled in the food. Kiara shook her head and gave me a smile. Nathan once told me his mother insisted that he and Brooke take a bite, put the fork down, chew, swallow and pause before taking another bite. They'd have starved to death in our family.

  I took a bite of the fish. It tasted like nothing. There was only texture, and therefore disgusting, too mushy. The spinach was no better, slimy and limp. I forced myself to swallow.

  "This is so good, Ma," Sean said, already getting seconds.

  "Good, honey. I made all your favorites."

  I should've known.

  My mother tapped her glass in that pretentious way she had when announcing a new book deal or tour. "Kids, there's no easy way to say this. Your father and I--grandfather and I, Matthias and Esther--are getting a divorce."

  "And here we go again," Sean muttered.

  Esther sighed. Kiara drank some wine.

  "This time we're serious. Phil, tell them."

  "Kids, we're getting a divorce."

  "Kate, I thought I'd come live with you," Mom said.

  I flinched. "No."

  "Why? I could take care of you!"

  "I'm fine, thank you."

  "Grandma," Esther said, "this is probably the fifth time you've told us this."

  "Well, sweetheart, this time we mean it."

  "So you were just playing with us all those other times?" I asked.

  "Kate," Mom said in a low voice, "you know your father's a serial cheater."

  "Grandma!" Esther dropped her fork with a clatter. "Gross. Grandpa, you're not, right?" He smiled and winked at her and didn't answer.

  "He always did like the ladies," Gram-Gram said. There was a piece of spinach on her chest. "That's how Ainsley came into this world, after all."

  "Can I be excused?" Matthias said.

  "Actuall
y, we'll all go," Sean said. Kiara didn't need to be nudged twice and leaped to her feet. "I have a surgery in the morning."

  "Me, too," Kiara said. "Lives to save and all that."

  "You pull that card out way too often, you two," I said.

  "Sorry," said my brother. "You're on your own. Your widow card is no good here."

  "Sean!" Kiara gave me an apologetic glance. "But we do both have surgeries tomorrow, and the kids have homework." She scooped up Sadie, who was smashing salmon into paste, and ten seconds later, they were all out, the lucky bastards.

  "We feel it's time," Mom said. "A conscious uncoupling at long last." My father jerked as she no doubt kicked him under the table."

  "We do. It's been a long time coming," he said, like a doll whose string had been pulled.

  Gram-Gram took out her phone and started clicking. Ainsley had told me she was on Tinder.

  I rubbed my forehead. "Well, get a divorce or don't. I'm leaving, too. Mom, just to be clear, you're not coming to live with me."

  "I think it's exactly what you need."

  "Nope. It's not."

  "Phil," Mom snapped, "don't just sit there like a concrete block! You said we'd discuss this together."

  "Right, right," Dad said, looking up from his phone, on which he was no doubt checking baseball scores. "Your mother and I haven't been intimate for months now."

  "Did I ask? I did not." I could feel my neck muscles tightening. "Do you guys remember when I was a freshman in college, and you called to tell me you were getting a divorce? I came home expecting you to be packing and instead walked in on your sexy time!"

  "I don't remember that," Mom said, frowning.

  "Well, I do, and believe me, I wish I didn't. When Ainsley graduated from college, you did it again. That time, Mom, you were going to live with Aunt Patty in Michigan. But you stayed. And then again after Sadie was born, you were all set to buy an apartment in the city, yet here you are. Why do you bother?"

  "We mean it this time." My mother raised a thin eyebrow, insulted that I'd questioned her sincerity.

  "Good. Do it. I dare you. I want you to get divorced. I want you both to remarry so I can have stepparents. I'm leaving now, by the way. Bye, Gram-Gram."

  "Bye, sweetheart! I love you."

  My mother rolled her eyes. "Kate, you barely ate anything. Don't be such a drama queen."

  I sputtered. I was not a drama queen! But you know what? I could turn into one, and fast.

  "Has it occurred to you that I'm a widow?" I barked. "That I have real problems and issues going on? That I can't sleep and I can't stay awake, and I'm living this half-life like some kind of zombie? Maybe you can use your degree and help me out here, Mom! And, Dad...jeez! You were a widower, too. Don't you have anything for me?"

  "Everything you're feeling is normal," Mom said.

  My father shrugged helplessly. "It gets better? Not really, but sort of? For what it's worth, I don't think you're a zombie, honeybun."

  "I love that show about zombies," Gram-Gram said. "Such handsome men! I like Glenn the best."

  I patted her shoulder. "Well, I'm one of them, the walking dead, and the last thing I want to hear from you two is that, once again, you find each other lacking and you're pretending to get a divorce for the seventeenth time."

  "It's hardly been seventeen times," Mom said.

  "Whatever. Bye."

  I slammed out of the house, got into my car and just headed south. I'd go to the diner and get a slab of cheesecake, or drive down to Tarrytown to look at the bridge, or...or...

  Why was I so mad? This wasn't anything new.

  Because being alone wasn't a choice for me. Because I didn't have the luxury of thinking about divorce. Because I'd thought that everyone was worried about me, and that dinner was for me, not stupid Sean, and I was oddly irked that everyone had bought my feeble declaration of doing fine.

  I wanted someone to help me. To fix me. To tell me what to do.

  Abruptly, I pulled into Bixby Park at the southern edge of Cambry-on-Hudson and got out of the car. It was a beautiful place, paths winding throughout, a view of the Hudson, a playground. The trees had leafed out fully this past week, and the sound of the breeze swishing through them was fresh and full.

  I strode westward, my face hot, joints zinging painfully with the adrenaline rush.

  There were benches placed along the path with plaques on them--In celebration of the life of Howard Betelman. In loving memory of James Wellbright.

  Maybe I'd get one for Nathan. He'd like that. We'd come to this park last fall and made out on one of these benches. I wondered which one. It was under a tree, I remembered that.

  In honor of Marnie and Joel Koenig from their lucky children. Nice. This might've been the bench we sat on that beautiful day. The tree's leaves had glowed with gold so intense the air seemed to shimmer, and it had been so incredibly romantic, like the stock photos I occasionally sold to Getty Images. Type in the search words, and you'd see just such a picture--adults, love, romance, autumn.

  Maybe it wasn't this bench. Maybe it was the next one.

  Did he bring Madeleine here, too?

  The thought punched me in the stomach. It was too hard to think about. Better to be pissed off about Mom making salmon for Sean and not me.

  I came upon the next bench and lurched to a stop.

  In honor of Nathan Vance Coburn III, a wonderful son, brother, uncle and friend.

  What? What?

  He had a bench already? Who did this? Why didn't anyone tell me? I was his widow, for God's sake! I was going to buy him a bench, did I not just have that exact thought two minutes ago?

  And hold on one second, my brain said. There's a word missing, isn't there?

  Why yes, there is. Husband. The missing word is husband.

  The Coburns had bought a bench for Nathan and not told me about it. Why? Eloise and I had had another lunch at the club last week, and she'd said nothing!

  I yanked out my phone to call them and demand an answer, then shoved it right back in. I was too mad. Furious, in fact. I turned around, not wanting to see his name, not wanting to see that bench with its stupid bronze plaque, and stomped back to the bench for the couple with the lucky kids.

  My heart was roaring, my face on fire.

  This was turning into a really shitty night.

  There was the playground. Watch the little kiddies, Kate. They don't have a care in the world.

  Three little girls about Sadie's age chased each other around, laughing and shrieking. Their mother (or nanny) had long blond hair and a serene look on her face. A cute guy approached and handed her a cup of coffee (or booze) and touched her shoulder briefly.

  On autopilot, and so I wouldn't have to think about that stupid bench, I fished my Canon out of my bag and aimed it at them.

  They were still new, these two. He had smiley eyes and dimples not reflected in the little girls' faces. They were sisters, maybe even triplets, I guessed; the blonde woman was clearly their mother, but this guy wasn't the dad. And he was smitten.

  There was a story there, I was sure.

  That was what I loved about photography. It told me more about a person than I could ever discern in real life.

  What would I see in those last pictures of Nathan? A man who'd made a mistake? Who wanted to be with his ex-wife? Who was biding his time until he could get free of his impulsive rebound marriage?

  I put my camera down and squeezed the bridge of my nose.

  There were more happy screams from the playground as a fresh batch of kids came streaming in, running, climbing, hurling themselves down the slide without any thought of danger.

  Oh, God, be careful, I thought. Don't bump your heads. Don't fall down. Don't have a tiny vascular defect. Don't die.

  My breath was scraping in and out, in-out, in-out, in-out. Gray spots splotched my vision, and I bent over, but no, that didn't help, was it supposed to help? I was here all alone, no one knew where I was. Ainsley would come, she'd he
lp me, she was so good at this, but shit, she was doing something for work and I couldn't breathe, my lungs were stuck closed, I was about to die.

  Sweat blossomed over me like a virus, and my hands started to shake.

  I groped for my phone to call my dad, but it spilled out of my numb fingers. I reached for it, sliding off the bench, my knees stinging on the asphalt.

  I was fainting. Or dying. The sound of my own breathing grew fainter.

  "Kate?"

  Someone had me by the shoulders.

  Daniel the Hot Firefighter. Good. I wouldn't die alone. I clutched his arms. "Hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn," I managed.

  He smiled. "You're having a panic attack, aren't you? Okay, don't worry. They're not fatal." He pulled me back onto the bench and put his arm around me. "Jane!" he yelled. "Over here. I'll be a while."

  "Hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn." If this Jane person answered, I didn't hear over the sound of my terror. What was that horse movie? Where the horse ran all day and all night across the desert? Hidalgo, that was it. I sounded like Hidalgo.

  "So I'm here with my sister and her bratty kids," Daniel said, as if I was a normal person and not a dying horse. His fingers were on my wrist. "The ice-cream truck comes around, so I'm using that as a bribe. The little one? She's the devil, I swear to God. I told my sister to call the exorcist."

  "Heart...attack," I managed.

  "Probably not. Just take a deep breath and try to calm down."

  "No!" I squeaked, my throat too tight to get out normal sound. "My husband died getting me--hehn--a glass of wine! I can't--hehn--calm down. Do something!" Because my heart was way, way too fast and pretty soon it would explode.

  "Okay, okay," he said, sliding onto his knees in front of me. "Let's see if you can answer a few questions. Put your head down and try not to pant, that's a good girl." I did, feeling his hand on my shoulder. "That's it. Nice and slow. What color panties have you got on?"

  My head snapped up. "What?"

  He pushed my head back down. "Answer the question. Or I could check for you if that would be easier."

  "Aren't you supposed to ask about--hehn--the President?"

  "I don't care about the President's underwear. What color are yours? Throw me a bone and say a red thong."

  "You're such--hehn--a pig," I said, staring at the grass. The gray splotches were getting smaller.

  "I know, I know, red thong, such a cliche. But I'm a guy. We like visual stimulation. White lace panties, they'd be good, too, I guess. Or black. Or none, now that I think of it. Any chance you went commando this morning?"