Chapter 30
“I’m going to scare everyone away.” Talking to the reflection in my bathroom mirror, I cringe. Five days of minimal showering has been unkind. I’m just grateful to live in a city with a wide range of food delivery services. It makes staying in bed so much easier.
My current lifestyle isn’t sustainable. Today is New Year’s Eve, and if I don’t leave my house and do something, this new sorrow could swallow me whole. Plus, I don’t think it’s a good sign when you’re on a first-name basis with the restaurant delivery guy.
After taking two hours to trudge around my house and get ready, I leave for the food pantry. Even turning the key in my ignition requires an abnormal amount of energy.
Monotonous volunteer work.
I’m back to square one.
Second to losing Harlan, I’ve lost the possibility of new dreams. A new purpose. It’s hard to tell which one drags me back to my bed of depression with a stronger hold.
The good news is, the annual black-eyed-pea-pancake breakfast should be a distraction. That concept is gross enough to challenge the worst melancholy day.
Today, volunteers do early prep work on the food and facility to prepare for tomorrow’s New Year’s Day breakfast. I chose this shift because interacting with people isn’t required.
But Cordelia, the administrator in charge, didn’t receive the memo about my no-talking rule.
Ten minutes after she gives me the rundown in the kitchen, she’s still chattering.
She modified akara, a Nigerian recipe, with Bisquick to create the holiday-appropriate-but-probably-disgusting dish.
“My nephew went on a mission trip to Africa. He studies medicine at UT Southwestern and wants to work for Doctors Without Borders when he graduates.” After a pause, she raises her eyebrows.
Right. We’re having a conversation. I should probably interact with her.
“That’s wonderful.” I stand in front of the ingredients spread across the top of the large, square, stainless-steel island.
She leans in. “He’s also dating the former Miss Grand Prairie.”
Grabbing the provided apron off the counter, I restrain my eye roll. Always a joy to hear about someone else’s perfect life. “Oh. Great.” I wrap the long ties around my waist and then back to the front.
“Cordelia?” A familiar masculine voice comes from outside the entrance to the kitchen.
I freeze. Please, no.
As Cordelia turns to the door, her face lights up. “Stanley? So nice to meet you.” She reaches out her hand.
When Stanley returns her greeting, he glances at me. Then does a double take.
“What are you doing here?” My words blurt out in an unfortunate accusing tone as I tie the apron strings a little too tight against my belly.
Stanley pales. “Molly called. She said you weren’t in town to do your usual duties. I thought I was filling in for you.”
Retying the bow, I exhale. That’s what I get for ignoring Molly’s calls. “I had a change of plans.” I’m not sure if that tone is an improvement.
Cordelia claps her hands once. “You two already know each other. Excellent.” She winks at me, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Did I mention this Nigerian dish is wonderful on dates?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I make plans to hurt her. I’m going to take this can opener and hurl it at her. And during my sentencing, I will ironically be refused the opportunity to work off my conviction through community service. But it will be worth it.
I cannot do this today.
I couldn’t book an appointment with my counselor until next week, and I’m hanging on by a thread.
Stanley points to the counter. “I think we’ve got this, Cordelia. I’ll let Meredith explain what I need to do.”
“Very well, then. I’ll leave you to it.” She nods with an annoying gleam in her eye and exits.
Once I’m sure she’s out of earshot, I address Stanley. “You don’t need to stay.”
“I’ll help.” His tone is light, but he seems jittery as he steps to the giant silver bowl next to the Costco-sized carton of eggs. “What was your change of plans?”
“Crack twenty eggs in that bowl.” I slide the 117-ounce can of black-eyed peas in front of me. After I attach the opener to the metal top, I lean my weight in to break the seal. “I just needed to come home.” And I need you to go home.
He holds up the laminated recipe. “I thought she was kidding on the phone when she mentioned black-eyed-pea pancakes.” Shaking his head, he picks up an egg. “What was your change of plans, Meredith?”
I don’t care for his direct tone. Where is Mumbling Stanley? “Nope. She’s not kidding. At least this year, half the batches will be normal pancakes. Maybe they had complaints last year.” I turn the handle and crank the device to free the peas.
“Because you look terrible.” He almost fumbles the egg, and his voice falters. “I know you were in Colorado with that guy.”
Using a spatula, I pry open the top of the can, heft the container up, and pour the contents into an industrial-sized blender. “All due respect, I’m not doing this with you.”
He cracks an egg on the side of the bowl and it splatters everywhere. A breath of a curse escapes his mouth while he grabs a nearby towel. Once he cleans his hands, he lets out a frustrated sigh. “Did he hurt you?”
With one hand covering the top of the blender and the other gripped around the sides, I flip the power switch on and glare at Stanley.
The appliance rocks to life, and the deafening grind fills every last corner of the room.
I thought this would give me time to calm myself.
Instead, my emotions spiral down, churn, and whirl into unrelenting animosity.
To his credit, Stanley holds my gaze of fire, but he shifts his weight.
He wants to know?
Fine.
I stop the machine. “No, Stanley. He didn’t hurt me. I’m a joke. I’m like the bad TV movie of the week. We’ve all seen it. Melissa Gilbert plays a woman who is so broken she doesn’t think she’ll recover. But then a man gives her hope and shows her a new way, only he isn’t the one.”
After I pull off the top, I run the rubber spatula down the inside of the blender.
“There’s some takeaway from the movie about how Melissa Gilbert flourishes after the man leaves her.
And then we all turn off the TV and come to the healthy conclusion that we don’t need a relationship to thrive.
” My gestures cause black-eyed-pea remnants to fly off the spatula and splatter on the counter.
“We’re supposed to feel empowered to go find some dream and live it out.
Don’t tell me you don’t remember that one. ”
Even as I point my accusatory finger in his direction, the ugly truth pierces my gut. My own cowardice is sabotaging any hope of empowerment and dreams.
Stanley’s eyes darken in an expression I’ve never seen him wear. He leans his weight into his hands on the counter. “Did that idiot break up with you?”
My lip curls. “Only, just for fun, I was dating a movie star in real life. And I followed the clichéd movie plot to a tee, right down to finding myself a new purpose in life.” I’m laughing through my seething words. “And I am that much more the fool.”
I grit my teeth to stop the tears from flowing. No way. Today doesn’t get my tears.
Stanley brushes his straight hair back, and it falls limp. “Why did he break up with you?”
Seriously? Angry spots flash in my eyes. I slam the spatula on the counter. He wants to go there, I’ll go there. “I broke up with him, Stanley! I can’t give him any children, so I broke up with him.”
Stanley’s face flushes, but he seems to know my diatribe isn’t over and remains silent.
“There’s not a brochure for being barren and broken.
At what point in a relationship is it okay to tell someone you aren’t going to have kids so they can decide if they want to stay?
” I take two steps toward him, my voice quivering.
“To say to someone, ‘I can’t give you this . . . but I want you to pick me anyway.’”
He fidgets with the dish towel.
My anger continues to spew. “I was in love with him before I understood what he wanted. I let our relationship go too far. So it’s all my fault.
And the second I understood he’d have to sacrifice his happiness for me, I broke up with him.
” I step around the island and dump the black-eyed-pea puree in the giant bowl.
Stanley edges back, his face blank. “What else you got?”
With incredulity simmering, I slowly draw my eyes up to his. “What else is there?” I force out.
“I understand you’re hurt. Embarrassed even.” He wipes a spot of egg on the counter. “But that’s not what you’re upset about.”
You have got to be kidding me.
I hold out my arms. “My husband and children died, and I just lost another man who I loved, not to mention my new dreams. All of which are being used as some trite lesson in my life.” My voice rises. “What in the world else is there to be upset about, Stanley?”
He squares his shoulders and clears his throat. “You’re irate because you did some terrible math about yourself, and you decided to believe it.”
I open my mouth to respond but blink instead.
“You added your grief, your loss, and your inability to have more babies and came up with something incalculable. Your brokenness is bigger than you originally knew.” His compassionate voice is incongruous with the harsh truth he spews.
“Now you’re terrified that you’re so unlovable and needy that no one will choose you. ”
It feels like the breath has been knocked out of me. “Get out.” My raspy whisper is barely audible.
He holds my eyes in his and shakes his head once.
Humiliation crawls over me like spiders running down my skin. “I mean it, Stanley. Get. Out.” The last word releases on a sob.
“You wear your grief like a badge of honor, Meredith. A badge you earned by experiencing more loss than most people do in a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “But you would have felt this way about yourself even if you hadn’t lost your family or had been able to have more babies.”