On Second Thought(18)

Four days ago, I was married. That had been enough of a trip. Now I was a widow. I ask you—how weird was that? (My brain seemed to be generating only italicized words, like an overdramatic narrator.)

Brooke lost her beloved younger brother. The Coburns no longer had a son.

Nathan was dead.

I mean, really. What the f*ck?

Maybe I could stay here all night. It sure beat what lay ahead. I could simply wait for everyone to leave, creep out of the bathroom and watch Orange Is the New Black. I could make popcorn. Better yet, I could buy some of that popcorn with the salted caramel and chocolate in it. Get a bottle from Nathan’s wine cellar, climb in bed with our big TV on. Nathan wouldn’t be able to resist that. He’d definitely come back from the dead for that.

Funny—horrible—how fast I’d gotten used to sleeping with another person. For twenty years, I’d had my own bed almost without interruption. Two weeks into our marriage, and Nathan and I had already figured out how to sleep together, how we fit together, when to cuddle close, when to pull away.

Now the bed was like the vast Arctic Ocean, freezing cold and lifeless.

The panic was back, little squeaks coming out of my throat, my lips clamped tight.

Please don’t make me do this, Nathan. Please.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and I jumped. “Kate? Are you okay?” It was Brooke.

“Coming,” I said too loudly. My watch told me I’d been in here for seven minutes.

In a movie, there’d be two lines. After all, we did shag before the party. I would have a baby in my grief, and the baby would be a memorial to Nathan and our tragic love, and such a comfort to the Coburns. He absolutely would be Nathan the Fourth. I’d be really noble and quite beautiful, probably played by that chick who cried so well... What was her name? Rachel McSomething. Yes. Nate IV and I would make a new life together, and he would have his father’s blue eyes.

I looked at the test.

One line.

Insult to injury. “Fuck you, test,” I whispered. “You’re wrong.”

*

The carpet at the funeral home was so plush and soft that I wobbled every time someone hugged me. And everyone hugged me. I definitely should not have worn heels. Why didn’t anyone tell me this? Also, the Spanx panty hose kept threatening to roll down. Every few hugs, I’d have to reach behind and hitch it up a little. I had to pee, which would give me the chance to pull the panty hose back where it belonged. Was I allowed to leave the line? Probably not.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I said to the tie in front of me. If I looked only at the necktie, it was easier not to lose my shit and start with the hehn-hehn-hehn sounds of hyperventilating. It was so f*cking embarrassing. I sounded like a dying duck.

My language had seriously deteriorated since my husband died.

“Bernard, how good of you to come. Thank you for being so kind,” said Eloise next to me. She wore a black knit St. John dress and pearls. Her eyes were dry, her heart broken, and she made Jackie Kennedy look like a strung-out wreck. “This is our daughter-in-law, Kate. Kate, our very dear friend Bernard Helms.”

“Great to meet you,” I said, then covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean that. Obviously, I wish we’d met under different circumstances. But you know, thanks for coming.” My left heel wobbled. I felt drunk with fatigue and grief. Now I looked drunk, too, wobbling around, constantly off balance. Eloise’s heels were higher than mine, but she was not the wobbling type. Brooke wore flats. Smart of her. “Did you know Nathan well?”

Bernard’s eyes filled. “I’ve known him since he was a baby. Such a good boy. I remember this terrible snowstorm, oh, maybe ten years ago. My wife had cancer, and we lost power, and I look out the window, and there’s Nathan, coming up our driveway. His place had an automatic generator, and damned if he didn’t take the both of us to his house and treat us like royalty the whole four days. Cooked us dinner, played Scrabble.” Bernard was now openly weeping. “I’m so sorry for you, my dear. Such a tremendous loss.”

I seemed to be gulping and sort of barking with a little choking thrown in for good measure. Pressing my hand against my mouth, I glanced at Eloise helplessly. Pain was carved so deeply on her face that it hurt to look, but she smiled sadly and patted Bernard’s arm, murmured something.

I felt like a junkie next to her.

My sister slipped up with a box of tissues. I didn’t need them, though. I was just barking, like a dog, or a fox, or a...a...stegosaurus. Did they bark? What was the question? Oh, tissues. The really good ones, with lotion. Ainsley was still waiting, so I took one, blew and wobbled. Ainsley steadied me, and I hated that she was being so nice. I didn’t want her to be nice. I wanted to be home with Nathan. “Hang in there,” she whispered, then went back to her seat.

“I’m so, so sorry,” said another one of Eloise’s friends, her eyes red and wet. “You just got married! How can you stand it?”

I have no f*cking idea, lady. “I... It was a terrible shock.” Eloise had been saying that, so I borrowed her line.

“Awful! Did he...” She lowered her voice. “Did he make any noise?”

Jesus. “I... No. It was very fast.”

“This is why Indian women throw themselves on the pyre, isn’t it? You must want to do the same thing.” She looked at the casket. “He almost looks alive, doesn’t he?”