Forever, Interrupted(32)

“Uh-huh,” I say and hang up the phone. This is the first time someone has mentioned God to me, and I want to wring Lyle’s fat neck. To be honest, it seems rude to even mention it to me. It’s like your friend talking about how much fun she had at the party you weren’t invited to. God has forsaken me. Stop rubbing it in how great God’s been to you.

I put the phone down on the kitchen table. “One down,” I say. “Can I take a shower before the next one?” Ana nods.

I head into the shower and turn on the faucet, wondering how I’m going to start this conversation, wondering how it can possibly go. Are my parents going to offer to fly out here? That would be terrible. Are they not going to offer to come out here at all? That would be even worse. Ana knocks on the door, and I turn off the water. I’m sure she thinks that I’ll never get out of here on my own, and I don’t want to give her any more to worry about than I already have. I can get myself out of the damn shower. For now.

I put on a robe and grab the phone. If I don’t do it this second, I won’t do it, so let’s do it.

I dial their home phone. My father answers.

“It’s Elsie,” I say.

“Oh, hi, Eleanor,” my father replies. I feel like he’s spitting in my face by saying my full name, reminding me that I am not who they intended. On my first day of school in kindergarten, I told everyone to call me Elsie. I told my teacher it was short for Eleanor, but in reality, I had liked the name ever since I saw Elsie the Cow on ice cream cartons. It was a couple of months before my mother figured out what exactly was going on, but by that time, try as she might, she could not get my friends to call me Eleanor. It was my first true rebellion.

“Do you and Mom have a minute to talk?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m sorry. We’re on our way out. I’ll call you some other time. Is that okay?” he says.

“No, actually, I’m sorry. I need to speak with you now. It’s rather important.”

My father tells me to hold on.

“What is it, Eleanor?” My mother is now on the phone.

“Is Dad on the line too?”

“I’m here. What did you want to say?”

“Well, I believe I told you about a man I was seeing. Ben.”

“Uh-huh,” my mother says. She sounds like she’s distracted. Like she’s putting on lipstick or watching the maid fold the laundry.

“Well,” I start. I don’t want to do this. What good comes of this? What good comes of me saying it out loud? Of hearing it through their ears? “Ben was hit by a car and passed away.”

My mother gasps. “Oh my God, Eleanor. I’m sorry to hear that,” she says.

“Jesus,” my dad says.

“I don’t know what to say,” my mother adds. But she can’t stand not saying something so she pulls something out of her ass. “I trust you’ve informed his family.” My parents see death every day, and I think it has made them numb to it in a lot of ways. I think it’s made them numb to life too, but I’m sure they’d just say I’m too sensitive.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s all taken care of. I just wanted you to know.”

“Well,” my mother says, still pulling words out of thin air. “I imagine this is a hard time for you, but I hope you know that we feel for you. I just . . . My word. Have you had time to process? Are you doing okay?”

“I’m not okay, exactly. The other thing I wanted to tell you is that Ben and I were married in a private ceremony two weeks ago. He died as my husband.”

It’s out of my mouth. I have done my job. Now all I have to do is get off the phone.

“Why did you marry someone you barely knew?” my father asks, and there it is, off and running.

“Your father’s right, Eleanor. I don’t even know . . . ” My mother is livid. I can hear it in her voice.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I say.

“Forget telling us!” she says. “What were you thinking? How long had you known this man?”

“Long enough to know that he was the love of my life,” I say, defensively.

They are silent. I can tell my mom wants to say something.

“Just go ahead,” I say.

“I knew your father for four years before I agreed to even go on a date with him, Eleanor. We dated for another five before we got married. You can’t possibly know enough about a person after a few months.”

“It was six months. I met him six months ago,” I say. God, even I know this sounds paltry and embarrassing. It makes me feel so stupid.

“Precisely!” my dad pipes in. “Eleanor, this is terrible. Just terrible. We are so sorry you have been hurt like this, but you will move on. I promise.”

“No, but, Charles,” my mom interjects. “It’s also important that she understands that she needs to take more time with her decisions. This is exactly—”

“Guys, I don’t want to talk about this right now. I just thought you should know I’m a widow.”

“A widow?” my mother says. “No, I don’t think you should consider yourself a widow. Don’t label yourself like that. That’s only going to make it more difficult to rebound from this. How long were you two married?” I can hear the judgment in her voice.