The Empty Jar(3)

It would be so easy to tell her. We’ve always shared that type of relationship—open honesty, no holds barred—but this is different. I won’t give my sweet friend this burden to bear. Because it is a burden and I love Nissa too much to hurt her.

I’ve spent the majority of my life protecting others from pain in any way I can. Some things never change. Not even when I’ve so desperately needed someone else to help carry the load.

“Nate brought it home last night so we could celebrate. We just didn’t drink much of it.”

Memories of our lovemaking drift through my head, easing the tension in my mouth and turning my smile into a genuine curve of the lips.

“Celebrate what?”

“He left the bank,” I say carefully, my eyes darting nervously from Nissa’s sharp periwinkle eyes down to my untouched mimosa and back again.

I knew Nissa would have a thousand questions—she knows Nate and me too well not to—and I thought I was prepared to field them all. I only have a couple of days before we leave and I thought surely I could keep the truth from Nissa for that long.

Maybe I was wrong.

I’ve always been a terrible liar. But this is so important…

“Left? Left like quit-his-job left? Or left like I’m-taking-a-long-lunch left?”

I chuckle. Three months would be a very long lunch. “Left like quit. Left like left left. Permanently left.”

“Why?” Nissa asks, seconds before her eyes widen in understanding. “Oh God, he’s not sick again, is he?”

I gulp down the wave of nausea that swells behind my tonsils and I shake my head. “No. He’s taking me to Europe. For three months.”

Nissa’s mouth catches up with her rounded eyes and she squeals. The sound is so loud enough it sets Mr. Johnson’s dog, Radley, barking.

“Shhhh,” I chastise lightly, unable to stop my grin. “You’ll wake the neighborhood.”

To understand Nissa, you have to know that she’s vivacious, outspoken, and Southern to the bone. And loud. Very loud. She’s the type of person who is of the opinion that if she is awake, everyone else should be, too. Although normally she keeps her decibel level in check so as not to disturb her children, there are times when she simply can’t contain her exuberance. Right now—when an impending extended dream trip abroad has just been announced—constitutes one of those times.

“I don’t give a damn!” she exclaims. “If we have to be up, everybody should have to be up.”

I laugh outright. As I suspected.

That’s Nissa for you. But I love her like family.

Nissa and I have suffered from insomnia for years. We have this routine where we watch for the other’s kitchen light to come on. It’s a silent invitation to come on over and enjoy not sleeping together. We alternate houses and today was my turn. And just as well. I’d hesitated in turning on my light at all. If it had been up to me to go to Nissa’s, I’d probably have chickened out altogether. But I’d done it. I’d turned on my light and forged bravely ahead because it’s not my nature to take the easy way out. I’ve always been a fighter. A quiet, steady, reliable fighter.

“We leave on Friday.”

“Friday, as in the day after tomorrow?”

“Well, this is Wednesday,” I say, counting on my fingers, “tomorrow is Thursday, which means the next day must be Friday. One, two, three…” I tease.

I’m not surprised when Nissa slaps my fingers playfully. “Don’t be a smart ass,” she says gruffly. Her smile doesn’t fade, though. If anything, it broadens in excitement.

My best friend and I have always lived vicariously through each other’s life. Since high school, Nissa has wanted a career and a life of travel, but an early pregnancy shattered her dreams, and she’s never quite been able to pick up the pieces. I, on the other hand, have enjoyed just such a life. I graduated from college with a master’s degree in nursing and have become one of the most experienced nurse practitioners at Franklin Osborne Cancer Center, something I’m incredibly proud of. Considering my home life, it wasn’t easy to make anything of myself, and the fact that I did what I set out to do makes me feel more than just accomplished. It makes me feel whole.

Travel has just been a bonus. Nate and I have enjoyed the resources to be able to travel all over the country, and even to some of the Virgin Islands. But never to Europe, even though it’s the one place we’ve both really wanted to go. We just never made it a priority.

While I’ve enjoyed the travel, it was never that important to me. Unlike Nissa, my biggest aspiration has been to have children with my wonderful husband. Or at least have a child. But fate never took our side, never helped us out. Neither had modern medicine with its infertility treatments and in vitro fertilization. Nothing had worked.

We’ve discussed adoption, but I wanted to hold off until I turned forty. Being a nurse, I know the risk of birth defects increases at that magical age. By then, I thought I’d be willing to concede and go another route. “At that point,” I’d told Nate a dozen times, “I’ll happily explore adoption.” Until then, however, I’d been unwilling to give up on my dream of giving birth to a child that would, in my eyes, be the best of my soulmate and me—my dark blonde hair, Nate’s jewel-green eyes, my ready laugh, his sharp mind. But now, at forty, I wished I’d chosen more wisely.