Susan laughs heartily. “Thank you for understanding that I am sometimes a total bitch.”
We take naps and then get ready for dinner. I can hear Susan changing her clothes over and over. It’s odd to see her so insecure. When we get to the restaurant, we are told that Rebecca has already been seated. We walk through the dining area, Susan just the littlest bit in front of me, and I see her make eye contact. Rebecca stands up to greet us. “Only two minutes late!” Rebecca says, and I see Susan start to roll her eyes. Rebecca turns to me. “So this is the daughter-in-law you won’t stop talking about.”
And I realize that, more than anything, what made me want to come to dinner was that for the first time, I feel like I am Susan’s daughter-in-law, plain and simple. The bizarre circumstances don’t matter. I am someone’s new, shiny daughter-in-law.
NOVEMBER
Ana is coming down to visit tonight. Susan invited her to stay for the weekend and she accepted. She should be here any minute, and I am excited to show her how nice it can be to just sit by a pool and feel the sun beating down on you. I went to the store this afternoon to get us snacks and wine coolers. I got the wine coolers because I thought they were funny, but then I drank one this afternoon, and you know what? They are actually pretty tasty.
Ana shows up around six, and Susan has a whole dinner planned. I get the impression Susan is deathly bored. I think my being here makes it easier to fill her days, but before Ben died, before she and I became close, she was supremely, soul-suckingly bored. She’s in a lot of book clubs, but as far as I can tell, that’s about it. So when Ana comes for dinner, it gives Susan an excuse for a seven-course meal.
I walk into the kitchen and find an extra apron. I put it on and splay my hands out. “What can I do?” I ask.
Susan is chopping vegetables so fast I’m sure she’s about to lose a digit, but she doesn’t. Her cutting board is full of various chopped stuff that she slides easily into a big bowl.
“Can you hand me that jar?” she asks. I do. She sprinkles whatever the hell is in it, possibly Parmesan cheese, onto the salad and puts the salad on the table.
“Salad’s ready. The roast beef is cooking. Mashed potatoes are mashed. Yorkshire pudding is in the oven. I think I’m pretty much done,” she tells me. “I hope Ana isn’t on a diet. I cooked all the food in Orange County.”
The doorbell rings, and I answer. Ana is wearing a white dress and a black cardigan; she’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand and her purse with the other. I’ve spoken to Ana on the phone many times since I got here, but it swells my heart to see her face. She is the life I want back.
She hugs me, and I can smell her perfume. It reminds me of our early twenties, when we went to bars and I stood in the corner nursing a fruity drink while she was in the center of the room. It reminds me of Sunday morning brunches and hangovers. A single life. A single life I loved before I knew anything better.
It’s been so long since I’ve smelled Ben that I have forgotten the scent. I could recognize it in an instant, but I can’t describe it, I can’t feel it. I knew this would happen. I feared this would happen. Now that it has, it’s not so bad. It is. But it isn’t.
“You look great!” she says. It brightens my mood immediately.
“Thank you! So do you!” I don’t like that our conversation has a somewhat formal quality to it. We are best friends, and best friends don’t talk like this.
We walk into the kitchen, and Ana hugs Susan. “What can I do?” Ana asks, and Susan waves her off.
“You girls are so polite,” she says. “I’m almost done. Have a seat. Do you want a drink?”
“At least let me get those,” Ana says and starts looking for glasses.