by Denise Wells
“Great.”
“But it has nothing to do with you. It really doesn’t have much to do with anything other than the stages of bereavement. And the emotional well-being of the surviving party.”
“So, you’re saying this is just another stage of grief for Brad?”
“Brad will be feeling as though he’s cheated on Kat, if that makes sense.”
I nod and wait for her to continue. As I do, the server brings my shot and Nessa’s martini. I down the tequila with barely a flinch, enjoying the burn that spreads down my throat and throughout my chest, then chase it with a long draw on my fresh margarita. Nessa sips at her drink before resuming her thought.
“People need love in their lives, Tenley, it’s a basic human desire. We crave it. And so, when we lose a partner, that basic desire is no longer met, but the need is still there.”
“I get that—”
She holds up her hand to stop me. “That’s the part that is common sense. But what a lot of people don’t understand—unless they’ve experienced it for themselves—is that still trying to meet that need, is the memory of the person who once filled that space.”
We both sip at our drinks again while someone clears the plates from our table. The sounds of laughter and slightly raucous behavior bounces around the room. Glasses clink, utensils meet plates, music plays and songs are sung. It’s almost funny how such a serious conversation can be held in such a festive environment.
“Think of it like this,” Nessa continues, taking an empty glass from the table and shoving a napkin into it. “The glass is the desire. The napkin is the partner filling that need.” She pulls the napkin from inside the glass and wraps it halfway around the outside of the glass. “I can take that napkin out of the glass and put it on the outside. You can still see it there, but it’s not doing anything, filling anything. It just floats here on the outside. But from the right angle, the glass might look like it’s filled with the napkin.”
She looks at me to make sure I’m following. And I think I am.
“Brad can see the glass is empty. He knows Kat used to be in the glass, and he knows she’s now on the outside. But he also knows that sometimes, when he looks at the glass, it appears Kat is still inside. So, he has this need to fill the glass, in direct conflict with a false belief that the glass is already full. Does that make sense?”
“I think so.”
“And if the glass is full, if Kat is in the glass, then anything he does outside of the relationship, to him, is cheating.”
“So, he feels like he just cheated on Kat?”
“Yes.”
My chin drops to my chest and I play with the condensation dripping down the sides of the margarita glass. “What do I do now?”
“What do you want to do?”
I look back up, meeting her kind eyes. “Well, I mean, I’m not typically the kind of girl who confuses sex with emotion or really anything outside of it just being sex.”
“I sense a but coming.”
“It would be nice if we could be friends.” I’m lying as I say the words. What I really want is more than friendship, but I didn’t realize that until I saw him vomiting in the alley. My first instinct was to help him, especially if he was sick. And even though I’d decided to get Nessa instead, I think that was nerves. Feelings of insecurity interrupting true intentions, until it occurred to me the reason he was sick.
“I think you both would benefit from being friends.”
My heart sinks. The disappointment that pierces through me at the idea of my relationship with Brad remaining platonic is sobering.
“You want more than that?” she asks softly.
I nod. “Is that stupid?”
“No. I haven’t known either of you long, but I think I know you well. Under the right circumstances, I believe a very compatible relationship could be had.”
Compatible?
My face drops.
“Brad is broken, Tenley. And I don’t know how long it will take him to heal or if he can. I don’t want you to get your hopes up thinking this might turn into something more than it is anytime soon.”
“Why am I even thinking this way?” I shake my head to clear it. “I’m not this girl that romanticizes shit. I don’t even believe in relationships. I don’t care if this ever turns into anything.”
“Did I ever tell you that William passed long before any of my girlfriends lost their husbands? I mean, most of them still haven’t.”
“No.”
“Everything was fine at first. But after a couple years, they were all still doing the couple thing, and I was the odd woman out. While I don’t think it was intentional it was definitely hurtful, as they excluded me more and more from social activities. So, I agreed to be set up with a man who was also recently widowed. We were a sad sack, let me tell you. I don’t believe the relationship”—she uses air quotes with that last word—“was healthy for either of us. But I so wanted to be a part of my old life again, I stuck with it.”
She takes a long drink of her martini, almost finishing it. “It was never more than platonic, but I think we both tried to force something more that should never have been. After I broke it off for good, I joined a singles group. And a while ago, I met a very nice man and our relationship is anything but platonic.” She winks, causing me to choke on my sip of margarita.
“My point being,” Nessa continues, “is that I tried to force myself to be in a place I wasn’t ready for, so I could fit in with my friends better. My life had changed irrevocably, but theirs had not. In your case, it’s the opposite. Your friends are all married and having babies, and you aren’t. It’s natural to feel compelled to rush your life to catch up with theirs. Especially since your best friend is having a baby.”
She makes sense with what she says. It’s sad to think that way, like I’m trying to force something that isn’t there, just so I can have something in common with Sadie, but it still makes sense.
“I get what you’re saying.”
“I hope you know I want only the best for you.”
“I know that, thank you, Nessa.” I smile and she does too.
The server brings us our bill.
With nothing much more to say, we finish our drinks, then Nessa pays for happy hour and for both of us to take a Lyft home.
24
Brad
I spend a few hours at the urgent care so they can confirm what I already know—that I broke a couple knuckles when half my fist hit a stud instead of drywall. Hurt like hell. And, it’s my right hand, my dominant one, so I’m fucked for a few weeks for doing anything requiring it. Writing, working out, jacking off.
I took a Lyft here, but Ethan shows up to give me a ride home. He has many things to say in support of what went down last night with Tenley. The sex part, not the leaving part.
“Why wouldn’t you want to feel love again?” he asks as he steers out of the parking complex and onto the main road into downtown.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Tough shit. You can’t fuck up your hand over a girl and not talk about it.”
I wave my hand dismissively at him. The vibe in the cab of his truck is getting tense.
“Was the sex good?”
“Jesus, E.”
He shrugs.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“Good.” He pauses for a moment, as though trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say next. “I think that good sex is the first step toward a good relationship.”
“I’m not getting in a relationship.”
“Okay then, the first step in finding love again. Without a relationship.”
I smirk. “One, who said anything about love? Two, even if it were possible for me to ever feel love again, which I don’t think it is, it definitely wouldn’t be with someone like Tenley.”
“Why? What’s wrong with her?”
“So much.”
“Like what?”
“You aren’t going to agree with m
e, she’s Sadie’s best friend.”
“I haven’t disagreed with you yet. I’m still waiting for what’s wrong with her.”
“She’s mouthy.”
“Most guys would say that’s a good thing,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, which makes me chuckle.
“Not like that. She’s a smart ass and has some kind of comment for everything. It’s annoying as fuck.”
He nods in agreement. “What else?”
“She’s bossy.”
“Like controlling? Or how?”
“She’s always telling me what to do.” I sound petulant, I know it, but I can’t stop myself.
“With what?”
“This damn recruitment fair, for one. And at that stupid auction.”
“Not to burst your bubble, dude, but she is in charge of the fair, and she was in charge of the auction. Kind of her job to tell people what to do to make it run smoothly.”
“Fuck off.” We sit in silence for a moment and I try to come up with a few more things I can’t stand about her. But all I remember is how it felt sinking into her last night. Every time. How her mouth felt on mine, and her breasts in my hands. The way she moaned my name when she came. Her scent. The panties I’d ripped from her body that found their way into my pocket.
And then, suddenly without bidding, I recalled the way she stepped on my feet when we danced. How she had to count her steps aloud. Complimenting my right hook when I decked Nicholson. Her pride when she knew what Sadie’s pregnancy shit was.
“She makes me laugh,” I mumble.
Ethan jerks his head my way, eyes wide. “What a bitch,” he deadpans.
“I’m serious, man.”
He rolls his hand toward me to continue.
“I just mean, it would be easier to hate her if she wasn’t nice to me.”
“Right.”
“Look, and I’m going to go deep here, man, so if you’re little pea-brain can’t handle it, let me know.”
Ethan says nothing, so I take that as my cue to continue.
“There’s a part of me that realizes, through therapy and shit, that I perpetuate feeling miserable—”
“No!” Ethan fake gasps.
I flip him off with my good hand and he smirks.
“Look, man, I don’t know how to feel happy with Kat gone. She doesn’t get to be happy. Doesn’t get to laugh or joke or move on.”
He nods.
“So, as long as I stay unhappy, then Kat and I are still on the same playing field.”
“What makes you think Kat is unhappy?”
“’Cause she’s dead.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s not happy.”
“Would you be happy if you were dead?”
“Would I know?”
I shrug. E and I have had plenty of existential conversations about death and the afterlife. Heaven and Hell. Consciousness after dying. Being first responders, we’ve had plenty of people we’ve revived, who claimed to see the bright white light and their entire lives flashing before them. Most often, we believe it to be bullshit. But with Kat, it hit closer to home. Plus, Ethan knows I talk to Kat and fully expect that she hears me.
“Well, I think she’s happy, man,” Ethan says. “I think she’s happy and at peace, and wants the same for you.”
“And I think she’s pissed off and jealous.”
“Really?” He looks at me. It’s that look that only someone who knows you almost better than you know yourself can give.
“No.” I hang my head.
“So, to recap,” Ethan starts. “Tenley’s bossy, but she makes you laugh and the sex was good.”
“At least if the sex sucked, I wouldn’t still be thinking about it this morning. And I could just move on and not worry about it.”
Ethan remains silent, watching the road and not looking at me.
“Did I mention that she’s a shitty dancer?”
He nods and exits the freeway toward my house. “I brought stuff to patch your wall, by the way.”
“Are we changing the subject, finally?” I ask.
“No, just wanted you to know I’ll be around for a while longer instead of just dropping you off.”
“Great.”
We pull into my drive. I struggle slightly with the seatbelt and getting the car door open, both with my left hand, but manage to get us into my house with only a few issues. Which Ethan takes full advantage of laughing at.
He unloads his supplies and begins to sand the area around the hole in the wall. I head into the kitchen to grab us some beers, and it only takes me two tries to get them open. I bring him one and lean against the back of my couch to watch him work.
He takes a long pull on his beer, then leans over to set it on the floor before turning toward me. “You know she’s dead, right?”
“Who? Kat?”
He looks at me.
“I fucking know she’s dead.”
He measures the hole, then cuts the wall patch to a size that is just larger, grabs his spackle, and applies it to the patch over the hole.
“She’s not coming back, brother.” His tone is soft. It still burns.
“I know.” My voice comes out as a croak. I clear my throat and try again. “I know.” I have to pinch the bridge of my nose to stop the tears from forming.
“You’re only forty-five. You’ve got at least ten more good sex years left in that old body of yours.”
I want to flip him off, but my only visible hand is holding my beer.
He finishes spackling over the patch, then sets the trowel down and grabs his beer, turning once again to face me. “What you did last night wasn’t cheating.”
“I—”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “Let me finish.”
I nod and take a long pull on my beer.
“You can’t cheat on a dead person.”
My chest feels heavy as I digest his words. Logically, I know that what he’s saying is correct. Emotionally, I feel like I’m drowning. I put my beer down on the side table and sit on the edge of my couch, burying my head in my hand. I’ve long since gotten over the embarrassment of crying in front of Ethan, or anyone, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still want to feel alone when I do it.
A sob escapes me as the couch dips and Ethan sits beside me. He puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into him slightly.
“Fuck.” I wipe my nose on my sleeve and try to get myself together before I go off the deep end. “I don’t know how to do this without her, man. And it’s not getting any easier. If anything, it’s worse than it was when she first died. And the more I think about trying to be with someone else, the more Kat sticks in my head. In my heart.”
“I won’t pretend to know how you’re feeling,” Ethan says. “And I am so fucking sorry she’s gone. There isn’t a person around who knew her who doesn’t miss her.”
I cough-sob at that but pretend it’s just a cough. Ethan pretends with me.
“Her last words, Brad, literally her last words, were telling you to be happy. To find your happily ever after. I’m not saying that Tenley is that. But I am saying that you have to be open to it, ready for it.”
“I’m not ready.”
“When will you be?”
I shrug.
“So, all the people who love you are just supposed to sit back and let you wallow?”
I shrug again, because I don’t really care what they think or want. I only care about me.
“What about the fucking promises that we made to her, man? We all lost her, not just you. What about her final words to us? Are we supposed to disgrace her memory by ignoring her wishes, and just let you continue to be a self-centered, self-righteous prick?”
“You lost a friend, Ethan. I lost the love of my life!” I jump up from the couch as I yell, my chest heaving, tears streaming.
“I know you did.” He stands beside me and reaches out to place a hand on my shoulder, but I shake it off. He repeats the gesture with the other hand on my other shoulder. “I
don’t know how to stop that hurt for you. Wish I did. What I do know is, whether or not we like it, whether or not we want it to, life goes on.”
I grab my beer and sit back down with a huff. These talks are so fucking draining. Ethan grabs his beer; hopefully he’s finished.
“What’s the plan, Brad?”
Apparently not.
“With what?” I ask.
“You’ve already tanked your career. You are renting the beach house for half of what it’s worth. You’ve let your landscaping here go to shit.” He motions out the front window toward my lawn. He’s wrong about that. I’ve been working on it. You just can’t always tell.
“So, I ask again,” Ethan says. “What’s the plan?”
“I don’t have a plan.”
“No shit.”
“Look, I tried. What more do you want?”
“Are you okay with this being your life, Brad?”
“Would you get off my fucking back about it? It is what it is, right?”
“Right. Yeah, fine. I’ll leave you alone about it. Sorry, Kat! I tried.” He yells the last part, as though talking to her from another room. He packs up the wall patching supplies he brought with him, then finishes his beer and brings the empty bottle to the kitchen. “You gonna be okay today? With your hand and all?”
“I’m good, man. Thanks.”
“Okay, well Sadie and I both have the day free so I’m going to go take full advantage.”
“Yep. See ya.”
With that, he’s gone, and I’m left once again to wallow in my perpetuated misery by myself. Just the way I like it.
25
Tenley
I wake at four in the morning after having barely slept the entire night. Thoughts of Brad run through my mind. Whether we can just be friends. Am I trying to make something out of nothing just because I feel like Sadie and I are drifting apart? Do I want marriage? Kids? To go with the status quo, just because? If I ever marry, will I be just like my father?
