Keep Tuscany, page 10
I grin. “It’s exciting, but it’s so early. Mum’s the word. That’s the only thing that brings me joy. That and runny cheese. Oh, and wine. I like wine a lot these days.”
My mom laughs and lets me go. I flop back on the couch and decide to shower. “I’m going to stay at Mak’s tonight. She’s got the night off. We’re going to mask, and do eye treatments and—”
“Drink too much wine?”
“No. Just enough. Enough to be giddy, but not enough that I feel sorry for myself again.”
“That’s just enough.” She stands up and pulls me into a hug. “I love you. Go find that damn spark. I don’t like this version of my daughter.”
“Will do, Mom.” I think I may know where to find some magic.
I swallow the last of the Joel Gott Chardonnay. It’s my favorite because it’s not oaked. I don’t think that matters, but I’ve concluded that I’m not always aware of what my favorite things are because I just let everyone else decide. But tonight, this one is my favorite. I picked it, and I drank it all. Mak pulls my feet in her lap.
“You’re better, and you’re worse.” Mak says.
I breathe in deeply and then sigh. I know what I want to do. I’ve cried and lumped on the couch for close to six weeks now, but since I have the summer off from teaching and a sabbatical due to me, I’m leaving. I have to figure out a way to get out of here or I’m going to cry.
“Make it better. Shake it up and off. You’ve given Kevin’s pickled balls way too much brain space in your head. Do something. Anything. This isn’t like you.”
“I know! He even took that from me.”
“Do anything but wallow.”
Tony enters with a fresh box of tissues and says, “I’ve got to jump back to Boston tonight, and Mak has night shifts this week at the hospital. You’re welcome to stay here.” I sit up.
“Can I go to Boston?” Colt flickers in the back of my mind. I want to be in the same city as him. Maybe I could start texting him again. It’s been a year since Kevin made me stop. Ironically, it’s about the time we moved back here and took up pickleball.
Maybe I cracked the bell first.
“Except that.” Mak says.
Tony grins, “Not such a great idea right now.”
“Give yourself some time.” Tony and Mak share a look. I’m not good at lying or hiding anything. They know exactly why I might want to go to Boston. Mak’s amazing at lying, but I’m kind of a ‘heart on the outside’ kind of gal. Mak and Tony exchange a look again. I’m not sure what is concerning, or if they want me out there because they want to have sex. I won’t call Colt. I get it. I’m in no shape for that complication.
I blurt out, “Then Canada. Can your plane take me to Canada after it drops you off in Boston?”
Tony nods. “Yes. But why?”
“I’ve never been there. Or used my passport since France.”
“Okay, then, Montreal? How does that sound?” Tony asks.
I leap up and kiss Mak on the cheek. “I love you. I’ll call you. I need my passport and a change of clothes.”
“Definitely a new plan. But that’s all you’re taking? Even as someone who thinks nothing through, this seems like a real sketchy idea. And completely not you.” Mak’s dark hair swings and brushes her shoulders as she shakes her head no.
“That’s exactly what I need, to be completely not me. Shake things up.” I toss my fist in the air. “I might take my laptop so I can watch all the movies he hates.”
Mak hugs me. “Fine but call me when you land. I’ll need you back here in a week. I’m off for three days, and Tony won’t be here. We’ll come up with a game plan. I’ll buy crafting shit, and we can make planners or something.” I grin as she hugs me again. “I love you.”
“Thanks Mak. Love you too. Both of you.”
Tony grins and takes me in his arms. “What’s not to love?”
The flight is quiet and as we land in Montreal, a thought smacks me in the head. Even with the promise of poutine, politeness and universal health care… Canada’s not enough.
18
colt
13 years and eight months since Paris.
Nine months since Maggie ignored me at Mak and Tony’s wedding.
1 Year and six days without a text from Maggie.
Nine days since Gemma died.
I’m so done with whispers and gentle pats on the back. I paste on my fake smile again for people in an endless line of condolences.
“Thank you for coming,” I say robotically, as I’ve done for the last six months and more so in the last week.
I look up as someone hands me a beer. Hayden claps me on the back. “Your ass looks fat in those navy pants.” I laugh, kind of. I’d like to laugh, but I’m not sure how appropriate it would be. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be in this scene. On paper, I’m the grieving husband. In reality, we barely had a marriage, and at the end we weren’t even a parenting team. I’m sorry the mother of my children is gone. That’s the only part of this I’m grieving.
“Where’s Liz?” I ask, trying to get away from my own head.
“She’s with your girls. They’re taking turns holding baby Danny. They needed a break from all the condolences from strangers.” We only knew about Gemma’s illness for six months and now she’s gone.
“Christ.” He puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Claire, Mak, and Liz have got the girls. And to keep your mom and dad at bay. Tony and Dax are running interference with the posh political set. Robbie and Law are entertaining the school moms, neighborhood dads, and charity co-chairs with sports, and celebrity stories.”
I sip my beer and look at him. “What’s your job?”
“You.”
I bite my lip and put my hand on his upper arm.
“Thanks, man.”
“You’ll get no condolences from me, but I do have a car gassed up for an escape if you need it. I will however, for Sloane and Daisy, never say another disparaging word about Gemma.”
I exhale. “It is considered tacky to speak ill of the dead.”
Hayden laughs a little, and so do I.
“What do I do now?” And I break whatever levity was created. My voice threads it back to the current state of guilt and grief.
“What you’ve always done for everyone, you keep their world together or build them a new one. After all the stuff with my shoulder and you know… all that stuff… you were the one who told me to move to Philly. That Ma and I should start over. You’re the one who bought me drawing pencils to help with rehab. You gave me the keys to build a new world. Go find out what yours might look like and give them something else.”
I slam the rest of my beer and survey the room of perceived important strangers. People who call themselves our friends, women with hats the cost of a kid’s education, sycophants, press, political figures, and private school royalty.
Gemma would have loved her funeral. I fucking hate it.
19
maggie
13 years and eight months since Paris.
1 Year and one week without a text from Colt.
90 days since I snapped and went traveling around the world.
For approximately thirty minutes, I shared air with Colt in Boston until the plane deposited me in Canada. I had a fabulous meal in Montreal before I took off for the rest of the world. Mak worries and I appreciate that, but I need to be lost to hopefully get found. I can’t be around my family or Mak or I’ll just take on their problems or joys never figuring out how to solve my own.
I’ve scrapped four versions of a note. The night I asked to go to Boston, Mak and Tony knew but couldn’t tell me. That night wasn’t about me, it was about him. I don’t know if I’m being selfish or stupid these days, or if there’s even a difference.
But I’m sitting here in an airport not sure how to feel about Tony’s texts from yesterday. I keep scrolling them and then flipping my phone through my fingers, then reading them again. Then scratch out another version of a lame condolence.
Tony: IDK where you are or if I should text this, but you didn’t respond to Mak, so I’m giving it a shot.
Tony: Gemma passed. She had cancer and kept it secret for a year and half from everyone and did nothing about it. Colt and the girls were blindsided.
Tony: Her service was yesterday. They kept it out of the press until now but it will be everywhere after today.
Tony: I hope you’re safe.
Tony: And damn girl, this is quite the adventure. Don’t play with any strange pickleballs!
Tony: Call my wife. Please. It’s killing me how it’s killing her. Just send up a flag or something. It’s important. She’s worried and loves you so much. She’s cranky as shit these days, so call her.
I’m not ready for my real life to intercede on my intermission, but I text Mak for the first time in a while, knowing she’ll respond.
Maggie: I’m okay. I’m a wanderer now and I love you for letting me disappear. Tell Colt… I don’t know. If you think he wants to hear from me, then tell him I’m thinking of him. But if it seems like he doesn’t want me involved, then say nothing. But if he gets that look like he’s lost or eyes glaze over then tell him a garden always grows back. Or buy him a pastry. Please don’t tell Colt about Kevin. I don’t want any of his world to be about me. Focus on him.
Mak: I’m not doing any of that shit. Love you back. Call me later and we can catch up on all of this. {Picture of Tony, Hayden, Law, Robbie, Claire, Dax and Lizzie holding Baby Danny up for the picture.}
My heart hurts. I’m not a part of that world because there’s no place for me. And now it’s time to make a Maggie-sized hole in the world. I’ll carve my own place. I buy some stationery and find a seat.
I click the worn blue pen that somehow still writes, and I say something functional not emotional. I don’t know his world right now so he might hate functional. I exhale and write.
Colt,
I’m incredibly sorry for your loss. Sending my heart, light and love to you and your family at this difficult time.
Maggie
It’s colder than I’d like, but what do you say to the man who is all over CNN ticker because the Vice President of the United States just lost his daughter-in-law. I don’t watch any of the footage, but his name keeps flashing at the bottom of the screen. I don’t want to see how sad he is or those poor grieving girls.
Most days I don’t think of Kevin, and if I do I’m surprised by it. But there’s not a day where Colt doesn’t float through my brain. I’ll find his pen is in a certain pocket. I’ll hear a song or see a garden about to bloom and thoughts of him rush back. He’s nostalgia at this point, a comforting nudge that plays with the back of my mind.
The night I flew out of Boston into this nebulous existence I flipped on “Under the Tuscan Sun,” for the billionth time. Pretty sure pasta is the answer. Noodles can fix anything. I firmly believe that, and it’s time I put them on the itinerary.
I lick the envelope, and just before I seal it, wonder if I’ve not said enough. I shake my head and smile at the cranky people who are next to me because I’m at an airport, and I’m going to meet an elephant. That seems like a solid life plan. I might be slipping into a nutty zone in my life where I think meeting an elephant might heal me. But who knows, things could be worse. I could be on my way home from a funeral.
20
colt
I drift my fingertip over her signature again. She didn’t call or text. She put pen to paper. I fold it and put it back into my pocket. It’s not warm and friendly, but she touched this note and thought about me.
The girls currently have only two modes. They’re either crying or fighting. I couldn’t take it anymore and shipped them off to my sister’s house in Virginia for a couple of days while I finish cleaning out her things. They can have dinner at Blair house with the Vice President, and Sloane can get a backstage look at the SNL Smithsonian display she’s been nagging me about. Her coping mechanism is research. I see her on the verge of deep diving into something, and it has to do with Saturday Night Live in a way. She’s read a lot of comedy books lately.
I tape up a Gemma box to take to the new storage unit. It’s for the girls if they ever want her things. I even saved her makeup and her hairbrushes as is. I know the makeup will go bad, but I keep it anyway. I zip locked it and put it in a box. It’s all very robotic, and there are moments of fleeting melancholy as I see old pictures. Yet, I’m not sure how to mourn someone I won’t miss.
I can’t be in the house, so I gear up and head out to the Charles River. It’s chilly but I don’t care. The familiar smell of the boathouse with its lacquer and slight decay is as comforting as hot chocolate. I sit down on the ground for a moment and breathe it in like a meditation. When I’m on the water nothing else matters. It’s like cooking. You have to be in it. You can’t set it and forget it. I’m not an Instapot cooker. If I’m making, braising, roasting, or simmering, I take an active role in it, checking and making sure everything is doing what it needs to in order to be delicious. I don’t rely on pushing a button on a microwave or crock pot. I flip my phone around in my hand then slip it into my pocket.
Then I read the note again, put it back into my wallet, and grab my hull.
Thirty minutes later I’m sitting out of the lane drifting. I went hard and sweat is pooling but the frosty air is nipping at my face. I’ve got to go in soon.
I sit holding my phone. What would I say? It had to be Mak who told her. I don’t know what to think of myself having buried my wife three weeks ago and I’m thinking about Maggie. Always about fucking Maggie.
That night in Vegas when we talked, we became friends. The temptation was there, but we were both married. Now she’s married and I just want to talk to her about nothing and everything again. She’s the only sure footing I’ve ever had. The Brothers come with too much baggage right now. They were all up in my grill to deal with my father and Gemma’s parents. Everyone has advice, but none of it seems helpful.
I made my world small by keeping work colleagues at bay or not joining clubs. All the events and dinner parties were only ever surface occasions. And now I’ve gotten way too fucking good at being a surface person. I want a real friend, who doesn’t come with my current situation.
I type out a message.
Colt: Hi. Hey. How have you been? It’s Colt. Did you know that?
Delete
Colt: Still beautiful?
Delete faster
Colt: What’s up? It’s Colt. No cap. Just chilling. Vibing. You know how I do.
What the fuck was that? Delete.
I exhale and I know I’m over thinking so I revert to manners. As is our family way.
Colt: Hi. Hey. I got your note. Thank you.
Send.
Hold my breath.
No dots.
Attempt to unsend.
It does not unsend. Why the hell can’t I unsend? I madly mash buttons and then it pops up.
Delivered.
21
maggie
My phone lights up and it’s almost dawn. Thailand’s air is so thick I could ladle it. It lives on every surface and my skin. I roll over in my little bed in the corner of the world where the night blooming jasmine puts me to sleep every night. Today I might visit the elephants again. I wrap the sheet around my middle, because I can’t sleep unless there’s some kind of cover on me. My feet are exposed and hopefully will help me cool off a little bit. I roll over and grab my phone. I am totally awake, too sweaty to sleep.
UNKNOWN: Hi. Hey. I got your note. Thank you.
Maggie: What note?
Oh shit. I should not respond to random texts. I always forget about spammers, but what if it’s the last AirBnB I stayed at and I don’t respond? They could give me a bad rating, and I won’t get the long-term villa rental I have in a couple of weeks. My phone dings again and I glance down.
UNKNOWN: You’re serious? Mags, the note about Gemma.
I fling the phone down on the bed as if it’s on fire. This is Colt. Colt is texting me to thank me for the note I forgot I sent. I deleted his number. I cannot have that complication rolling around in this situation. It is very much not okay that he texted me. I sit up and scoot away from my phone. I stare it down like it’s a gunfight or a predator standoff. I look around as if the answer to whether I read it or respond is somewhere written on the walls of this rented bungalow.
I slink out of bed and use the bathroom. All the while my phone sits there like a ticking time bomb. Eventually, I’m going to have to make a choice to ignore him and pretend I have a new number or respond. What could he possibly have to say to me? And now I’m pacing. Our last text exchange was brutal after fucking Kevin told me to stop texting him. And Mak and Tony’s wedding was awkward. He was there for the ceremony and then the family disappeared. I never looked at the girls and shook hands with his wife. That was it!
“It’s not like it’s inappropriate. He is a widow, and I assume Tony or Mak told him that I’m divorcing my cheater husband.” I wave my arms around the space, talking to it, waiting for something or someone to respond. There’s only silence and my damn thoughts in my head. My heart feels the familiar squeeze of longing and heartbreak that belongs uniquely to him. Any love angst in my life totally belongs to Colt.
