I Liked My Life(80)

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I remember saying all of it at one time or another, some repeated over and over and some thrown out only once, not knowing I had such an attentive audience. But I specifically remember telling Meg that final sentence at her home on the Cape, bundled up by the bonfire. It was almost Halloween. The air was crisp, mosquitoes had died off, and the stars were showing off more than usual.

Everyone else had gone in for the night when Meg confided that she had severe anxiety about death. “Common enough,” I said, “but we’ll all die.”

“Well, yeah Maddy, I didn’t say I was stupid, just anxious.”

We laughed. Look, “you can obsess that our time is limited, ranking your memories on some giant scorecard, or you can truck on. I bet the people trucking on end up with the best scorecard.”

“Wow. That’s deep,” she said. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

I slapped her arm, but then looked in her eyes and saw someone other than my little sister. Meg was a complicated woman, a peer, a mother in her own right. The insight helped me find the words she needed to hear. “Mock me all you want, but I’ve been thinking about mortality a lot too; maybe that’s the age we’re at. And the best I can come up with is this: we’re given the gift of life with the consequence of death. I think it’d be a mistake to focus on the consequence instead of the gift.”

That night when we hugged before bed, Meg said, “I’m glad I don’t have to be the big sister. It must be such a burden to figure out everything first.”

Her words inflated me. My life wasn’t what I’d imagined. I envisioned commanding a larger sphere of influence. In my twenties I felt certain I’d be a CEO someday; in my thirties I came to believe that my contribution to the world was whatever Eve delivered (leveraging skills from her kick-ass mom); in my forties I realized Eve could cure cancer, but bragging about your awesome kid isn’t enough to sail you through four more decades. It gnawed at me. Eve graduating would conclude my daily purpose if I didn’t turn up a new beginning. Already the to-do list was thinning. Eve could drive. She no longer needed to talk through every unpleasant social interaction, and she certainly didn’t need my help with homework. If it wasn’t for volunteering at the library, I’d already have gone crazy. I became fearful of what happened to matriarchs after everyone grew up. Meg’s words provided solace. My world turned out to be small, but damn it, my sister needed me, and so did Eve and Brady. Happiness is an every man for himself endeavor. To three people, I was everything, and that turned out to be enough.

Eve reads Meg’s list as though she’ll be tested on it. Most of the lines she’d heard me say before, but some are revelations. I was not, for example, planning to be so cavalier about sleeping with people and smoking pot. Meg believed my essence could only be captured with an unedited version. She’s been on a mission to find her authentic self.

Brady is also surprised by Meg’s openness. Months ago he’d have been angry, but now, with his increased comfort in Eve’s capacity, he lets the perceived infraction slide. When Eve heads back upstairs, Brady touches the frame and calls Meg. “‘Don’t feel pressure to use chopsticks,’” he says when she answers. “‘The fork is functionally superior.’” They both laugh for a moment, but Meg’s end of the line quickly turns to weeping.

They haven’t spoken since the funeral. It’s hard to be around people whose loss matches your own. It’s almost competitive. “I miss her, Brady,” my little sister mourns. “I miss her so much.”

“I know, Meg. Me too.” He pauses. “Listen, I should have called sooner, but—”

“I have a phone. I know.”

Brady resists his rising emotions. “You and Dan have been my family for twenty years. There’s no one left on my side, for Eve and me. I don’t want to lose you.” He sucks the snot back into his nose at one last attempt to ward off tears. It doesn’t work.

“You haven’t lost us. Dan and I should’ve reached out. It’s intense still. It’s hard to imagine talking about anything other than the person missing. But we’ll get there.”

Brady’s voice lowers to a whisper. “I was afraid you blamed me.” He feels completely naked saying so. “I figured you thought something horrible must’ve been happening behind closed doors. Hell, maybe it did, but I certainly didn’t know about it.”

“No, Brady. Never. It didn’t even cross my mind.” She’s lying; of course it crossed her mind. But Meg had the hardest time picturing me in trouble and not raising my hand for help. “I don’t know what happened,” she says, “but whatever it was, we both missed it.” Her words, while not completely exonerating him, succeed in spreading the blame across more than one conscience.

There’s silence as they pull themselves together. Brady is the first to speak. “So Eve said she called about staying there next weekend.”

Meg takes one last emotional breath. “Yep. We’re set. It’s too bad you didn’t make it to the Cape this summer, but it’s pretty amazing you’re running a marathon. The McManns are impressed. Dan said he’ll eat a hot dog in your honor on Saturday.”

“Don’t be too awestruck. I have a lot of guilt to run off.”