At least not with my Nate.
I reach for Nissa’s hand and squeeze, giving her my broadest, most genuine smile. “I’m glad you did. That’s what friends do. They tell each other the hard things.”
“Yes! Exactly!” she exclaims, looking pointedly at me. I ignore the remark. What I don’t tell Nissa is that sometimes not telling the hard things is the kinder option.
When I don’t take the bait, Nissa moves on, asking instead, “So, what will you do? About Nate, I mean.”
I shrug, unconcerned. “I might ask him about it.”
“Might?”
“Yeah. Might.”
“Don’t you want to know for sure?”
I turn my sad eyes, sad because my best friend in the world doesn’t have this assurance, and I tell her, “Honestly, I already do.”
Nissa is thoughtful as she considers me. For long minutes, she simply watches me before she finally nods. “I’m glad, Lena. I’m glad that you two have that kind of relationship. The kind where you know. I wish Mark and I had it, but…”
She doesn’t have to finish. She knows they don’t. And I know they don’t.
I say nothing, mainly because I can’t offer words of comfort. Mark and Nissa have a troubled marriage. It’s no secret. It’s because of their children that the situation just gets politely ignored. It’s still there, though, like an underlying medical condition. Nissa treats it with a healthy prescription of expensive clothes and shiny baubles. Mark treats it with ambivalence.
I squeeze her hand again and give her my quiet support. For my friend, I’m as solid as the floor beneath our feet. “I hope that one day you’ll be able to say the same thing about your husband.” Even if you have to get a different husband, I think the last rather than adding it aloud.
Nissa only smiles, visibly skeptical. “Well, at least now I know you can enjoy your trip. Your dream trip. I just can’t believe that you let Nate plan it.”
I smile. Nate has always teased me about being a neurotic planner. A control freak. And, for the most part, he’s right. Before this, I would never have dreamed of taking a spontaneous trip to Europe. Never. Not in a million years. That would’ve been out of the question. But things change. Circumstances change. And dreams aren’t what they once were.
These days, dreams are desperate attempts to pack as many memories and intentions and as much living as we can into a few short weeks.
These days, there is no time for planning.
Time.
I smother my sigh.
Time isn’t what it used to be either.
“I’m not going to let anything ruin this. Not even my obsessive need to plan everything a year in advance and right down to the last minute. It’s time to follow the lightning bugs and just…go with it,” I pronounce resolutely, clinging to the tiny bit of calm that thought infuses into me. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of them.
“Follow the lightning bugs? Do they even have lightning bugs in Europe?” she asks dubiously.
I snort, “Not literally, silly girl. It’s just something my dad used to… It’s something my dad mentioned once when I was young, after we said our prayers.”
“You said prayers?” Nissa scoffs disbelievingly. “I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing.”
“I don’t. Not anymore. But he did. Not that it did him any good.”
“Well, you don’t need prayers for this trip. It’s going to be perfect, which is why I brought you this for those long, Tuscan nights,” Nissa says brightly, discarding the red dress in favor of a slinky black negligee. She holds it up and waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Can I pick or can I pick?”
I reach for the lingerie. “You can definitely pick. Nate will love this!”
“He absolutely will,” Nissa agrees, smiling sweetly at me. It seems her suspicions have been put to rest.
I just wish all things could be put to rest so easily.
Four
Seat Next to You
Lena
The hour is late and everyone on the airplane has settled in for as much rest as can be had at thirty five thousand feet. Nate chose a flight that left late so we could sleep in the makeshift beds in first class. His idea was to thwart jet lag by arriving in London in late morning. I admire his efforts, but I’m skeptical. I figure the best chance we have of this working is our level of exhaustion when we departed. We were both running on steam by the time we boarded.
In the quiet, I let my mind drift wherever it wants to go in an effort to calm myself. My insomnia is bad enough on a regular basis, so if there is any disturbance in my life’s rhythm, it throws me into a tailspin.
I consider this—this trip, this circumstance, this time in my life—a disturbance. If one can call a Category Five Hurricane a “disturbance,” that is.