“I know. Losing a husband has that effect,” I said.
“No, not just that. You’re reckless; you’re angry. I mean, not right now, but in general…”
“Yes, I’m both. I can’t explain it. I think it’s part of the grieving process. I’m in therapy now. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Crazy would be not being in therapy in your situation.” She shrugged. “But you’re strong. I mean, you’ve always been a strong person, but you’ve erected this shell. I can’t explain it.”
“Oh, I think you’re doing a good job. Of explaining it, I mean. I feel like I have this armor now. I can’t rely on anyone; I even keep Drew at arm’s length. I haven’t called him since Christmas.”
“That was over two months ago! When was the last time you went a month without talking to Drew in your life?”
“Never.” I sighed. “I know it’s strange. I’m just trying to get through this first year. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m terrified of screwing up my kids.”
“It’s half over,” she pointed out. “I think you’re doing a great job of keeping it together. For the girls, anyway.” She slammed her hand down on the table. “Where the fuck is Greg?”
I laughed. “I must ask that a hundred times a day.” I told her about Christmas and showed her Drew’s bracelet.
“He’s in love with you, Claire. I hope when all this is said and done and you’re in the position to move on that you do it with him.”
“Do you think I picked the wrong guy? From the beginning, I mean.” I twirled the olive pick in my glass, not positive I wanted to know her answer.
She wiped the sweat from her glass. “No, in the beginning and even for a long while after, you and Greg were good. You seemed compatible, easy, complementary. He was introverted; you were outgoing. He was so in love with you. Then… he changed. Last time I saw you two together, there was definitely something off.”
I searched my memory for the last time Greg and I had seen Sarah. February of last year, she came to visit for a week, the first half while Greg was away. I didn’t remember anything specific, but she was probably right. We’d been “off” for a while before that.
“Is there room at the table for two more?” a baritone asked from behind me.
I turned to see one of the two men from the corner table. He was tall, maybe six-foot-two, with glossy black hair and a dark complexion. His lanky form reminded me of Drew, except he was clean-shaven with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
He extended his hand. “I’m Will, and this is Owen.” He jerked a thumb at the second man, who hovered shyly behind him.
Owen was the same height as Will, with dark hair and dark eyes. Both men were dressed in jeans and black shirts, stylish in a way that Greg never was and Drew never tried to be. I thought of Greg’s khaki pants—pleated for God’s sake—and Drew’s raggedy jeans. They sat at our table and motioned for the bartender to bring another round. Very slick.
I felt stifled with nerves. Which was fine with Sarah, she was off and running. Within a half-hour, I knew both were single, where they worked, where they lived—they were locals—why they were at the bar—they just liked to hang out there. I gave very little about myself, but the darker one with the blue eyes—Will, was it?—inched his seat closer until his knee was resting on my thigh.
Is this what people do? The alcohol made me paranoid and jumpy, not the effect I’d hoped for. I studied Sarah, trying to pick up cues on how to be normal. She laughed, asked all the right questions, responded to the hard questions with coy answers, and flattered without being obvious. I watched her, amazed. Like a Russian ballet, every move was calculated, graceful, and perfectly executed. She had both men eating out of the palm of her hand. I hadn’t seen Sarah in her element in years. She’d had some practice. As the hours passed, and we all got drunk, she became more affectionate, mostly with Owen.
Will attempted conversation with me, and I could articulate most of the time, but nothing like Sarah. I didn’t have the training to compete with her. Every move I made somehow felt wrong, and I became incredibly self-conscious.
Not deterred, Will trailed his hand down my back and leaned over to whisper, “Do you want to get out of here?”
I didn’t know people really said that. I smiled nervously. “Look, Will, I do.” I put my hand on his arm, which felt warm and alive beneath my fingertips. I tingled with anticipation, such a newly fantastic feeling, but it all felt wrong at that moment. “Believe me, I do. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going through something right now, and I… I can’t.” I heard Drew’s voice in my mind: We can’t. “Listen, are you guys going to be around tomorrow night?”
“We live only a few blocks away.”
“We should get together then.”