The Empty Jar(6)

Those are the actions of a man who is fully devoted.

“Lena?”

Nissa’s voice jars me from my thoughts, bringing me back to the conversation. “What? Sorry. I zoned out for a second. What did you say?”

“I was just telling you that I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you. And it’s probably nothing. I mean, I know how much Nate loves you. Anybody can see that. But I know how men are, too. I mean, even my dad…” Nissa stops midsentence and shakes her head as if ridding it of an unpleasant memory. “Anyway, it’s probably something completely innocent. But even so, I couldn’t not tell you. Not for one more day. You’re my best friend. If it were me, I’d want to know.”

That’s it in a nutshell. Poor Nissa lives her life expecting news such as this. That’s what happens when you marry an *.

She deserves so much better.

“How long have you been carrying this around?”

I feel as much as hear Nissa’s sigh when her warm breath fans my cheek. “About a month, I guess.”

“What makes you think he might be seeing someone?”

“I saw him. With a woman. On two different occasions. Both times they were at a little bar off 7th Street.”

“Maybe it was someone he works with.”

“It could very well have been. I just thought it was odd that they were at a bar.”

“Maybe they had to work late and went out for a bite. Nate works late a lot.”

I can tell Nissa wants to argue. Her brow furrows, and her mouth opens and closes a few times. After a few attempts to quell her urge to rebut, Nissa finally manages and she gives me a watery smile along with a weak, “Maybe so. But I wanted to tell you. Just in case.”

Pity and compassion coil behind my chest wall.

I know my friend’s suspicions about her own husband are playing a role in her thoughts. It’s only natural for Nissa to include other men in her doubts, to sort of lump them all into one unfaithful heap. I, however, just don’t believe that’s the case.

At least not with my Nate.

I reach for Nissa’s hand and squeeze, giving her my broadest, most genuine smile. “I’m glad you did. That’s what friends do. They tell each other the hard things.”

“Yes! Exactly!” she exclaims, looking pointedly at me. I ignore the remark. What I don’t tell Nissa is that sometimes not telling the hard things is the kinder option.

When I don’t take the bait, Nissa moves on, asking instead, “So, what will you do? About Nate, I mean.”

I shrug, unconcerned. “I might ask him about it.”

“Might?”

“Yeah. Might.”

“Don’t you want to know for sure?”

I turn my sad eyes, sad because my best friend in the world doesn’t have this assurance, and I tell her, “Honestly, I already do.”

Nissa is thoughtful as she considers me. For long minutes, she simply watches me before she finally nods. “I’m glad, Lena. I’m glad that you two have that kind of relationship. The kind where you know. I wish Mark and I had it, but…”

She doesn’t have to finish. She knows they don’t. And I know they don’t.

I say nothing, mainly because I can’t offer words of comfort. Mark and Nissa have a troubled marriage. It’s no secret. It’s because of their children that the situation just gets politely ignored. It’s still there, though, like an underlying medical condition. Nissa treats it with a healthy prescription of expensive clothes and shiny baubles. Mark treats it with ambivalence.

I squeeze her hand again and give her my quiet support. For my friend, I’m as solid as the floor beneath our feet. “I hope that one day you’ll be able to say the same thing about your husband.” Even if you have to get a different husband, I think the last rather than adding it aloud.

Nissa only smiles, visibly skeptical. “Well, at least now I know you can enjoy your trip. Your dream trip. I just can’t believe that you let Nate plan it.”

I smile. Nate has always teased me about being a neurotic planner. A control freak. And, for the most part, he’s right. Before this, I would never have dreamed of taking a spontaneous trip to Europe. Never. Not in a million years. That would’ve been out of the question. But things change. Circumstances change. And dreams aren’t what they once were.

These days, dreams are desperate attempts to pack as many memories and intentions and as much living as we can into a few short weeks.

These days, there is no time for planning.

Time.

I smother my sigh.

Time isn’t what it used to be either.

“I’m not going to let anything ruin this. Not even my obsessive need to plan everything a year in advance and right down to the last minute. It’s time to follow the lightning bugs and just…go with it,” I pronounce resolutely, clinging to the tiny bit of calm that thought infuses into me. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of them.

“Follow the lightning bugs? Do they even have lightning bugs in Europe?” she asks dubiously.

I snort, “Not literally, silly girl. It’s just something my dad used to… It’s something my dad mentioned once when I was young, after we said our prayers.”

“You said prayers?” Nissa scoffs disbelievingly. “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing.”