I Liked My Life(79)

“Let’s make a deal,” she offers. “I’ll take the class if you go on a date.”

I’m still working on accepting her knack for catching me off guard. I take a sip of wine to buy time. “This isn’t a negotiation, but why do you want me to go on a date?”

“I don’t care if you do or not, but I’ve been looking for a way to let you know it’s okay with me. You know, if you ever want to go on a date, I’m fine with that.”

Her and Meg both. Huh. “I haven’t wanted to go on a date.”

What I want is sex. You never hear widows voice the sentiment, but I could stave off companionship indefinitely. Sex, not so much.

“Well, if you ever do, you’ll know I’m fine with it, so you won’t feel like you need my permission.”

“I appreciate that,” I say. And, surprisingly, I mean it.

That night I lie alone in the hotel bed, circling around Meg’s and Eve’s consent. I wouldn’t know where to begin in the dating world. I might have been a subpar husband, but I was a faithful subpar husband. I don’t even have a type. I mean, where the hell would I meet someone? I wouldn’t mind getting laid, but can’t picture marching a woman into the house Maddy decorated. And, really, how would I broach my past? I envision the conversation:

“Are you divorced?”

“No, a widow.” With no other information the sympathy produced would likely be to my benefit, but then she’d carefully inquire how Maddy passed, assuming cancer. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

“Suicide,” I’d confess.

Date over.

Even if I found someone who respected all I’ve been through, I can’t imagine trusting happiness again. I think of Rory. She’s a pleaser, like Maddy. The doubt would be torture. I’d drive us both insane relentlessly asking if she was content. And even if she swore she was, how could I be certain?

Loving a person doesn’t make them who you desire; it makes you vulnerable to their reality.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Madeline

Meg finished compiling the advice I gave her over the years and, as promised, sent a copy to Eve. It’s matted professionally in a wooden frame with a gray border, the words carefully penned in her script. Despite each thought occurring during different phases of my life—high school through motherhood—Meg wrote it as prose. It looks like one of those old Irish blessings that gets passed through generations and eventually ends up hanging on a bathroom wall where people have time to read it.

Eve opens the card before unwrapping the frame. I’m grateful Meg took the time to preface my sentiments; many of the statements now deemed sage advice are questionable at best. Death glorified the profoundness of my thoughts.

Dear Eve,

Your mother didn’t believe in each of these things with equal passion, but in the moment she spoke the words they were true to her. I’m not gifted with her self-awareness. I relied on my big sister for guidance as I set my course, and more often than not, I relied on her to gently point out when I lost my way. If I were to summarize her words of wisdom, I’d say this: the most important approval to earn in this life is your own.

Your mother was a philosopher in her own way, and so, I see now, are you.

Enjoy, Aunt Meg





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MADDY’S TRUTHS

Make room for who you are by knowing who you’re not. Smile all the time, at everyone, without exception: when you’re happy it will be contagious, and when you’re angry it will drive the person you’re mad at bonkers. Blow-dry before lipstick. Counters before sweeping. Water before dinner. To hell with what everyone thinks about your life, but you should know what you think about it. Don’t stay out past one a.m.—nobody is proud of the stories born later than that. Plans contingent on perfection fail. It’s dangerous to fight who you are. The stupidest thing you can do is believe your own bullshit, but you probably will every once in a while. Flowery perfume smells like a cover-up. Don’t have a room your kids can’t play in or a couch your kids can’t sit on; it’s their house too. If you don’t know what to say, say, “I don’t know what to say.” If you mess up, say, “I messed up.” If you need help, say, “I need help.” Never count on any one thing. Don’t confuse wanting to have sex and rent movies with someone for wanting to marry him. Never buy button-fly jeans—they aren’t flattering on anyone ever. Practice love, compassion, and forgiveness. Try not to speak consecutively for more than two minutes; it’s hard to be a good listener longer than that. It’s good to have one friend who still smokes a lot of pot. It’s important to speak up even if no one will stand behind you. A home is something you create. Gatorade and greasy food cure hangovers. The impression you have of someone is most likely the impression they have of you (that’s why I’m so self-conscious around annoying people). Give yourself a break, but not a free pass. Never become a prize, possession, puppet, or toy—it’s no fun hanging on someone’s wall for any substantial amount of time. When someone gives you the creeps, don’t worry about their feelings or apologize, just get the hell away. Constantly earn the hearts of your friends and family, and expect them to earn yours back. Ask questions. Don’t give out answers you don’t have. Think before you speak. Sometimes you’ll lie, but have a person who knows both your truths and the lies you’ve told; pick someone who won’t judge you. Don’t give up on reading before you find a favorite book, and even then I don’t recommend it. At the end of each day, acknowledge the things you wish you’d done differently so that tomorrow you will. We’re given the gift of life with the consequence of death.