“Hey there, Grace. Happy birthday.”
“Hey, Ainsley. I’m so glad you could come,” I say, giving her a hug.
“Well, I was able to reschedule all my appointments for today, so it all worked out fine,” she says in her gorgeous drawl. “I absolutely love your dress,” she says, holding my hands and twirling me around. “You look gorgeous!”
“Thank you,” I say. “As do you!” I’m wearing a winter white leather tight-fitting dress with cap sleeves. I feel amazing, and apparently, I look it, too.
“It means a lot to me that you’re here and that you’re in my life. It’s amazing how far we’ve come as friends in such a short period of time,” I say.
“Well, I’m so glad you’re in a good place. The timing of this party couldn’t have been better.”
“I agree,” I say. Ainsley goes to say hi to a few women whom we both know from the kids’ school.
Darren and I have been going to counseling with Ainsley since October when he moved back home. We go every other week together, and I go by myself the weeks in between. I wasn’t sure at first if I should use Ainsley as a therapist, considering she’s a mom in our school. But I found her so calming, and I didn’t really have a friendship with her that would make it awkward, so I decided to try her out. Darren and I clicked with her immediately, and she really helped us deal with our situation. She was able to be purely professional with me in our therapy sessions, but now that I’m feeling ready to wrap up the therapy, I’m excited to be able to become better friends with Ainsley without having to maintain careful boundaries.
I look around the room and take a mental note to see if everyone has arrived. I wanted to keep the party small and meaningful so I kept the guest list pretty short. There’s my mom and sister, Callie and Nicole, Ainsley, the three women from the boys’ school, and my college friends Lucy, who lives in New Jersey, and Aimee, who lives in Manhattan. Kiki and Arden considered flying out, but instead, the three of us are going to meet at a spa in Arizona and celebrate our birthdays together. My stomach turns a bit, and I decide it’s time to start lunch.
Everyone sits down and the waiters serve the first course, a delicious salad made with local greenhouse lettuces, herbs, and flowers with a Champagne vinaigrette dressing. I am taking a sip of my wine when I see the door open.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.”
I get up and walk toward the door.
“Don’t worry at all. I knew you’d be late. I’m just so glad you’re here,” I say and give my best friend a huge hug.
“It’s a good thing they took me on time for chemo,” she whispers as she puts her bag down in the empty chair next to mine. My mom gets up from the chair on my other side and gives Cameron a hug. Cameron is beaming as she makes her way around the table to greet everyone.
Cameron has come a long way since her surgery back in October, but it hasn’t been completely smooth sailing. I am almost giddy seeing her now, so in control, so healthy looking, so, well, Cameron. The recovery from the double mastectomy was awful. Cameron had to rest for about three weeks, and she got antsy and impatient after about the first. I kept her entertained with chick flicks and gossip magazines. One of the worst parts was when she had to get her drainage tubes removed. She said it was horrifying, and it felt like they were pulling snakes out of her body.
The pathology report that came back a week after her surgery showed that the tumor measured 1.8 cm—large enough to warrant chemotherapy but not too large to be alarming. There was one focus of metastatic disease in the sentinel lymph node, but the fourteen additional lymph nodes removed showed no signs of cancer. They also found something small in the right breast, so Cameron was so relieved that she had opted for the double mastectomy. If she hadn’t, she would have had to do this all again. She started her six-month regimen of chemotherapy in November and, luckily, she won’t need radiation. She goes to the plastic surgeon every week or two to get her expanders pumped up with saline to prepare for the permanent implant reconstruction that will start early this summer.
Cameron has been experiencing all the expected side effects: hair loss, nausea, fatigue, and bloating, and the doctor said that as she continues there will be additional ones, like numbness and tingling in her fingertips and toes. But she’s soldiering through, relieved to have the cancer out of her body, and willing to do what she needs to do to make sure it doesn’t come back.
At first, Cameron thought she would be unemotional and clinical about losing her hair; that as soon as it started falling out she would go all Commando Cameron on it and just shave her head. But when it actually started happening, it was all just too much. She became tearful and upset; the gravity of all that was happening to her proving more debilitating—as I expected it to be—than empowering—as she expected it to be. She said that when she looked in the mirror, she felt like it made her look “sick.” She’s slowly becoming accustomed to her wig and scarves, and, I give her credit, really makes the most of it. Or at least pretends to.
The best news is that Cameron and Jack met with an adoption agency, and they’re ready to start the process of adopting a baby. They feel energized that they have been given another chance at their lives and are excited to welcome a baby into their family. It might take a while, but they’re willing to wait.
My friendship with Cameron has strengthened, too. After being friends for twenty-two years, I didn’t think that was possible. But we feel like we’ve just been through a war together, and we’ve bonded considerably. She has been so supportive of me, as well, as I took on the freelance writing job with Wee Well in Westchester and as I worked things out with Darren. I had some dark days where I worried terribly about Cameron and how she was going to come through this, but I don’t worry anymore. Mostly because she’s gotten better, but also because I’ve learned a bit about going through bad times and how worrying about every little thing is a monumental waste of energy. It’s impossible to entirely destroy every trace of worrying from my DNA, it’s wrapped up in those little strands pretty tightly, but with practice, I’m seeing quite an improvement.
During lunch, a choice between grilled chicken paillard and wild mushroom risotto (I choose the risotto), I ask my guests to go around the table and introduce themselves and how they know me. I know it’s a little corny, and I try to be sympathetic to people who don’t love public speaking, but there are only twelve of us at the table so I hope it doesn’t cause too much anxiety for anyone.
There are lots of laughs and jokes as my friends and family tell funny stories from my past, and everyone gets to know each other. Some of my friends give short speeches about our relationship and why they treasure our friendship. I always find it shocking to hear what other people think of me. It’s strange to realize that the persona I think I project to the world is sometimes completely different from what is perceived. It’s only through my friends’ words that I realize they think I’m fun, ridiculously smart (their words, not mine), a great mom, that I’ve got great potential as a writer, and that, as Callie says, I’ve got it all together. And although I’m trying to care much less what people think of me, knowing that this is what these people—some of the people I respect most in the world—think of me makes me beam. When everyone has finished speaking, and we all are full and satisfied, I clink my wine glass and stand.
“I want to thank you all so much for coming. It’s so important to celebrate the good things in life, so I’m exuberantly happy and thankful that you’re all here today for my celebration. We’ve all been witness recently, some a little closer than others, to what I’ll just call deep sadness and seemingly insurmountable obstacles, and it makes it even more important to grab the happy occasions by the horns and ride that bull till you just can’t hold on any longer. So that’s why I’m having this party.
“I guess it’s customary on any milestone birthday to reflect a bit on where you currently are in your life. And I’m actually happy to be turning forty finally. I no longer have little babies, so I�
�m sleeping through the night. I’ve developed the self-esteem and requisite wisdom to know what to worry about and what to laugh at; what’s worth the tears; what’s worth the calories; what’s worth the call to the school or doctor; when I should care what other people think and when I should fly my own flag; what’s worth saying yes to and what’s worth saying, ‘Let me think about that’; what I should put one hundred percent effort into and what will be just fine with seventy-five percent; who my true friends are; and why, above all else, I’m so damn lucky. For me, most of that really did take forty years to figure out. Some of those things I figured out a little early, and some of it I’m still working on and will undoubtedly continue to do so.
“As Cameron has been saying to me lately, I’ve hit my stride, and honestly I’m really, really happy. And there are some people whom I want to acknowledge and thank for essentially being there for me every step of the way, for supporting that journey and enabling that happiness. To my beautiful mom and sister. I’m so unbelievably touched and thrilled that you made the effort and the trip to come here for this. It wouldn’t have been the same without you. We’ve been through a lot together: good times and bad. But we went through them together, and we’ve come out pretty damn well.
“Eva, you’ve always been there for me, and I am so thankful for that. You continually crack me up with all your Hollywood stories, you know I love your Barefoot Contessa repertoire, and you are my favorite person to go tooling around L.A. with.
“Mom, now that I’m all grown up and have had my own life experiences and my own family, I am so appreciative and aware of the sacrifices you made for Eva, Danielle, and me in the early days. It couldn’t have been easy. You have always been there for me as a constant cheerleader, stalwart supporter, proud mommy, available confidante, amazing grandmother, and wise sage. You always implored me to do what makes me happy. Thanks, Mom. I am. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for that. For helping me grow up.
“And I also want to thank all of you. My friends. My authentic, smart, honest, beautiful, accomplished, motivated, loving, and dear friends. Every single one of you at this table has been there for me at some point or another, for something or another, to cry with or to share good news with or go out with or have drinks with or share the milestones of our lives with. You’ve all put up with me. There is something about girlfriends. They provide something no mother, no sister, and no husband ever could. I’ve been so lucky to find each of you, and I thank you all for showing me the meaning of true friendship.
“So thank you for allowing me to indulge myself with this reflection on my life. It’s not often we are given the opportunity to do something like this. I just ask for one more moment of indulgence. Over the past six months, I’ve gone through a lot. And each of those situations has made me stronger, has made me look at life differently, and in turn has made me start to live my life differently. I know life is a journey for all of us. Sometimes, as we all know, the path is straight and unencumbered. Those times are pleasant, easy, predictable, and manageable. But sometimes, the path is filled with twists and turns, impasses, cliffs, and other difficult, and even scary, obstacles. It’s during those times that we are tested. That we are required to act with grace. And it’s once we leave those obstacles behind that we learn that the next time we confront them, we can get through them.
“I have learned so much in the last six months about myself and about life, and I am so excited to have the opportunity to start living my life differently. I want to tell you all, partly because you are the people closest to me but mostly so that you’ll hold me to it, that I am going to be making a few changes in my life. I am going to work toward becoming the healthiest and happiest I can be, I’m not going to complain about things I can change, and I’m not going to get stuck on things I keep getting stuck on. I’m going to make my life extraordinary. From now on, if there’s something I don’t like, I’m going to change it, even if I have to take baby steps to make that happen. I’m going to manifest for myself the life that I know I deserve, and I hope you will join me and do the same.
“Thank you for helping me celebrate my birthday. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for helping me lead a happy life. I love you all.”
The whole room erupts in smiles and applause, and I feel so happy. Then all of a sudden, everyone starts to sing happy birthday, and I notice them looking toward the doorway behind me. I turn to see my birthday cake, candles blazing on top, being carried in on a shiny silver platter by a handsome, tall guy with dark hair and ridiculously blue eyes.
“Happy birthday, my love,” Darren says, as he sets down the birthday cake in front of me.
And as I bask in the warmth of the candles and the love of my husband, my friends, and my family, I close my eyes, smile, and make a wish. On grace.
acknowledgments
I know most authors save the best for last in their acknowledgments, but I want to thank first the four people who not only mean the most to me but who were the most supportive while I wrote and published On Grace. To my three smart, excellent, adorable, and adored boys: Jason, Will, and Judson. Thank you for cheering me on when I felt both encouraged and discouraged. And thanks for the cupcake celebrations. I promise there will be more. With extra frosting.
To my wonderful husband of almost two decades, Rick, I’m so sorry that the readers of this book will always look at you funny and wonder if you Darren’d me. To them, I say: He did not. To you I say: Thank you for being my true partner in life. You could not have been more supportive, loving, encouraging, and realistic in this whole process.
Thank you to my dearest friends and first readers: Sharon Cooper, Karen Cousin, Bets Miller, Sally Paridis, Allison Wohl, and Cathy Yaffa. Truer friends do not exist. And to the loads of other friends who were so enthusiastic about the early manuscript and/or encouraged and helped me along the way: Rene Benedetto, Mark Bezos, Franci Blassberg, Laurie Boockvar, Sarah Davis, Jana Edelbaum, Jordanna Fraiberg, Stacey Gendelman, Julie Gerstenblatt, Shellan Isackson, Jenny Jacquette, Kate Kies, Sandi Kornblum, Penny Kosinski, Alyson Lane, Beth Lipman, Maura Mandell, Jenn Mann, Lou Marinaccio, Allison Mignone, Jessica Mindich, Annabel Monaghan, Elizabeth Moyer, Megan Mulry, Jennifer Ostfield, Melinda Pressler, Eric Rahe, Alison Dickinson Rao, Richard Rosenzweig, Angela Santomero, Melissa Shapiro, David Shorrock, Robynne Smith, Rachel Strum, John Thomas, Tara Turnbull, Nancy Weiser, Suzy Welch, Beatriz Williams, Britney Williams, Emily Wolk, Jackie Wyman, Jillian Rice Zriebec, and Lauren Zucker.
Thank you, Kristin Harmel, the talented and kind bestselling author of numerous fantastic novels, for challenging and improving my writing and supporting my process. You are a true mentor and cheerleader.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Crystal Patriarche and Heidi Hurst of SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint, for your wonderful enthusiasm, support, encouragement, professional guidance, and, most especially, for seeing something in me and this work. I am so excited to be on this journey with you! Thank you Wayne Elizabeth Parrish for your excellent and thorough editing skills. A huge thanks to the talented Julie Metz for the beautiful cover of Grace. And special thanks to Caitlin Alexander, Andrew Brown, and Kate King for starting me off.
I received a great deal of guidance on breast cancer treatment from both a doctor’s and patient’s perspective from my friends Dr. Julie Monroe and Melissa Boxer. Thank you both for your wise, thorough, and compassionate input. If there are any medical inconsistencies in Cameron’s story, they are all mine.
I have a big and wonderful family who has always lovingly supported me in everything I do. Thank you Nancy and Ira Norris, David and Marsha Orman, Terry Orman Gevisser, Mike and Leslie Norris, Greg and Joanne Norris, Joy and Robert Schnall, Jodi Quintiere, and Lisa Smukler.
Dad, thank you for the writing gene! I appreciate all the time you put into the early editing of On Grace, all the love you tirelessly show me, and all the pride I know you have in me.
Mom, you’re my #1 fan and the person who has inv
ested more of her time and love in me than anyone else on the planet. Thank you for your constant and unconditional love.
And thank you, readers, for spending your time and money on On Grace. I hope I made you smile.
about the author
Susie Orman Schnall was raised in Los Angeles and graduated from the University of Pennsylvania. She lives in New York with her husband and their three boys. To learn more, visit her website, www.susieschnall.com and connect on social media at:
www.facebook.com/SusieOrmanSchnall
www.twitter.com/susieschnall
www.pinterest.com/susieschnall
About SparkPress
SparkPress is an independent boutique publisher delivering high quality, entertaining, and engaging content that enhances readers’ lives, with a special focus on female-driven work. We are proud of our catalog of both fiction and non-fiction titles, featuring authors who represent a wide array of genres, as well as our established, industry-wide reputation for innovative, creative, results-driven success in working with authors. SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint, is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.
To learn more, visit us at www.sparkpointstudio.com.
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