The Empty Jar(4)

If only I’d known…

“Europe. God, this is a huge deal, Lena! Europe?”

I nod, pushing my melancholy aside. I’m perfectly content to let my best friend’s enthusiasm drown out all that plagues my mind. Or at least muffle it to a tolerable gurgling sound in the background of my every thought. I know there is no escaping it while I’m conscious, so I have to settle for as many short-term distractions and mufflers as I can get.

As we chat about the plan, Nissa finishes off the majority of the ’81 Dom Perignon Nate brought, along with a half gallon of orange juice, while I nurse my single flute. It’s nearly eight o’clock by the time Nate stumbles into the kitchen, his attractively graying hair standing on end all over his head. He looks like a perfectly rumpled version of the man I’ve loved for over half of my life.

“Did you sleep here?” he asks Nissa, his voice still rough with slumber. I’ve always adored that sound. It’s sexy and intimate and so totally Nate that it makes my heart ache like ancient bones on a cold day. But then, when he turns his gaze to me, one side of his mouth twisting up into a grin, memories of last night’s endless lovemaking brings warmth rushing in to chase away the chill.

“No. I don’t sleep. You know that.”

“Then is Mark home?”

“No, why?”

Nate shrugs. “I just figured you’d have an army of mouths to feed by now.”

Nissa gasps. “Holy Lord, my kids! I forgot my kids! They’ll burn the house down trying to work the toaster!”

Nissa hops up so quickly she nearly upends the table. With reflexes peculiar to mothers of small children, she somehow manages to steady both of our glasses as well as the mostly-empty champagne bottle before they do much more than rock on their bottoms. “Whew! That was close,” she exclaims, gingerly releasing the glasses as she bends to kiss my cheek. “I’ll be back over later to help you pack.”

“You told her?” Nate asks from in front of the refrigerator where he’s lazily sifting his way through closed containers of leftovers, peeling back lids, and sniffing contents.

“She did,” Nissa chimes from half in and half out of the door. “You just leave it to me. I’ll make sure she packs something sexy. She’ll turn every head.”

“We’re going to Europe, not a swinger’s club.”

“Nothing wrong with a few strange eyes on a man’s wife to make him appreciate her.”

At that, Nate turns and pins Nissa with a frown. “I do appreciate her. More than anybody on the planet.”

Nissa nods. “Well, you’ll want to appreciate her naked when you see what I’m sending. Things from my closet.”

“You’re bringing me clothes to wear?” I ask, surprised. Nissa does a lot of shopping and buys a lot of clothes that Mark, her husband, doesn’t really take her anywhere to show off. My friend is beautiful and sexy even in her terry cloth robe, but Mark never seems to be quite as impressed by that fact as everyone else. I think Nissa buys the clothes that she does in hopes that her husband will see her the way he used to, but so far it hasn’t worked. At least not that I can tell. Nissa is just as desperate, and Mark is just as oblivious as ever.

“I am. It doesn’t look like I’m ever gonna get to wear ’em, so somebody should. I’d like to see them on a body rather than a hanger before they die a lonely death in my closet. You got a problem with that?” she asks Nate, throwing a little stink eye his way.

Already bored with the conversation, Nate shrugs and returns his attention to the makings of breakfast.

“What’s his deal?” Nissa jerks her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Nate.

It’s my turn to shrug. “Dead-headed. I don’t think he got much sleep last night.”

Nissa’s eyes narrow on me. “I’ll stab him if he’s mean to you.”

At that, a bark of laughter bubbles from my lips. I can’t help thinking she has no idea how way off track her thinking is. “Duly noted.”

“I heard that,” Nate mumbles from what sounds like the inside of a cabinet at the island.

Probably in search of a pan.

Nissa sticks her tongue out at Nate then tosses a sassy wink over her shoulder at me before darting out the back door. She makes her escape before any further commentary can be made.

I watch her cross the short span of grass that separates my patio from hers and see her disappear into her own house.

“Did you decide to tell her?” Nate’s question comes as he reappears in front of the stove, sauté pan in hand.

“No. I’ll tell her after we get back. By then…”

I turn toward the window, my mind racing in a million directions yet always ending up back at the same place—the diagnosis.

The scruff of Nate’s cheek scrubbing lightly over mine brings my attention to him where he has materialized behind me. He wraps his arms around me, enveloping me in his scent, his protection, his love.

“I love you,” he mutters tenderly, his lips moving against the curve of my jaw.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Nate? I need you to be sure. You know I’ll do whatever you want.”

“This is what I want. I promise.”

I close my eyes and let his reassuring words and the certainty in his voice soothe me. Well, at least as much as anything could soothe me at this point.