The Good Widow(33)
“Phew!” he says. “I thought maybe I smelled?”
I turn and face him. “Talk about not feeling normal. Apparently I can’t even hug someone anymore without feeling awkward.”
We laugh quietly at ourselves. It feels like the only choice.
“I miss her,” he says. “It feels like I have a huge hole inside of me—where she used to be. I keep seeing things and think, ‘Oh, I need to tell Dylan about this.’ And then I realize I can’t.”
“I miss him too,” I say. I miss how he’d wrap one of his legs around mine when he slept. I miss the way he sang off tune to any Eagles song—didn’t matter which one; he couldn’t control himself if he heard their music. I miss when he’d make me chilaquiles with homemade salsa on Sunday mornings. Suddenly it occurs to me that it’s been years since he did any of these things. The parts of him I miss the most were gone long before he was.
“Does that make us fools?” he asks. “To miss the people who fucked us over so badly? Especially now that we know they were playing house over here?”
“This might surprise you, but I don’t think so. Just because they did a bad thing—several bad things—doesn’t mean we can’t be sad they’re gone.”
“Can I ask you something kind of strange?”
“Why not? I’m abnormal. You’re abnormal. Maybe it will seem normal when you say it.”
“What if you found out he was alive? Like this was all some big mistake? And he knocked on the door right now and asked you to forgive him. Could you?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation, surprising myself slightly, and clearly surprising Nick.
“Really?” he asks after staring at me for a beat.
“Yes,” I repeat, realizing that is exactly what I’d do.
“I get that you’d be excited to see him again. I’d feel the same way about Dylan. But what would happen after the initial shock and excitement wore off? You could really get past it? The lying? The cheating? The betrayal?”
“I’d like to think I’d at least try.” But I don’t tell Nick the next part. Because it sounds pathetic, even as I think it. If James wanted me back—if he chose me, even after not choosing me—I’d say yes. I’d planned for us to grow old together—for better or worse. And I now understand how lonely I’m going to be without him. And I’d make it right. I’d delve deep and uncover the old James. The one that had to still be there. The one Dylan probably knew.
Nick whistles. “Not the answer I was expecting.”
“Maybe it’s because we have a lot more history than you and Dylan do—eight years.”
“I would think that would make what he did sting worse.”
I look down at a few couples strolling on the path. “Things get complicated after you get past the honeymoon phase, Nick. The layers of your relationship build on top of one another. Good on top of bad on top of good. But you don’t tear down the whole thing just because it hasn’t turned out the way you thought it would.” I think of my own untruth. Yes, it had changed my relationship with James. But he had tried to work through it. Or at least I thought he had. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t give Dylan another chance?”
“No.” He clenches his jaw as if he’s trying to force himself not to say the ugly things that come to mind.
I do the same thing when I think about what James did to me. I push away the mean thoughts. Because calling him nasty names in my mind won’t change anything—especially because he’s not the only one to blame. Clearly I played a role. A man generally doesn’t go out and have an affair for the hell of it, if he’s happy with his wife. I should’ve found a marriage counselor to help us through what I’d done to us.
I’ve clearly moved into what WebMD calls the bargaining phase. If only I’d done this. If only I’d tried that.
“Why not?” I finally ask him. “If she was as wonderful as you’ve made her sound, why wouldn’t you at least try to make it work?”
“The Dylan I knew, the one I was engaged to, was as great as I’ve told you. She was funny and smart and kind. But this Dylan?” He waves his hand toward the hotel grounds. “The one who lied and came here with James? I don’t need her.”
“Yet you came all the way here to find out more about that Dylan? The one you don’t need?”
“So I can move on. I never will if I keep remembering the good Dylan—if I continue to romanticize what I realize now wasn’t real, at least not to her,” Nick says simply, and takes off his sunglasses off his head. “Look at that.” He points toward the sky, which has transformed from dark blue to streaks of red, gold, and pink. We watch the sun inch down toward the water until it disappears, and I wonder if I’ve begun to romanticize James because he’s no longer here to prove me wrong.
“Here’s to happier sunsets,” I say, holding up my now-empty glass.
After Nick leaves, I curl under the fluffy white duvet in my king-size bed feeling slightly better. He reminded me that we were booked on a hiking tour first thing in the morning, and even though the thought of it gave me a stomachache, I smiled at him and told him I’d be ready. Because I was determined to make tomorrow about me, about my future. About conquering my fears. I plan to do the hike like Cheryl fucking Strayed.