“Yes Well congratulations,” I say again, feeling so dizzy with devastation that I can barely see straight, let alone move.
Tucker starts to inquire about my Thanksgiving plans, but I interrupt and say we really must go home now. Then I take Zoe’s hand and lead her outside where we climb into a taxi. I give the cabbie our address. As I watch the city blocks blur by my window, I am gripped with the knowledge that this day will forever remain the worst of my entire life. There will be no such thing as perspective. Time will not heal this. I will be marked by that moment in the hospital forever. It will become a part of who I am. In fact, it already has. I try to concentrate on breathing in and out, telling myself not to cry, but I am losing the fight. I can feel the grief rising uncontrollably in my throat. Then, somewhere between that East Side hospital and my best friend’s apartment, I fall apart, right in front of my six-year-old niece.
“What’s wrong, Aunt Claudia?” Zoe asks, her own voice shaky with fear. She has never seen me cry before. “Why are you sad?”
“Because my heart hurts,” I say, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand.
“Why? Why does your heart hurt?” she asks me, now on the verge of tears herself.
I can’t answer her, so she keeps asking the question. Over and over.
Finally I say, “Because I love Uncle Ben.”
“Why does that make you sad?” she says, her small hand darting out to take mine.
“Because, Zoe,” I say, too defeated to spin the truth or try to protect her. “Because Ben is going to marry someone else.”
“That girl doctor?” Zoe says, her eyes wide with horror.
Through fresh tears, I nod and whisper yes.
I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to explain to Zoe one of the very saddest notions in love and life: sometimes the timing is wrong and sometimes you realize the heart of the matter way too late in the game. I tell her that it was a big mistake to divorce Ben. I wanted my life to look a certain way, and when Ben didn’t fit into that plan, I gave up on him. And now, the person I care about most is gone. Ben belongs to someone else now. Ben belongs to Tucker. The girl doctor .
Maybe Zoe truly grasps what I’m telling her, but at the very least she pretends to understand, her expression becoming almost comically philosophical. I feel a bit ashamed for dumping so much on a child with a head injury and parents on the brink of disaster. But I can’t help myself. There is something soothing about her company and her innocent commentary.
“Just be happy, Aunt Claudia,” she says at one point. As if it’s the easiest thing in the world to do.
I smile and say, “I’ll try.”
But inside I’m thinking, Never. I’ll never be truly happy again .
Jess and Michael return home a short time later. As I introduce Zoe and Michael and they shake hands, I can see Jess registering my red-rimmed eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she mouths over Zoe’s head, wrongly assuming that I’ve actually shielded my niece today.
I say, “Imagine the worst.”
Jess thinks for a beat and then pretty much nails it. “Ben and Tucker got married?”
“Close,” I say.
” Engaged ?” she says, aghast.
I give her a grim nod.
Her mouth falls open and Michael busts out with a “Get the fuck outta here.”
Jess glares at him and points at Zoe. I know Maura will get the curse-word report, although in the scheme of the day, one little F-word falling through the cracks doesn’t seem all that destructive.
“Sorry,” Michael says to me with a grimace.
“I’ve heard it before,” Zoe says, crossing her arms. She is definitely relishing her role in this adult drama.
“Did he call you?” Jess asks. “Did Annie tell you?”
“No,” I say, letting loose a bitter laugh. “We actually ran into Tucker in the ER.”
“The ER ?” Jess says. She and Michael look floored as Zoe and I regale them with the gory details of her accident and hospital visit. After Jess and Michael inspect Zoe’s stitches and give her a few props for being brave, Jess gets right to the point: What did the ring look like? Have they set a date? Do I think Tucker could be pregnant ?
I shrug three times in succession, and at her last question, I say, “It’s a moot point anyway.”
“Oh, no, it’s not a moot point,” Jess says. “It ain’t over till it’s over ?”
“Heard that, sister,” Michael says, putting his arm around Jess.
I stare back at the blissful couple in the throes of early passion, a couple who can’t fathom feeling differently than they do at this moment in time.
“Oh, it’s over , guys,” I say, glancing at my sidekick for confirmation. “Right, Zoe?”
She nods somberly and says, “Yeah. The timing was all wrong.”