“And . . . have you talked to Ryker?” Her Thai noodle salad spins around her fork as she asks.
“I texted him last week to let him know I hadn’t forgotten about his invitation to the farm, but things are obviously busy, and with only having them every other week it’s a little complicated.”
She looks up. “Does he buy it?”
Rolling my eyes, I put my drink down. “There’s nothing to buy, Tosha. That’s the truth. I don’t need to freak him out by telling him I’m not ready, when he’s probably not even thinking along those lines. He’s just being nice.”
“How’s Eric been lately?”
“He’s okay.” I sigh. “The earliest the divorce will be finalized is probably March, but our attorney thinks it shouldn’t be a problem to have it done before the first of the year since we’re not contesting anything. It also helps that neither one of us are acting like total assholes.”
She laughs. “I bet you want to sometimes though, huh?”
“Yeah,” I snicker, “especially when he first asked me if it was okay for him to go on a date . . . as if he’d been asking my permission for the last year and a half.” I roll my eyes.
“Who was the date with?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Or care, really. We just agreed that we would keep any new relationships away from our boys until it became serious. There’s absolutely no reason to confuse them at this point. Anyway,” standing, I grab my tray and Tosh follows me to the trashcans, “I’ve gotta get over to the Soldiers’ Home.”
Tosh smiles. “How’s that going?”
“Actually it’s really good. Massively humbling, really. I’ve been spending one-on-one time with this Marine, George, who’s a Korean War vet. He’s really something . . . reminds me a bit of my grandfather.” I smile broadly as I think of my new friend.
“I think it’s awesome. All right, chick, catch ya later.” After a quick kiss on the cheek, she heads off to her next class and I get in my car to drive to the Soldiers’ Home.
“Knock, knock,” I smile as I walk into George’s room where I find an elderly woman sitting in the chair next to his. From pictures he’s shown me, I recognize it to be his wife.
“There she is!” George claps his hands and smiles back.
As I lean in to hug him, the woman smiles. “You must be Natalie.”
“I am,” I extend my hand and she takes it, still smiling. “And you must be Marion.”
“What have you told her?” She playfully taps her husband’s arm.
Holding up his hands in mock defense, he laughs, “All good things, all good things.”
“If you two would like some time alone, I can come back another time, I don’t mind.”
“Nonsense, Dear,” Marion scolds playfully. “Sit. I’ve heard a lot about you from blabbermouth over here, and I wanted to come meet you myself.”
I’ve spent a few weeks visiting George. The Soldiers’ Home has an Adopt-a-Veteran program that provides one-on-one visits to residents with volunteers. I was terrified at first that he would assume I was there to make myself feel good, or something, but it turns out he was just happy to have someone to talk to. His wife, Marion, lives with their daughter, but George’s medical needs require 24-hour care. At 82, he looks strong and is of sound mind, but a lifelong love of smoking has left him with emphysema, amongst other issues. Marion visits as often as she can, George has told me, but she doesn’t drive anymore so it depends on their daughter’s work schedule.
“George tells me you have twins?” Marion’s face is bursting with that grandmotherly type of love as I take the seat across from them.
“I do. Max and Oliver; they turned five in July.”
“Boys,” she pretends to faint, “you must be busy! We have one boy and one girl and, I’ll tell you what, boys are easier, but gosh they’re a lot of work when they’re little! Where do they go to kindergarten?”
“Max goes to Amherst, and Oliver goes to the Clarke School in Northampton.”
I haven’t told George that I have a deaf son. Both of them look confused for a moment, until realization crosses Marion’s face.
“Is he deaf?” she asks with a furrowed brow.
I nod. “He is. He hasn’t been since birth . . . he has a degenerative condition.” I spend a couple of minutes telling them about our summer with Ollie’s hearing.
Marion places her cool hand on mine when I finish. “I’m sorry, dear. But, it sounds like you and your husband are taking it in stride and the boys are doing well.”
“We are, but,” I feel weird talking about divorce to a couple that’s managed to keep their shit together for however long they have, “we’re divorcing. It was in the works before Ollie’s diagnosis.” Shrugging, I look down for a split second before I talk myself out of it and face their looks head on.