I Liked My Life(30)

The curtains stay drawn while Linda sleeps, which is now most of the day. To respect her failing appetite and growing sensitivity to smells, Rory and the day nurse, Greta, consume only benign food. Linda wakes to them murmuring about dinner. “Eat something plentiful, you two,” Linda begs.

Rory grins. “No way. My new waistline and miniscule grocery bills are the high points of your cancer.” The ladies all giggle. If Rory can entertain her mother on death’s door, certainly she can get a smile from Brady and Eve.

They need it.

Eve is in the kitchen studying for finals, waiting for Brady to come out of his room for dinner. She’s come to look forward to their evening routine. During the workweek, Brady rushes in with a bag of takeout like they have a standing seven o’clock meeting. (It’s on his calendar, so from his standpoint they do.) On Saturday and Sunday they mostly eat leftovers from the week, but they do it together. This is the first night since the accident Brady has bailed. He’s holed up in our room. His room, now. The idea that he played a role in my misery gnawed at him all week; tonight he has nothing left to give.

Sundays, in particular, are hard. It was our day. Saturday Brady worked and Eve usually had a tournament of some sort, but Sundays everything clicked into place. Nothing sensational, errands and togetherness mixed with a little daydreaming, but that was all we needed to wind up for another week.

The Sunday before I died I woke up to the smell of bacon. Eve and I wandered into the kitchen at the same time. Brady had already set out plates. “Breakfast for me ladies,” he said, taking a medieval bow.

There was a reason he felt compelled to put on a show. He’d been traveling most of the week, but only bothered to call home once. I’m not high maintenance, but I expect an evening check-in.

I played along, anxious for him to earn my forgiveness. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Yuck. Get a room,” Eve snapped. Brady and I lost it in laughter, giving each other a kiss while she turned away in disgust.

The day got better. I needed to go to an antique store to pick up a lamp that finally arrived. Brady surprised me by wanting to tag along, and again when he asked for a tour of the Wellesley campus on our way home. I’d volunteered at the library for two years, but he and Eve rarely acknowledged my time there. He was surprised how many passing students and professors knew me by name.

“Whatever you do, you go all in,” he remarked. Brady wasn’t one to throw around compliments, so I relished them when he did.

We returned home to a note from Eve saying she was having pizza at the Andersons’. Normally I’d have been irked she didn’t get permission—especially since it was at Kara’s and Eve knows I’m not a fan of that family—but that night I let it slide. I made lemon-broiled salmon over risotto while Brady set the table and opened a bottle of pinot grigio. We laughed, flirted, and made love. Our last time, it turned out. Afterward we danced to our wedding song and he whispered the lyrics in my ear: You came along and everything started to hum. Still it’s a real good bet the best is yet to come.

Untrue, of course, but Brady didn’t know that at the time.

Now he lies in bed, replaying the day, unaware Eve sits a room away, worried. I should motivate him to head to the kitchen, but I’m as swept up by the memory as he is. I don’t want to be remembered by how I died, I want to be remembered by who I was that Sunday, when I wasn’t competing with Brady’s and Eve’s many distractions.

Our thoughts crisscross. Am I leading him or is he leading me? I can’t tell. He lets out a keening sob that startles me. Most of his time grieving is filled with anger, but this moment is pure loss. He looks like a toddler, tucked into the fetal position, grasping his knees for strength. His mind stays fixed on that wonderful day, remembering details I forgot.

“I don’t tell you often that I know how lucky I am,” he said during our walk.

“No, you don’t, but I don’t need to hear it that often.”

Why did I always acquiesce like that? Perhaps if I didn’t enable his inattention he would’ve learned how to nurture. I allowed him to be distant, to disappoint, and it worked because I was there to make up for it. Now Eve is stuck with those qualities in her only parent.

Brady struggles through his tears to remember how we picked our wedding song all those years ago. New York City, I whisper. It slips to his consciousness. The weekend after our engagement Brady took me there to celebrate. We stayed at the Park Plaza, even though we could barely afford to park the car. All our money still went to student loans. I asked over and over how we’d pay for the weekend. “I’ll take care of it,” Brady assured. “I’m going to take such good care of you.” It turned out I’d be the one taking care of everyone, but we didn’t know it at the time. That night we went to a bar called The Rat Pack and danced to “The Best Is Yet to Come.” I’d never felt more certain.

Before retiring to her room, Eve checks on Brady. His audible sobs stop her from knocking. Picturing him broken down, only yards away, hits her hard. Eve is not enough for Brady, which of course she knew, but resents confronting so plainly. She listens over a half hour, wondering whether to knock. Let him be, I pass down to her softly, and she does.

This can’t be undone.

Eve

Today is my grand finale at Wellesley High School. I didn’t think of it as a big deal until Paige stopped in on her run this morning to see how I was feeling. She seemed surprised to find me unfazed. I want to feel sentimental—I do—but my emotions peaced out with my mother. Now I’m just water and bones.