Forever, Interrupted(71)

I think of a world where I am a mother of three, married to a handsome man. We own an oversize SUV, and he coaches girls’ soccer. He is faceless, nameless. To tell the truth, in the scenario, he doesn’t matter. I keep trying to think of a way to work Ben into this new life I could have. I could name my son Ben, but that feels too obvious and, quite frankly, too small a gesture. I am beginning to understand why people start funds and charities in other people’s names. It would feel good to work at the Benjamin S. Ross Foundation for Not Eating Fruity Pebbles. But I know there isn’t actually anything to rally against for him.

To tell the truth, I lack passion for much of anything. Sometimes I wish I had passion for something—which, if you think about it, is a kind of passion in itself. Albeit, somewhat weak.

Susan always plans things for me to do to keep me busy, even if it is just a structured day of lounging and watching television. Sometimes the “camp counselor” shtick she has going on can be a bit grating, but it’s not my place to tell her to back off. She wants to help me and she is helping. I’m just that little bit more functional each day.

“My friend Rebecca is in town tonight,” she says to me one afternoon. “I was thinking we could all go out to this new Mediterranean place I found.”

This is the first time that Susan is inviting me out with any of her friends. It seems odd, somehow, to participate in something together that involves other people. I’m not sure why, though. It feels like this alliance is a private one, one not to be shared. As if she’s my mistress mother. But I think I’m really just scared of what to call her. How will she introduce me? “This is my son’s widow?” I don’t want that.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. I’m fiddling with the pages of a magazine I read days ago. The pages are transparent and curled at the edges from when I left it by the edge of the pool and attempted a cannonball.

“Please?” she says.

“I mean—” I start. She abruptly sits down and puts her hands out, as if she’s about to make a great proposition.

“Look, Rebecca isn’t the best. She’s kind of . . . snobby. Well, she’s really snobby. And I could just never stand her snobby little attitude about our kids. When her oldest got into Stanford, it was Stanford this and Stanford that and whoopity-do, isn’t Patrick the smartest kid in the world? She always acted like Ben was such a disappointment.”

“Wow, okay, now I really don’t want to go. And I don’t understand why you want to go,” I say.

“Well, get this!” Susan says excitedly. “She always, always wanted a daughter. Always. She’s got two boys. Neither married yet.” Susan catches herself and blushes. “I’m a terrible person, right? I am. I’m trying to use my daughter-in-law to make my friend jealous.”

I don’t know whether it’s that I already hate Rebecca or that I like the idea of indulging Susan, but I agree. “Should we wear matching dresses?” I say. “Maybe tell her we just got back from pottery making together?”

Susan laughs heartily. “Thank you for understanding that I am sometimes a total bitch.”

We take naps and then get ready for dinner. I can hear Susan changing her clothes over and over. It’s odd to see her so insecure. When we get to the restaurant, we are told that Rebecca has already been seated. We walk through the dining area, Susan just the littlest bit in front of me, and I see her make eye contact. Rebecca stands up to greet us. “Only two minutes late!” Rebecca says, and I see Susan start to roll her eyes. Rebecca turns to me. “So this is the daughter-in-law you won’t stop talking about.”

And I realize that, more than anything, what made me want to come to dinner was that for the first time, I feel like I am Susan’s daughter-in-law, plain and simple. The bizarre circumstances don’t matter. I am someone’s new, shiny daughter-in-law.





NOVEMBER


Ana is coming down to visit tonight. Susan invited her to stay for the weekend and she accepted. She should be here any minute, and I am excited to show her how nice it can be to just sit by a pool and feel the sun beating down on you. I went to the store this afternoon to get us snacks and wine coolers. I got the wine coolers because I thought they were funny, but then I drank one this afternoon, and you know what? They are actually pretty tasty.

Ana shows up around six, and Susan has a whole dinner planned. I get the impression Susan is deathly bored. I think my being here makes it easier to fill her days, but before Ben died, before she and I became close, she was supremely, soul-suckingly bored. She’s in a lot of book clubs, but as far as I can tell, that’s about it. So when Ana comes for dinner, it gives Susan an excuse for a seven-course meal.

I walk into the kitchen and find an extra apron. I put it on and splay my hands out. “What can I do?” I ask.

Susan is chopping vegetables so fast I’m sure she’s about to lose a digit, but she doesn’t. Her cutting board is full of various chopped stuff that she slides easily into a big bowl.

“Can you hand me that jar?” she asks. I do. She sprinkles whatever the hell is in it, possibly Parmesan cheese, onto the salad and puts the salad on the table.

“Salad’s ready. The roast beef is cooking. Mashed potatoes are mashed. Yorkshire pudding is in the oven. I think I’m pretty much done,” she tells me. “I hope Ana isn’t on a diet. I cooked all the food in Orange County.”