Forever, Interrupted(49)

“He loved you, Elsie. I know that now. My son wasn’t a very romantic person, but I doubt you ever knew that. Because he was clearly very romantic with you.”

“I loved him, Susan,” I say, still stationary, inert. “I loved him so much.”

“I know you did,” she says. “He kept a copy of his proposal in his wallet. Did you know that?”

I perk up. She hands the paper to me, and I read it.

“Elsie, let’s spend our lives together. Let’s have children together and buy a house together. I want you there when I get the promotion I’ve been shooting for, when I get turned down for something I’ve always hoped for, when I fall and when I stand back up. I want to see every day of your life unfold. I want to be yours and to have you as my own. Will you marry me? Marry me.”

“Will you marry me?” is crossed out and replaced with the more forward statement. “Marry me.”

This isn’t how he proposed. I don’t even know what this is. But it feels good to know he struggled with how to ask me. This was one of his attempts. His handwriting was so very bad.

“I found it in his wallet when I went through it. That’s when I got it. You know? Like it or not, you are the truth about Ben. He loved you fiercely. And just because he didn’t tell me, doesn’t mean he didn’t love you. I just have to keep telling myself that. It’s a hard one to make sense of, but anyway, you should have these things. He would want that.” She smiles at me, grabbing my chin like I am a child. “I am so proud of my son for loving you this way, Elsie. I didn’t know he had it in him.”

It feels nice to think that maybe Susan could like me. I am actually overwhelmed by how nice that thought feels. But this is not the Susan I know. And it makes me feel uneasy. If I’m being honest, part of me is worried she’s going to wait until my defenses are down and then sock me in the stomach.

“Anyway, I would love to get to know you,” she says. “If that is okay with you. I should have called before I came up here, but I thought”—she laughs—“I thought if I was you, I’d tell me to f*ck off, so I didn’t want to give you the chance.”

I laugh with her, unsure of what exactly is going on and how to respond to it.

“Can I take you to lunch?” she asks.

I laugh again. “I don’t know,” I say, knowing my eyes are swollen and I haven’t showered.

“I wouldn’t blame you for asking me to leave,” she says. “I was awful, when I think about it from your point of view. And you don’t know me at all, but I can tell you that once I realize I’m wrong, I do everything to make it right. I’ve thought about this for weeks and I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready to do better. I really do want to get to know you and I’d love to just . . . start over.” She says “start over” like it’s a refreshing thought, like it’s something people can actually do. And because of that, I start to feel like maybe it is possible. Maybe it’s easier than it feels. We will just start over. Let’s try again.

“Yeah,” I say. “We can try again.”

Susan nods. “I’m so sorry, Elsie.”

“Me too,” I say, and it isn’t until I say it that I realize I mean it. We sit there for a minute, considering each other. Can we do this? Can we be good to each other? Susan seems convinced that we can, and she’s determined to take the lead.

“All right,” she says. “Let’s get composed and head out.”

“You are much better at composure than I am.”

“It’s a learned trait,” she says. “And it’s entirely superficial. Hop in the shower, I’ll wait here. I won’t poke through anything, I promise.” She puts her hands up in the air to signify swearing.

“Okay,” I say, getting up. “Thank you, Susan.”

She closes her eyes for just half a second and nods her head.

I head into the bathroom, and before I shut the door, I tell her she’s welcome to poke through anything she likes.

“Okay! You may regret this,” she says. I smile and get in the shower. While I’m washing my hair, I think of all the things I have been meaning to say to her for weeks. I think of how I’ve wanted to tell her the pain she caused me. I’ve wanted to tell her how wrong she was. How little she really knew her own son. How unkind she has been. But now that she’s here, and she’s different, it doesn’t seem worth it.

I get dressed and come out into the living room, and she’s sitting on the sofa, waiting. Somehow, she’s put me in a better mood.

Susan drives us to a random restaurant she found on Yelp. “They said it was private and had great desserts. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I say. “I’m always up for someplace new.”

Our conversation, when not about Ben, doesn’t flow as freely. It is awkward at times, but I think both of us know that is to be expected.

I tell her that I am a librarian. She says that she loves reading. I tell her that I am not close with my parents; she says she is sorry to hear that. She tells me she’s been working on occupying her time with various projects but can’t seem to stick to something longer than a few months. “I realized I was too fixated on the house so I stopped renovating, but truthfully, renovating is the only thing that keeps me occupied!” Eventually, the conversation works its way back to the things we have in common: Ben, dead husbands, and loss.