The Goddesses

“I’m here for you,” she’d said. She told me she loved me and that she would make pasta for dinner again and bring me some when it was ready. She’d also left me with an orange bottle of hydrocodone for the pain. “Take two. They’ll knock you into heaven.”

I committed to stillness and tried to relax. It didn’t work. I tried to feel invigorated instead, which didn’t work either. This was too much to expect right now. I was in pain. Pain pain pain, and there were the orange pills on the sink that would make it go away.

But, Nan, you will not take those. You will not take a medication that has not been prescribed for you. Because you are not your mother. You will go through the pain. The only way out is through.

I heard the boys get home. The slamming of their car doors—one, two—and then their long-legged steps into the house and then Ana greeting them with energy, so much more energy than I had right now. I felt tired just listening to the ups and downs of her voice. I couldn’t hear the words, but I knew they were kind and loving and wise, and I knew the boys were hanging on to every one of them. How she was here tonight, filling in for me, picking up the pieces when I couldn’t, and especially now, now at a time when most people would have checked into a hospital and waited passively to die, Ana was here, being the most selfless woman I had ever met.

When the water had gone tepid, she cracked the door open and whispered, “I brought you pasta. Can I come in?”

She would see me naked but who cared right now. “Sure,” I said. My voice sounded weird to me.

The first thing she did was look at my body. “You have a great bod, Nan. You should really own it more.”

I imagined covering myself with my hands, but I didn’t move. It felt good not to care about her seeing me naked. When disaster hit, you stopped caring about everything that didn’t matter. It pared you down. Clarity. This must have been how Ana felt all the time.

“I put the pasta by the bed, okay?” Her puffy lips seemed to be moving more now when she talked. She was wearing one of my tank tops and sweatpants that might have been Chuck’s, and good for her for making herself comfortable.

She held up my phone. “Chuck called. He left a message. Do you want to listen to it together?”

I gave her a look that meant yes. She pressed the button.

“Hello, Nancy, I’m just calling to let you know I have a work event tonight, so I won’t be home until late. Don’t wait up. Okay, thanks, bye.”

“Sounds like a business call,” Ana said, touching her lips again. “But right in this moment, you are okay. When you get out of this bath, you’re going to have some dinner if you want it and then you’re going to take some pills and say good-bye to this day, okay?”

I loved her for telling me what to do. “Okay.”

“I love you, good night.”

“I love you, good night.”

“I love you, good night,” she said last, and closed the door.

?

In bed, I twirled the pasta and listened to the muffled sound of things exploding on the TV and thought about how Chuck had always been such a Chuck and never a Charles. I couldn’t believe I’d ever dyed my hair blonder for him. I’d done that after Shelly, and then dyed it back. I couldn’t believe I had believed he would never cheat on me again. It was so infuriatingly textbook.

The pasta smelled good, but when I took a bite it wasn’t. Very undercooked. Which made sense. Ana hated cooking. I spat it into a Kleenex and turned off the lights and went to sleep.

But twenty minutes later I was still going to sleep and I hadn’t gotten there yet. I had too many thoughts in my head. An event, he had said. What event? With whom?

I rolled into a new position. Again. And again.

I counted sheep up to three.

One: Why?

Two: Work event, my ass.

Three: Counting sheep has never worked for you.

And then I was thirsty.

I rolled off the bed, dragged my feet down the hall. I noticed the smell only one split second before I saw her.

“Nan.” When she said my name, smoke poured out of her mouth.

Cam and Jed were on either side of her, eyes bloodshot and looking paranoid.

Ana blew the rest of the smoke into her armpit and smiled at me, but only a little because her lips were still paralyzed. “Hey,” she said, “how are you doing?”

I stood there, trying to comprehend. My arms hung limp at my sides. I felt like a ghost, but a heavy one. “Are you smoking pot with my sons?”

Ana looked at the boys, who looked at their laps. “Is that bad?” she asked me.

I was too tired to sugarcoat it. “Yes.”

She passed Jed the pipe, but then she realized she shouldn’t do that in front of me so she put it on the table instead and got off the couch. Her hands on my arms and her innocent face and those lips, those lips. “Sorry, Nan, they just had some and pot’s really good for cancer, you know?”

Suddenly my head hurt. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“Whatever you need, Nan.”

“I need water.”

“Oh, here, let me get it.” Ana rushed to the sink. Every time she seemed energetic like this, I reminded myself of what I’d read online: PC victims have good days and bad days. Her energy meant it was a good day, and we should be grateful for that.

The boys. Jed was texting and Cam was looking at me. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

Jed turned. “Hi.” He waved, then looked at his hand like it was a foreign object.

“Here.” Ana handed me the water. She kissed my cheek. “Sleep well, okay?” To the boys, she said, “Say good night to your Mom, kids.”

“Night, Mom,” Cam said.

Then Jed lost it. He opened his mouth and the laughter erupted.

And that’s when I thought, Fuck it.

I walked straight to the bathroom and swallowed two pills before I could change my mind. As I put the orange bottle down, I glanced at the label. But then I picked it up again because who was Alan Jeffries?

I looked at myself in the mirror, as though expecting that person to answer my question.

But who was that person?

I splashed water on my face, asking it to heal me, but it was just water.





26


I woke up feeling like I was encased in cement. A familiar tune. I knew this tune. Where was this tune from? Oh, my phone. My phone was ringing. I opened one eye and reached for it. My groggy finger pressed the button. “Hello?”

“Nancy,” he said.

In my head I said, “Chuck,” but what came out was “Mmm.”

“I almost died of a heart attack this morning, Nancy.” Chuck sounded upset. “Do you know why?”

“Mmm.”

“Because there was a snake in my car. A snake that looked a hell of a lot like Ana’s lizard!”

This was too loud. I held the phone farther from my face.

“Nancy! The woman put a snake in my car!”

It was taking me a second to piece this together. “Where are you?”

“Costco!”

The bathroom door opened and there was Ana. Those lips. But they did look better today. “Who is it?” she mouthed.

“Chuck,” I told her.

“What?” Chuck said.

“At Costco,” I told her.

“I know I’m at Costco,” Chuck said, annoyed.

Ana smiled. “Is he bringing Portico home?”

“Are you bringing Portico home?” I asked Chuck.

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