On Grace

by Susie Orman Schnall

  He’s waiting by the door, anxious to get back to the city. Anxious to get as far away from me as possible.

  chapter twenty-one

  “I’d like to make a toast,” Cameron says, lifting her glass of Prosecco.

  I smile and lift my glass.

  “I’d like to make a toast to two pretty big things: friendship and life. To friendship,” she says, smiling and looking me straight in the eye. “For the past three weeks, you have been the most magnificent friend. You have been there for me every step of the way, and I am so grateful to you for that. To life. My life is about to change in a big way on Wednesday. Well, I guess it already has changed. But starting with my surgery, I am going to embark on a journey that I know will impact me forever. So I’d like to toast to a successful surgery, an easy recovery, a manageable treatment regimen, and good times around the corner.”

  “Cheers,” I say, clinking her glass and savoring the delicious sparkling wine.

  “I really can’t believe the surgery is finally here. I just want this cancer out of me already,” Cameron says assuredly.

  “I can only imagine,” I say as the waiter sets down roasted beet salad for Cameron and deviled eggs for me.

  We’re at BG Restaurant on the seventh floor of Bergdorf Goodman. This is our favorite place to have lunch in the city, mostly because of its breathtaking views of Central Park, but also because of the ridiculously chic design by Kelly Wearstler. We were lucky enough to land one of the tables with the pale-blue leather egg chairs. In the past we’ve come here to celebrate birthdays, job promotions, and other milestones in our lives. Today, we’re here to celebrate, maybe commemorate is a more appropriate word, Cameron’s double mastectomy that will take place in exactly two days.

  “I realize it’s strange that I wanted to come here for a sort of celebration lunch,” Cameron says, shrugging her shoulders and looking around at the hustle and bustle of waiters, society ladies, and overcompensating tourists.

  “I actually think it’s perfect,” I say, trying to gracefully eat one of my delicious deviled eggs. I order them every time I come here. I know I should branch out and try something new, but I dream of these. Really.

  “I just feel like I should elevate this occasion in my life. Now, I know that sounds strange. But I almost feel like I should respect it, give it some reverence. It’s huge, and if I just go into this huge life event and pretend that it’s not huge then I somehow let it win. I’m not trying to make light of the seriousness of this whole thing, because I am nervous as hell. I just need to not make it all so heavy.”

  “I get it,” I say. “You feel like you need to acknowledge the prominence it has taken in your life, and what better way to tell cancer to, pardon me, fuck off, than to give it a going-away party at Bergdorf Goodman?” I ask giddily.

  “Well, I’ll drink to that!” Cameron says, and we toast.

  I smile at Cameron and reflect on all we’ve been through over the past few weeks. If everything happens for a reason (and someday maybe we’ll learn the reason that Cameron got breast cancer), I know why I didn’t get the job from Nicole. If I had, I would have been working instead of being there for my best friend during one of the most, maybe the most, unstable periods in her life.

  After Cameron met with several breast surgeons, she selected a brilliant young female doctor at Sloan-Kettering. Based upon their discussions, Cameron opted for a double mastectomy. There technically isn’t any cancer in her right breast now; however, the diagnosis of “lobular carcinoma in situ” means that she is at increased risk of new cancer developing there in the future. Cameron decided she didn’t want to take any chances or have to go through this all again, so she is going with the double.

  Once Cameron had made her surgery date, we came up with a list of everything she needed to do to prepare: meet with the plastic surgeon about reconstruction, figure out what to do with her pediatric practice in her absence, meet with a fertility doctor about freezing her eggs, buy zip-up sweatshirts and pajamas because she won’t be able to lift her arms after the surgery, etc.

  “I don’t know why I feel so light,” Cameron says. “This is very strange. But one thing I’ve learned from all this is you can’t predict how you’re going to react or feel or behave when trauma is presented in your life. So I’ll embrace feeling light. It’s certainly better than feeling depressed. Thank God I’m not depressed.”

  “I think you’re right. We all fear the worst. Okay, I’ll rephrase that. I fear the worst. But quite possibly, when the worst comes it brings with it a little bit of relief because the worst has finally come. Does that make any sense?” I ask.

  “Only because I know you,” Cameron laughs.

  “Okay, whatever, you know what I mean. I am so proud of you, though, Cam. You have taken this whole thing in stride, you’ve done what you’ve had to do, and you’re confronting this breast cancer like you’ve confronted everything else in your life: you are looking it straight in the eye, and you’re confident you’re going to kick its ass.”

  “Thanks, Grace,” Cameron says. “That being said, I’m ready to get this surgery over with. I feel like the anticipation of it has been consuming my life. And then I’ll be able to deal with what comes next. But the good part is that I’ve given myself the opportunity over the past few weeks to feel as well as I can so that I have the capacity to be this confident. I’m so happy I went back to work, even if my schedule was a bit sporadic. And I’m so happy that I’ve been eating so well and doing so much yoga. I think it has all just given me a really good foundation.”

  “I think you’re absolutely right,” I say. “You’re a true model for what to do in a situation like this.”

  “How are you doing with the whole Darren thing?” Cameron asks me carefully. I can tell she’s relieved to change the subject.

  I exhale dramatically. “It’s so bad, Cam. It’s been exactly three weeks since I came back from L.A., and it boggles my mind to think he’s been staying at one of those apartments his firm has in the city this whole time. Thankfully, he comes home several times a week to see the boys and put them to bed; but then he drives back to the city. They have no idea he doesn’t sleep at home. They just think he’s been traveling a lot for work.”

  “Jeez,” Cameron says.

  “Sometimes I feel really confident that he just needs to go through this phase and punish me for what I did, or what he believes I did, and then he’ll come back and we’ll be okay. And other times, I completely give up hope and convince myself that I ruined everything, and that he’s going to serve me with divorce papers any day.”

  “Oh, Grace. I really can’t believe how crazy it has all gotten between the two of you. And I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping up on it all. I’ve been a little distracted,” she says softly.

  “Of course, Cameron. And you know I haven’t wanted to bother you with any of it anyway. I’ve mostly been just trying to not focus on it, which is a big joke, to try to stay positive. But I’ve never been very good at that. I feel like I’ve tried everything in my quest to get him back and to convince him that I didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m growing impatient at trying to be understanding of why he’s angry, when, in all honesty, I think his anger is unfair and a big barrel of crap. I should be the one pissed at him for trying to equate what we did. In the meantime, he doesn’t answer my emails or return my calls. He’s completely shut me out.”

  “I’m so sorry you guys are going through all this. I really hope it comes out well on the other side,” Cameron says.

  “Thanks. Me, too.” I try to move Darren to the back of my mind so I can focus on Cameron.

  The waiter brings us each a Gotham Salad, which is basically a Cobb, and we talk about what needs to happen before the surgery on Wednesday morning.

  Over tea and raspberry sorbet, I get serious with Cameron.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about some of the conversations we’ve had over the past few weeks, and I just want you to know how eye-o
pening they’ve been for me.”

  “In what way?” Cameron asks, licking the sorbet off her spoon and diving in for more.

  “Well, remember that time we were talking about how your diagnosis opened our eyes to thinking about how we prioritize our lives and what we fill our days with? Whether we should live our lives differently?” I ask.

  “I do,” she says.

  “You reminded me of how I used to be so happy-go-lucky and carefree. And I know having kids changed that landscape and I had to act more responsibly and all, but your saying that really resonated with me,” I say, dipping my spoon into my sorbet.

  “How?” Cameron asks, taking a sip of her tea.

  I sit back in my chair and look out the window. “I need to reclaim some of my old self. I need to lighten up a bit and stop focusing on expenditure of time always being for the sake of impressive accomplishment. Sometimes I should just spend my time doing something I want to do and not feel guilty if it doesn’t result in something.”

  “Do you think you’re gonna change?” she asks me, tilting her head quizzically.

  “I’m certainly gonna try.”

  “That’s great, Grace.”

  “It’s just that between what my family has been telling me and what you’ve been trying to tell me for the past few weeks—”

  “And past twenty years,” Cameron interrupts.

  “Yes, that, too. And between what is happening with you and what is happening with my marriage, it’s all just really banged me over the head and made me think about how I just need to enjoy my life.”

  “Hallelujah!” Cameron says, lifting her spoon in the air.

  “I’m serious,” I say, smiling.

  “I’m serious, too,” she says.

  “I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to figure this out, but we’re all going to get sick, have marital problems, or have some other shitty thing happen in our lives. So during the gaps when that crappy stuff isn’t happening, we need to take advantage of the peace and quiet to do what we love, to be vibrant with the people we love, to celebrate the good things in life, to not rush all the time, to know that we’re doing exactly what we’re supposed to be doing, to stop . . . wait for it, wait for it . . . to stop worrying about not doing things the right way and just do them, goddamn it, the way that feels good!” I say, my voice rising at the end and inviting looks from fellow egg chair diners.

  “Oh, Grace! We’ve broken through!” Cameron cheers. “We’ve broken through!”

  “I think, possibly, we have.”

  “The most important thing for you to remember is that you can’t sit around waiting all day for your kids, or some boss, or your husband, or anyone to tell you you’re great. You have to know it, Grace. You have to know you’re great. Because you are.”

  After lunch, Cameron walks uptown to tie up loose ends at her office for a few hours, and I head south to Grand Central. During my walk and on the train home, I think about all that has taken place since the first day of school five weeks ago, and it seems utterly ridiculous, more like a soap opera script than my life: husband cheats on wife, wife gets rejection from two jobs, wife’s best friend has miscarriage, wife reconnects with old flame, wife tells husband, husband storms out, wife’s best friend gets breast cancer. All we’re missing is amnesia, a secret love child, and murder. Unfortunately, it is my life.

  But, looking on the bright side, I also know that the past five weeks have been filled with enough obstacles to effectively change my perspective on life. And that’s a really valuable thing.

  I’ve given up trying to figure out what’s going through Darren’s head and what I should do next. Everything I’ve ever thought I’ve known about him I’m not so sure of anymore. I never suspected he would react like he did. I go over it all the time, questioning if he’s right and I’m wrong. I keep convincing myself that the right thing to do is give him space and time, and then just see what happens.

  “Hey, Grace! I feel like I haven’t seen you in such a long time!” Lorna practically shouts at me with one of her dramatic head tilts as I make my way to the bus stop that afternoon. She’s wearing a ridiculous sailor getup, and it’s all I can do to not look at her and laugh.

  “A couple weeks ago the boys asked if they could just go from the bus into the house without my waiting for them, so I’m letting them do that. I think it gives them a sense of independence. Plus, I watch from the window, so I know they’re okay,” I say, turning my head down the street to look for the bus. I tried to time it today so I wouldn’t have to talk to Lorna, but, damn, the bus is late.

  “Oh,” she says, as if I just told her I’m letting them prostitute themselves downtown at midnight. “I would never let the triplets walk home alone. Even though we are only six houses away. There are just too many reports of abductions these days. You know?” Lorna asks, wiping grass clippings off her navy espadrilles.

  “I heard that a child is more likely to get struck by lightning than to be abducted, but you have to do what you’re comfortable with,” I say sweetly.

  “Well, you can never be too careful, now, can you? Especially when it comes to our most precious commodities. So,” she clucks, “I’ve been meaning to ask how your new job is going.”

  “Unfortunately, some things didn’t work out as I had planned,” I say, craning my neck, “But that’s okay. Everything happens for a reason.”

  “Maybe that reason, Grace, is because you’re supposed to be the third-grade class chair for the winter book fair. We still haven’t filled the spot, and it’s yours if you want it,” she says, blinking heavily and smiling broadly.

  “So sorry, Lorna, but I’ve got a lot of other things going on right now, and I just don’t think it’s good timing.”

  “Oh? Other things?” Lorna asks with a bit too much interest. The gossip-gathering muscle in her jaw pulsing wildly.

  Just then the bus pulls up, and I am saved from having to make up something just to get the damn woman to back off.

  “Mommy, why are you waiting here for us?” James asks with disappointment in his voice. “Remember, we’re big boys and we can go inside by ourselves now?”

  “Yes, I do remember, but once in a while I like to come out here and greet you guys in person.”

  “Okay,” James says and hands me his backpack. Henry does the same.

  “What are we doing this afternoon?” Henry asks.

  “Hmmm. No plans. Did you have anything in mind?” I ask.

  “Ice cream?” Henry smiles, showing all his teeth.

  “Ice cream?” James chimes in.

  “I think ice cream is a great idea,” I say. “And then, what do you say we go over to Hooper’s Farm and pick us some pumpkins?”

  “Can we carve them when we get home?” Henry asks.

  “Of course!” I say, excited about the afternoon. Since Darren’s disappearance—what I’ve taken to calling it—I have slacked off a bit in the dinner category. The boys are happier with the less elaborate meals, and I’m happier not having to put in all the time and energy making dinner.

  “Jack L. got pumpkins yesterday, he told me. He said he tried to get his babysitter to take him all last week, but she said that his mom wanted to take him on the weekend when she didn’t have work,” Henry tells me as we open the door to dump the backpacks.

  “I’m so glad you don’t work,” James says.

  “Yeah, James? Why?” I ask him, kneeling down in front of him and placing my hands on his shoulders.

  “So we can get pumpkins on Mondays,” he says sweetly.

  I’ve been trying to be less intense about my should-I-or-should-I-not-work mental dilemma. And I’ve been trying to slow down, see the beauty in the everyday, and appreciate the mundane. Recently, I’ve lain in bed thinking about what if it had been me who got the cancer diagnosis. What if I were too sick to make their breakfast, to welcome them off the bus with treats at the end of the day, to drive them to soccer practice? All the things that I’ve often complained ab
out having to do because they’re so tedious, so thankless, so time-consuming. Because they rob me of the time I want to spend on Something Else. These are suddenly the things I have to see the gold in. I have to shift my thinking from “have to’s” to “get to’s.” Unfortunately, sometimes a cancer diagnosis is required to make that clear.

  Seeing the gold in, say, making school lunches isn’t always easy. Philosophically acknowledging the mundane as a gift doesn’t always make cutting off crusts fun. But I’m trying to build that muscle. At least I’m mindful of it. And that’s far beyond where I was a few weeks ago.

  I still think about getting a job, though I’m glad I don’t have one right now, so I can be with Cameron. But, when she’s doing better and back at work, that urge to escape the totality of being a mom, to find something fulfilling to do with my days, will return. But, I’m now certain that I want a job that gives me flexibility so I can tend to my best friend after a cancer diagnosis and so I can buy pumpkins on Mondays.

  chapter twenty-two

  When I walk into the waiting room at Sloan-Kettering Wednesday morning, Jack is already there.

  “Hey,” I say, giving him a hug and setting down the large coffees I got for us. “How did all the check-in and pre-op stuff go this morning?”

  “As well as can be expected,” he says. “She seemed a little preoccupied and distracted, but I think she was just psyching herself out mentally, trying to prepare for the battle, as she kept referring to it,” he says with a nervous laugh.

  “How are you holding up?” I ask, looking around the nondescript, standard-order hospital waiting room. According to Cameron, Jack has been a mess. He hasn’t taken this news well at all, not that I blame him. And she says that although he’s been trying to put on a brave face in front of her, she can see right through it and sometimes hears him crying when he thinks she’s asleep.

  “I’m okay, I guess,” he says, his hands in his pocket, his shoulders shrugged. And then he breaks. “I’m just so scared, Grace. I don’t know what I would do if I lost her.”