“How long have you two been together?” Susan asks.
“Oh, just a few months now. But I really like him. He’s . . . ”
“He’s really sweet,” I say to Susan. I mean it, so it comes across like I mean it and I think it touches Ana. I still maintain that he’s a bit blah all around, but you don’t need spice in the boyfriend of your best friend. You need him to be reliable, kindhearted, and sincere. You need to know he won’t hurt her, if he can help it. You need to know he has good intentions. By all of those accounts, I like Kevin. (But he’s boring.)
“Are his parents from around here?” I ask.
“He’s from San Jose. So it’s a few hours’ drive, but he said he really wanted them to meet me.”
This touches a nerve with Susan. I can see it. Ana probably can’t, but I’ve done nothing but sit around with this woman for five weeks now. I know her like the back of my hand. I also knew her son and I’m learning that they aren’t altogether terribly different people.
Susan lightly excuses herself as Ana and I continue to talk. I remember when I was happy like she is, when Ben felt invincible to me like I’m sure Kevin feels to her now. I remember how I felt like nothing in the world could take that feeling away from me. There was nothing I could not do. But instead of hating her for being happy, I can see now that I am feeling melancholy, nostalgic, and a little jealous. It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly a lot healthier than last month.
Ana gets her things ready, and I walk her out to her car. She’s meeting Kevin for dinner tonight in L.A., and I don’t begrudge her leaving early for it. I’m also exhausted from the company. I’ve been alone so many hours lately that talking to two people at once has been a struggle for my attention span.
“Oh!” she says, turning toward her car and digging through it. “I forgot that I brought your mail.” She finds it and hands me a big chunk of envelopes. I already know that some of them will have Ben’s name on them. Truth be told, I was happy to let the piles accumulate in my mailbox hours away. If my marriage certificate isn’t in here, I’m gonna wig out.
“Awesome,” I say and give her a hug. “Thank you. For this, and for coming here. It really means a lot to me.”
“I miss you, girl,” Ana says, as she gets in her car. “But you seem happier. Just a little.”
I don’t want to seem happier, even if I do feel it a little bit. It feels wrong to be labeled “happier,” even if it is incremental. The woman that loved Ben as fiercely as I did would never feel any degree of happy after losing him.
“Drive safe,” I say. “Tell Kevin I said hi.”
“You got it.”
When she’s gone, I rifle through the envelopes looking for one from the County Recorder’s Office. I come up short. My stomach sinks, and I know that I have to call them tomorrow. I cannot ignore this problem. I cannot pretend it doesn’t exist. I need to know what is going on with the legality of my marriage. I have to face it.
At the bottom of the stack is a hand-addressed envelope. The writing is shaky and uneven. I don’t have to look at the return address to know who it is from.
Mr. George Callahan.
I put the other envelopes on the sidewalk and sit down on the curb. I tear open the envelope.
Dear Elsie,