by Liz Tuccillo
Serena did crowd control, not with the guests, but with all the food they brought with them. With each person that came, a cake or a bottle of booze or a platter of something was given. Serena unwrapped everything she could, found places to store the rest, and began operating as if she were suddenly the hostess of an impromptu party. She ordered in paper goods, set up a buffet table, and by seven o’clock had set up a full bar.
By nine, Serena had put soft jazz music on the stereo (jazz was Robert’s favorite) and it didn’t look as if anyone was going anywhere. Serena had not witnessed anything like this before and she was struck by the weight and depth of what she was experiencing.
Moreover, this was no normal group of people—there were recognizable actors and actresses, a newscaster, and a writer who had won an Oscar for best screenplay. Serena began to understand that what she was witnessing was primal. This was a tribe, these show biz folks; one of their own had fallen and so they gathered. Because that is what human beings have done at times of grief since the dawn of man. They gather. They hold one another, they cry, they eat.
As the hours went by, they all continued to talk and drink and then suddenly, someone would start crying, and then someone else would start crying, and everyone’s eyes would become moist, and the mood would suddenly be grim and quiet. Men would weep openly, women would just stand with each other, hugging. These people were show people who weren’t embarrassed by their emotion, but they weren’t show-offs, either.
Every time Joanna would come out of the bedroom, everyone would quiet a bit, waiting. Joanna would look at one of the guests and say, “Would you like to go in and see Robert now?” They would nod, silently, put down their drink, and walk away toward the bedroom. Even as she was living through the nightmarish event of watching her husband die, she was still taking care of the needs of others. She was slowly letting everyone pay their last respects. Clearly, it must not be long.
Throughout all this, Kip hid in his room. There was one young actor, Billy, who had just made his first romantic comedy and was about to become a huge star, and Kip allowed him to come in and play video games together. But that was it.
Joanna walked into the kitchen, where Serena was, to put down a glass of water she had just finished. “I know he must hate this.” Serena turned to look at her.
“Having all these people around, in his home, talking and laughing, when his dad is—” Joanna stopped herself. “But later, he’ll remember. He’ll remember all the love, all the people who were here because they loved his father.”
Joanna put her face in her hands and began to cry. Serena walked around the kitchen counter and put her arm around her. At the moment of touch, Joanna quickly stood up and composed herself. “I’m fine. Really. I’m going to go back in.” She turned to walk away and then she turned back, with a start.
“Oh my God, Serena. All this time, you’ve been here—is this okay? Do you have to be somewhere? I…I haven’t even had a moment to ask you if you need to go, or—”
“I’m fine. I don’t have to be anywhere. Please, don’t worry about me again, please.”
“Thank you.”
As Joanna walked away, Serena realized that she truly had nowhere else to be at that moment. There was no one in the world who needed her as much as these people did right now. There was no boyfriend, no child. She had called Ruby and told her what was going on so she wouldn’t worry, but that was it. In a room where it seemed people were practically fused together in their grief and love, no one wanting to leave Robert, no one wanting to leave each other, Serena felt weightless. Untethered. And if it weren’t for this group who needed right now to be fed and cared for, Serena felt like she might just float up and away into the sky.
The doctor kept coming and going from the apartment, stopping in every few hours to check on Robert. His name was Doctor Grovner, but everyone called him Henry. He was a family friend of Joanna and Robert’s who happened to be an oncologist, which is why Robert was allowed to go home and get the fantastic care he was being given. At eleven thirty that night, the doctor arrived again and went directly in to Robert. At midnight, everyone in the living room heard Robert’s mother crying in the bedroom, with Joanna saying, “It’s going to be okay, it’s all going to be okay.”
Doctor Grovner came out. Everyone was already quiet. Anxious. Tearful. He said quietly, “It won’t be long now.” Billy, who was now back in the living room, began to sob, and Joanna’s mother went over and patted his hand gently. Another woman just dashed into a bathroom, where she was heard wailing. Another beautiful woman, someone Serena recognized from starring opposite Robert in one of his movies, just started rocking back and forth. Joanna came out next. She smiled and went directly to the kitchen, where Serena was. She was carrying a washcloth and went to the sink to dampen it. She wrung out the excess water. Serena had been filling up an ice bucket with ice, when Joanna came over. Joanna came up to Serena and said, gently, “You don’t need to, please don’t feel you have to, but if you want, you’re welcome to come in and say good-bye.”
Serena burst out crying. She put her hand immediately to her eyes and turned away from Joanna, embarrassed. She quickly wiped the tears away and turned back to Joanna and smiled. “I’d like that.”
Serena walked into the bedroom. It was dark. There were two windows that looked out onto the Hudson, the lights from New Jersey twinkling in the distance. The room was otherwise lit only by candlelight, everything designed for the maximum amount of peace. Robert’s mother was sitting in a chair by his bed, holding his hand, her eyes closed. The nurse was in the back of the room, almost invisible in the shadows. Joanna sat down in the chair on the other side of Robert and stared at him. Kip was not there. Robert no longer had his breathing tube in him, and his breathing was very light. He was pale, thin, unrecognizable. The first word that popped into Serena’s mind was outrageous. It felt outrageous that Robert, strong, virile Robert, Robert sliding around the floor in his socks and punching Serena in the arm and teasing his wife mercilessly, was now lying in this bed, looking like that. It was an outrageous indignity for him. A man who deserved nothing but to lead a long, loved, and loving life, with friends and a marriage to a woman that he adored and a child that he should see go to college and fall in love and get married. Not like this. Not thin and pale and with grieving friends gathered outside his door.
Joanna looked at her husband. Whatever the thought or memory or emotion it was that passed through her mind, it was the one that broke her. She lowered her head on the bed and began to sob, her back heaving up and down as she gasped for air in between her cries. It was pure grief that Serena was witnessing; undiluted, unself-conscious suffering from the deepest part of a person’s being.
In a flash, Serena understood everything. She understood about life and tribes and weight and connections and friendship and death and love. She understood everything she ever needed to know about what it means to actually participate in the experience of being human. She knew in that instant, more than she had ever known anything in her entire life, that life is about risking it all and loving passionately and engaging in the world in a way she had not done in all her regimented, disciplined, pleasure-denying life. She had begun to feel it with Swami Swaroop, but after that debacle, she promised she would never put herself through that again. She assumed she just would go through the rest of her life alone, unharmed. But in that room, in that moment, in the most dark, grotesque, cruel light imaginable, Serena saw what she would be missing. She kept her eyes on the sobbing Joanna. She would never be able to explain it sufficiently to anyone, but it was then that Serena knew, more surely than she had ever known anything, that it was time for her to join the party—the ugly, magnificent, cruel, sublime, heartbreaking party.
RULE 11
Believe in Miracles
A few hours after Robert passed away, Serena called Ruby and told her. It was impossible to hide the news from the press, so his death was all over the television and radio anyway. Ruby ca
lled Alice and Alice called Georgia.
Serena had gone out just to get some fresh air. People were still filing in and out of the house, now to visit Joanna and Kip, to pay their respects. It looked like she was probably going to be there for a while, so Serena decided to go outside for a quick break. There were crowds and news vans and reporters, but Serena was able to walk through them unnoticed. She kept her eyes down and kept walking past the police barricade. When she finally looked up she saw Alice, Georgia, and Ruby, all looking at her with a collective look of care and concern, and she burst out crying. They all rushed up to her and put their arms around her. She stood there, crying and holding on to them, all the emotion of the past days just pouring out of her. They huddled around her, shielding her from any busybodies, as she wept, her shoulders heaving, the sobs erupting out of her. When she finally looked up, her face red and wet, she looked into their faces. Ruby, Alice, and Georgia were not her good friends; in fact, they were merely acquaintances. Yet here they were.
“I can’t believe you all came. Thank you…thank you,” she said, her voice still jagged with sobs.
Alice put her arm around Serena’s shoulders. “We wanted to come.”
Georgia said, “We’re here for you. So don’t you worry.”
Ruby added, “Do you want to take a walk?”
Serena nodded. They headed down to the river and sat on a bench facing out over the water. New Jersey was on the other side, with its new buildings going up and the giant Colgate clock telling them the wrong time.
Serena said, “She loved him so much. He really was the love of her life. I can’t imagine what she’s going through. I can’t.”
The other women nodded. They hadn’t a clue, either.
Ruby shook her head. “It’s hard to imagine ever meeting the love of my life, but then to lose him? And so young?”
Georgia thought about Dale and their life together. Had he been the love of her life? At one point, yes, she guessed he was. But not now. So maybe he didn’t count. Now she had to hope there was a man out there who was the real love of her life. “I hope she feels lucky. To have had so much love in her life.”
Serena nodded. “I think she does.” She blew her nose on a tissue Alice had given her. “I think so.”
Alice spent the whole taxi ride home thinking about that term—the love of your life. She thought about Joanna and how different she must have thought things were going to be for her. And, of course, Alice thought about how she was about to take a flight to Iceland to marry someone who wasn’t the love of her life.
When she got home she walked into her bedroom. She looked at her suitcase on the bed, packed and ready to go. Their airplane tickets were on her bureau. Jim was about to come over for dinner. Alice sat on her bed. What does it mean, anyway, “the love of your life”? She wished Serena had never said those words. Now she couldn’t get them out of her head. She glanced at her fabulous winter white fur wedding suit. She thought about how, when you introduce your husband to people here in America, there is the assumption that he is the love of your life. That you fell in love with him and decided to get married. It might not be true, but that’s what you’re led to believe. Now, if you lived in India or China or who knows where, people might not assume that. They might just assume your families arranged it or you married for convenience or whatnot. But here, in America, when you talk about your husband, the assumption is that at some point in your life you were in love with him enough to marry him. Alice wondered if she would be okay with living that kind of lie, knowing she did not marry the love of her life. She had hoped that in the weeks leading up to Iceland she would magically fall head over heels in love with Jim. But it didn’t happen. She was always mildly bored with him, and then guilty for feeling that bored. So she would give him more of her attention, she would try to find him as engaging as she possibly could. But in the end, he wasn’t the love of her life and he never would be. At best, he would be the man of whom she was very fond and to whom she was very, very grateful.
The love of her life, the love of her life. As Alice took a shower, she realized it came down once again to one thing: What did she believe in? In other words, what kind of life did she want to live? Did she really think the love of her life was out there? Did she think it was wise to go back out into the wilds of being single just in the hopes of finding him? What was she holding out for? As she toweled herself off, she realized that she didn’t want to be the girl who refused to settle. She didn’t want to be the girl who believed that life is short and it’s better to be single and looking for “the love of your life” than to just give up and settle. She didn’t want to be that girl. She thought that girl was stupid. Naïve. Alice liked being practical; she was a lawyer, so she preferred to be realistic. Waiting and searching for the love of your life was exhausting. It might even be delusional. Again, yes, she knew that some people win the love lottery and get to fall in love with someone who is also mad about them, and their life together is harmonious and filled with love. But she didn’t want to be the girl who stubbornly held out for what might never come.
She sat back down on her bed, wrapped in a little towel, and she began to cry. She started sobbing; she hugged her legs as she put her head on her knees and rocked and wept.
She realized she was that girl.
That girl who, at thirty-eight, couldn’t give up the dream that she would meet a man who made her heart soar and that they would share a life together. She cried knowing it meant that she had to worry about whether she was ever going to start a family, that she would be thrust back into a world where nothing was guaranteed and all she really had was hope. She knew it meant that she would be single again.
When Jim came over, Alice was dressed but hadn’t stopped crying. He walked in, rolling his big suitcase. Alice told him right away.
“You deserve someone who knows you’re the love of her life,” she said, sobbing. She then began to tell him, in a torrent of words and tears and apologies, that she couldn’t marry him—not in Iceland, not here, not ever.
Now his eyes filled up with tears. “But you’re the love of my life. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
Alice shook her head. “I don’t think I can be the love of your life if you’re not the love of mine.”
Jim paced around the room. They talked and talked. He got angry. Alice apologized over and over again. And in the end, he understood. He forgave her and wished her the best. He left Alice in her living room crying, devastated. From her point of view she seemed to be much worse off than he was. She looked at him as he walked out the door, shaken, heartbroken, and she felt tremendous guilt. But she also knew that he would fall in love again. He would meet someone and get married and have children and be very happy. As for herself, Alice wasn’t so sure. So she lay down on the couch and cried some more.
When I called Alice the next morning and found out what happened, I was relieved. What was I thinking, encouraging Alice to marry Jim? Who exactly did I think I was, giving her advice about anything, let alone marrying someone she didn’t love? But Alice still sounded more depressed than I had ever heard her. I thought about coming home and being with her. But then I had a better idea.
“Why don’t I meet you in Iceland? Use your ticket.”
“What do you mean, spend my honeymoon with you?” Alice asked, not making it sound so fun.
“Well, yeah, Iceland is supposed to be amazing. I’ve always wanted to go.” It’s true, everyone I know who’s been there has said it was fantastic. I didn’t remember exactly why they said it was so great, but no matter. “I think you need to get away for a bit.”
“Yeah, but maybe not to the place where I was going to spend my honeymoon.”
“Please, it’s Iceland in the middle of the winter, not Maui. You’ll be able to forget that part of it.” And then I added, “I promise. Come on, let’s do it, it will be fun.”
At the Mumbai airport, I walked into the ladies’ bathroom. There was an elderly woman in there, weari
ng a worn purple sari with white flowers, and her eyes were haunted, just like so many other eyes I saw while I was there. I thought she was functioning as a bathroom attendant, but I wasn’t quite sure. As I came out, she handed me a paper towel that I was quite capable of getting for myself. Then she put her fingers to her mouth. This city was relentless. She could have been my grandmother. And she was in the bathroom of the Mumbai airport begging for money. I gave her all the rupees I had. Then I did the only thing I knew how to do at the time. I took two Lexomil and hoped for the best.
I woke up, groggy, as the pilot was telling us to get ready for our descent—the Lexomil had gone the distance. We must thank God for these small blessings in life.
The funeral for Robert was held two days after he passed away. Joanna decided that she and Kip were going to go back with her parents for a week or two, just to get away from the press and the chaos and the memories. She gave Serena two paid weeks off—which Serena had absolutely no idea what to do with. So when Alice called her to check up on her, and told her that her marriage was off and that she was meeting me in Iceland, Serena quickly jumped on board.
“Could I come, too? I mean, I know…it’s your honeymoon…I was just thinking…”
“Of course, you can come—of course,” was Alice’s immediate response. “I’m not sure what kind of food they have there, if it’s really hospitable for vegetarians, but…”
“Oh, fuck that,” Serena said. “Everything in moderation, right?”
Alice smiled. “That’s right.”
In the meantime, Ruby had never really recovered from opting out of the insemination. She was sliding again, thinking about what she had lost, what a mistake that was. She thought about the idea of taking antidepressants, like her mother, but couldn’t imagine it. A depressed single woman taking antidepressants—that sounded so depressing.
