Chapter Nineteen
The first time Eliza had a full-blown panic attack was at Laura’s graveside. Just thinking about that horrible, steamy afternoon brought back the terrifying sensation. The feeling that her heart was pounding out of her chest. The pins and needles in her hands and feet. The conviction that she truly couldn’t breathe.
It had happened when Scott attempted to hand her the shovel. The shovel she was meant to use to deposit dirt on top of Laura’s casket. Eliza had felt anxiety before. Who hadn’t? She got especially stressed before tests, and it had gotten worse since she started high school. Which, of course, coincided with Laura’s diagnosis. Eliza had always wanted to do well in school. But with so much more important stuff for everyone to be concerned about, she didn’t want anyone to waste energy worrying about her grades.
She’d gotten into the habit of going to the girls’ bathroom before tests to run her wrists under the cold water?—the soothing technique Laura had taught her. She didn’t know if it was the cold water or the fact that it made her feel like her mom was there with her, but the practice slowed her heart and helped her breathe again.
But there was no faucet in the cemetery. The shovel slipped out of her hands, and she had no choice but to drop to her knees on the ground, gasping for breath. She had made a spectacle of herself. Made the moment about her when it should have been about Laura. About their family. But in that moment, she truly thought she was going to die, right there, at her mother’s grave. Aunt Claude crouched down beside her, rubbing her back and then somehow getting her to the car. She’d caught a glimpse of Jack, staring into the distance, his back to her, but everyone else was a hazy, undulating blur.
Later that evening, after Claude and the neighbors had cleaned up from the shiva, Eliza found her dad in the den, sitting in his recliner. But he wasn’t reclined; he was perched on the edge of the seat, his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry about today, Dad,” she’d said.
He didn’t reply, and she thought he hadn’t heard her.
“Dad? I’m sorry about what happened at the cemetery.”
He didn’t lift his head but waved one hand at her. “It’s okay, Eliza. We’re just lucky I didn’t pass out, too.” His voice was choked and watery, and the sound made Eliza’s knees weak. She’d wanted to run to the nearest cold-water tap, but her feet were rooted in place. In the end, she sank to the floor, tears streaming down her face, while Jack remained like a statue, his head still in his hands. After what felt like hours but might have only been minutes, Scott had found her there and led her up to her room.
At some point, the fear of panic attacks became almost as bad as the attacks themselves. It was that fear that kept her in bed so many days in the months that followed. The thought of having a panic attack at school was unbearable. It was bad enough being the girl whose mother was dead. She didn’t want to be the girl who freaked out in the chemistry lab. Or in gym class. Or in the cafeteria.
Now, as Eliza practically ran down the steps of the Glenside School, it felt like she was running from more than Ross Sawyer. She was running from a return of the panic attacks that paralyzed her. That turned her into someone everyone worried about. As she walked rapidly to Columbus Avenue, she had trouble catching her breath. I’m just walking too fast. This is not a panic attack. She slowed and took a deep breath. Or, rather, attempted a deep breath. She tried again. Better.
She headed up to get the crosstown bus at Eighty-First Street. It was fully dark, but the streets were still full of people?—the beauty of the city. Couples, singles, and groups, heading home, going to dinner, talking loudly on their phones to invisible people.
Once on the bus, seated sideways between an older man in a three-piece suit and a young guy in ripped jeans whose dreadlocks were peeking out from beneath a bandanna, she rewound the evening in her mind, consciously modulating her breathing.
She’d come away from that interaction not liking Ross very much. With a hint of why his students referred to him as pompous. No question he had an edge.
But was she going to judge him based on a five-minute interaction? Was she looking for a reason to dismiss him? To decide not to pursue this further? It would certainly make life a lot easier. She could go back to mourning Jack as the only dad she had. It would make Scott?—and therefore Maren?—happy. Aunt Claude would have nothing to worry about.
Was that what Laura would want? Did it matter what she would want? Eliza had spent so much of her life wondering what her absent mother would think. Imagining her at her college graduation. Envisioning how proud she would have been when Eliza was promoted to development director. Wondering if she would have liked Maren. Some part of Eliza consistently lived outside herself, observing her life?—her choices, her triumphs, her mistakes.
Unlike her friends, Eliza had never had a challenging relationship with her mother. She hadn’t fought with her about what she should wear or how late she could stay out. The cancer had made those battles irrelevant. Perhaps, had they had those tussles, she would have broken away from the What would Mom think? that hovered over her like a specter.
Before she knew it, the bus reached Third Avenue, and she disembarked, pausing for a moment to decide if she should head home or pick up something to eat. She tried to remember what was in her fridge and, failing, stopped at the bodega on her corner. Even at this hour, the extensive salad bar was well stocked, and she piled a random assortment of three-bean salad, hard-boiled eggs, and olives into a container. She had just paid for her “dinner” when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Mo.
Her friend’s voice sang out of the speaker. “Hey, stranger!”
Eliza readjusted herself to hold the phone to her ear as she headed toward her apartment. “What’s up? How’s Nik?” Her mind raced, wondering if she should tell her about meeting Ross. She tried to imagine her friend’s reaction. Based on their prior conversations about him, Mo was likely to make light of it?—or, alternatively, go “mama bear” protective. Neither response would make Eliza happy. On the other hand, she wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets from her best friend. And she had to tell someone.
Meanwhile, Mo giggled. Not a sound she usually made. “Good. We had a sleepover last night.”
This was big. Mo did not enter sleepover territory lightly. “Wow! And?”
“Let’s just say it was a very pleasant evening. And not much sleep was had.”
Eliza smiled. “Good for you!”
“But how are you? I feel like we haven’t talked for ages. Not since you got that awful letter from Carol.”
Wow, it has been a while.
“Hang on, I’m letting myself into my building.” Eliza juggled her bag and the phone so she could check her mail?—an exercise that had taken on much more gravity since that registered letter had come. But so far, no further missives from Carol. “Okay, I’m back.”
“So have you heard from her again?”
“Not yet. But I’m meeting with a lawyer next week.”
“Good idea. When? Do you want me to come with?”
“That’s okay. I know you’re busy. You know. With your new man .” Eliza drew out the word man so Mo would know she was teasing.
“Ha! Sisters before misters. You know that.”
Now in her apartment, Eliza put down her bag, took off her coat, and found a fork so she could dig into her meal, such as it was. “I do know that. But I’ll be fine. Thanks for offering.”
“Wait, is Scott going with you?”
Eliza swallowed a mouthful of vinegary kidney beans. “No. Wow. So much to catch you up on.” She filled Mo in on her conversation with Maren.
“Wait, seriously? Where does she get off? He’s your brother .”
Eliza was trying hard not to feel the same way. “Yeah, but he’s grieving, too. And this is my problem, not his.”
“Okay, I don’t really buy that.”
Eliza sighed. She loved having Mo in her corner?—and her friend wasn’t wrong?—but she couldn’t afford to get riled up about this. She couldn’t help but think that if forced to take sides, Scott would choose Maren. After all, she was his wife. But sharing that very real fear of abandonment was just too much to say out loud. She could barely even whisper it to herself.
“What can I say? There’s only so much I can freak out about right now.” She aimed for airiness in her tone, willing Mo to drop it.
“All right. We can stick a pin in this one and come back to it.”
Eliza closed her takeout container and put it in the fridge, still mostly full. “Actually, I have much bigger news. I met Ross Sawyer tonight.”
“Wait, what?” Mo screeched. “How did that happen? Tell me everything .”
Eliza explained how she’d come across the public talk and how she’d planned to just watch and sneak out?—but that it hadn’t turned out that way.
“Oh my God! I can’t believe you met him. What was he like?”
“Honestly, he was a little obnoxious.” Eliza had been pacing around her apartment and now stopped to stare out her window. If she stood at the right angle, she could see a sliver of the city between two other buildings.
“See! It was a good idea for you to check him out first.”
But that wasn’t what she wanted Mo to say. She wanted her to tell her she shouldn’t judge so quickly. That there could still be a relationship worth building. But that wouldn’t be in her friend’s protective nature.
“Well, I don’t know that it’s fair for me to judge based on just a few minutes.”
“True. So why don’t you follow up with him? Set up a meeting to talk about NOY.”
“And not tell him who I am? That doesn’t feel right.”
“But once you tell him, there’s no going back.”
Eliza was silent.
“Anyway,” Mo continued, “there’s no rush on this, right? Just take some time.”
But that was the part Mo didn’t understand. Life had proved itself to be unexpectedly and frighteningly short. And the knowledge that Eliza had a father out there?—someone who had been intimately connected with her mother and had a long history with her?—was weighing heavily on her. It wasn’t something she could just set aside.
“I don’t know. Now that I’ve met him?—I’m kind of freaked out. How am I going to explain any of this? He’s going to think I was stalking him.”
“Who cares what he thinks? He’s a stranger.”
“But he’s my father .”
“Just by DNA.”
Mo said it as if DNA were nothing. And maybe it wasn’t everything. But it was something .
“Eliza. Look. He’s not going anywhere. A few weeks ago, you didn’t even know he existed. You have this crazy situation with Carol to deal with, and your dad?—the only dad you ever knew?—just died. You have to work through that grief. That’s going to take time.”
She knew Mo meant well. She knew that. So she bit her tongue rather than tell her that her grief wasn’t going anywhere. That her grief over Laura still sat with her as a nearly constant companion?—it didn’t talk to her all the time like it used to, but it was still there. A calcification in her heart.
Eliza closed the window shade, hiding the city from view. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying.” She sighed. “I think I need a long, hot shower.”
“Oh, that sounds so nice. You do that. But let’s get together over the weekend. Foot rubs?”
“You’re on.” She clicked the off button on the phone and set it down on the arm of the sofa before heading into the bathroom. She turned on the hot water and stripped off her clothes, feeling incredibly lonely.
Ever since they’d met, Mo had always gotten her. She instinctively knew how to help her feel better. But now it felt like they weren’t quite aligned. Maybe her situation had become so unique, so bizarre, that no one could help her anymore.