Page 22 of Even After This
“That was you.” She lets out a sob. “Spencer told me the rumor about the woman who joined us in the Penrose Room who had lost her husband and two small children in an accident.” A hiccup. “I was sick, Meredith. Sick with grief for a woman I didn’t know. And it turns out to be you.”
“Oh, Sally.” My hand strokes the door as if it could comfort her.
“I’m so stupid,” she says with tears in her voice. “This morning I was a wreck over what? A diaper blowout? I can’t believe I acted upset about such a small thing when you’re dealing with a loss of astronomical proportions.”
Seconds plod by.
When she finally steps out, I shift back and rest my hips against the black Formica countertop. Red rims her eyes, and her fist clutches a wad of toilet paper.
Approaching with caution, I catch her open hand in mine. “Do you think I could explain a few things to you?”
She purses her lips, nods, and turns to exit the bathroom.
We find a semi-private table in the sparsely filled restaurant away from the games. On the way, I glance over to our booth and see the gang receiving their much-awaited visit from the infamous sheep.
After we take our seats, she begins ripping the toilet paper into small pieces, replicating her son’s actions this morning.
“I’m sorry, Sally. Discussing Steve and the kids is complicated. When people find out, they struggle. I thought withholdinginformation would protect you. But it only protected me.” Moisture hits the back of my eyes. “Most won’t talk to me about their children because they can’t handle what happened or they’re afraid of hurting me.” My palms spread flat on either side of her shredded toilet paper mountain. “I was a mom for three years, Sally, and it’s almost as if I’m not allowed to acknowledge it. To own it.” A lump of frustration builds in my throat. “You can’t know how refreshing it was to be a normal person with you. A normal mom.” I keep talking, more to myself than to Sally. “I’m still a mother. And I have something to give other moms. Even if my children aren’t with me anymore.”
She stops tearing the paper and stares at me with what seems like a mix of confusion and awe. “Meredith,” she whispers.
“When we met, I figured we were vacation friends, so I kept it simple.” A biting laugh escapes my mouth. “Except my worlds collided when I ran into you with Spencer and Harlan.”
The edges of her lips tip upward.
If people treat me with kid gloves, how can I experience life and determine if there’s more for me? Before this moment, I’m not sure I understood how much I needed Sally. If I had anticipated this friendship, I would have feared it. But I think life is gracious to have brought her to me. Even if only for a short time.
She clutches my hands, takes a breath, and almost chokes on her question. “How old were they?”
Holding back excruciating sorrow causes my head to pound. My eyes bore into hers, willing her to find the answer that I don’t want to have to say out loud.
A terrible understanding crosses Sally’s face. “Toby and Layla.” Her eyes close, causing brimming tears to overflow.
When she returns her teary gaze to me, I offer a small nod.
Yes. My children were three and one when I lost them, very close in age to her precious Toby and Layla.
She releases her grip and wipes her hands over her face. “My support system is sparse. Spence’s work calls for a lot of travel,and the women I meet in the industry aren’t the greatest source of authenticity. I’m a mess, and I never feel like I fit anywhere. But this morning? We connected and I drank in your words.” Her index finger stabs the table with resolve. “I want to be your friend. After you leave Colorado, I’d love to stay in touch. But, Meredith, is this really okay? I just ... I don’t want to hurt you.”
“For a few moments in the lobby, Sally, I had a purpose.” A few tears stream down my cheeks. “I wasn’t the Woman Who Lost Her Family. I got to be a friend with something to give. While it sounds like a contradiction because you see my tears, there is significant joy in being able to come alongside you and encourage you as a mother.” I grit my teeth. “Thatis living. I’m not saying this will be easy. Our conversations are sure to trigger grief. Butthatis also living. So, if you can sit in the uncomfortable grief with me sometimes, I would love to be real-life friends with you. Because you are a gift to me.”
She reaches over to the napkin dispenser, grabs a few, and offers them to me. “What do you need from me? How can I know I’m not hurting you?”
“I need you to trust me.” I dab under my eyes, knowing I’m wiping off any remaining concealer. “Another time I can fill you in, but just know that I’ve done the work. There are professionals and unprofessionals alike keeping tabs on how I handle life. It took a committee meeting for this trip to be approved.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but looks confused and says nothing.
“No, not really.” I chuckle. “But enough well-intentioned people already tiptoe around me. I need you to be you. I need your precious kids to be the amazing little people they are.” I shrug and lean in, offering a small smile. “And I need you to promise me you don’t have any more quasi-famous friends.”
Sally grins but clenches her fists. “Okay. I won’t treat you any differently than I did today. But I need you to promise to tell me how you’re doing.”
Relief settles over me, and I nod. “Deal.”
After a long hug, with our arms linked, Sally and I rejoin our crew. Harlan glances up at me as he slides Toby out of the booth to allow me entrance. I curl my hair behind my ears as I scooch back to my spot.
The kids are preoccupied with the coloring books and crayons Rocky the Wonder Sheep bestowed them on his visit. As I place my napkin in my lap, I catch Spencer’s attention across the table.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have been more forthright.” He switches his tone to playful. “Listen, the real story last night was the babe who danced with Harlan.”
