I'm Fine and Neither Are You(79)
“It’s okay,” I said, not even bothering to try to stop crying. “Come in, come in.”
“Thank you,” he said. He glanced around. “What a nice place you have.”
“Thank you. I like it, too.”
Sanjay had come to the hallway. After he took my father’s suitcase, he embraced him.
“You knew about this, didn’t you?” I said.
He grinned. “Your dad wanted to come visit, so I told him to come as soon as he could. All I did was get Miles’ room ready so he had a place to sleep.”
My heart swelled. He knew how much this meant to me, and he had helped make it happen.
“Kids! Your grandfather is here!” Sanjay yelled.
Miles and Stevie came running down the stairs.
“Grandpa?” said Miles, looking at my father questioningly. And no surprise—he hadn’t seen him since he was four. We had photos up, but it wasn’t the same.
My father knelt and extended a hand. “Hello, Miles. You can call me Abuelo . It’s nice to see you again.”
“Abuelo,” repeated Miles.
“Hi,” said Stevie quietly.
He turned to her. “Stevie! You’re the spitting image of your beautiful mother.” She flushed and smiled shyly.
“Hey, kids? Can you give your grandfather a tour of the house?” I said. I didn’t have to ask twice—they grabbed him by the hand and yanked him into the living room. “Gentle!” I called after them.
“I’m fine, Penelope!” he called back.
The screen door slammed as they pulled my father into the backyard.
“Thank you for doing this,” I said to Sanjay.
“I didn’t do anything except take your father’s call. He’s here because of you. Because you told him what you needed from him.”
“I did, didn’t I?” I gave him a teary smile, but Sanjay wiped my face with the sleeve of his new shirt and kissed me. “I’m going to go make sure the kids aren’t making your father jump on the trampoline, okay?”
“I love you, you know.”
He held my gaze. “I love you, too. More than ever.”
After he left, I went into the kitchen to pour a glass of water for my father, who was wiping his brow and talking to Sanjay as the kids ran circles around them. As I regarded my family through the window, I was reminded of the night Jenny’s voice first came to me, and what a comfort that had been.
It occurred to me that it had been several weeks since I had heard her. Somehow I knew I wouldn’t again.
If Jenny were still alive—or even if we were still just having chats in my head—I would have told her how happy I was to be building a new bond with my father. I would have shared that I was finally making space for my own dreams. I would have confessed I was doing what had once seemed impossible and falling in love with my husband again.
And in spite of her pain, she would have been happy for me.
Close female friendships are built one secret at a time. What Jenny had concealed did not undo all we had shared; I would miss her for the rest of my life. But as I watched my husband gesturing animatedly to my father, I was profoundly grateful that I still had one person with whom I could share these thoughts, and the many ideas and experiences—and, yes, mistakes—that would follow.
Above my family, the sun was beaming in the cloudless blue sky. I wondered if Jenny was up there somewhere, or in the air around me, or at least a part of the universe somehow. Wherever she was, I only hoped she knew I had received her parting gift—the ability to look beyond what was missing and be thankful for all that remained.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
If you’ve read the news recently, you probably know the US is in the midst of an opioid epidemic. Addiction—including opioid addiction—has affected my friends and family, their loved ones, and so many others. With that in mind, I did not take writing about this topic lightly. Though I consulted medical literature, physicians, emergency medical technicians, and paramedics about the situations depicted in this novel, this novel is a work of fiction and should not be used for reference purposes. If you or someone you know is dealing with substance abuse, visit www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline for more information.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every novel begins with an idea. The idea for this one was sparked by the many conversations about marriage, parenting, and life that I had with my Burns Park friends—specifically Stefanie and Craig Galban, Jennifer and Jeff Lamb, Anna and Vince Massey, Stevany and Tim Peters, Nate and Mara Richardson, Nicole and Matt Sampson, and Michelle and Mike Stone, as well as my better half, JP Pagán. It takes a village; I’m so glad you guys are mine.
Elisabeth Weed, your enthusiasm for this story fueled me every step of the way. I’m honored to continue to call you my agent after all these years.
My deep gratitude to my editor at Lake Union, Jodi Warshaw, for believing in this book and helping me transform it into the story it was meant to be. Tiffany Yates Martin, your ability to help polish a rock into a diamond continues to amaze me; thank you for your wise editorial input. And many thanks to Danielle Marshall, Gabriella Dumpit, Dennelle Catlett, and the rest of the Lake Union team, as well as to Kathleen Carter Zrelak of Kathleen Carter Communications and Michelle Weiner of Creative Artists Agency, for championing my work.