Chapter 30 #2
A spark of pain lights in my chest. I take a step back, put a shaky hand in the air, and point to him. “You are so full of it. Why would you possibly think that?”
He gulps. “I’ve accepted you aren’t going to love me the same way I love you.
But it doesn’t mean I don’t know you, Meredith.
” Regret fills his eyes. “You lost your husband, but I lost my best friend. We met every Tuesday morning for twelve years.” He jabs the counter with his pointer finger.
“I hoped and pulled for you guys through every step of your infertility journey. And I can’t tell you how many times Steve would confide in me about his concern for you. ”
Each piece of information stokes the small flame, and I rub the heat building in my chest.
“For years I’ve watched you. You put on a pretty face. But you’re worried you aren’t good enough, that you don’t belong on this earth or have a purpose. And Steve knew it too.” Moisture brims his eyes.
My breathing becomes labored, and I move back, bumping the counter behind me. “Please leave.”
Where the timid, awkward Stanley has gone, I have no idea. But the man in front of me gains strength with each hit. “You told me once you didn’t need to be rescued. But I think you do. Do not turn away from this. Figure out the answers to the questions that terrify you.”
The fiery truth sears through me. Still facing him, I grab the counter behind me and inch away.
“You can do this.” He holds out a placating palm. “You’ve faced bigger mountains. But this one is an old friend of yours that you don’t want to let go of. Lean in. Find your peace.”
I clutch my chest and wheeze. “I have to go.”
“I’m here for you, Meredith.” He slumps his shoulders, looking defeated somehow. “Just like always.”
My hip catches on the corner of the counter when I turn to grab my purse off a hook on the wall. Without looking back, I scurry out the front door of the building. Tears stream down my face, but they can’t put out the blaze.
As if on autopilot, I trudge down the street to a gated garden maintained by the community center next door. I visited this haven often when I first started volunteering for the food pantry. After hours, the gate always remained unlocked. With my soul scorching, I need that to be the case today.
My legs wobble as I head for my spot in the farthest corner. A sturdy bench carved of wood and smoothed for comfort rests under the solace of a tree. The bench looks a little worse for wear, and I wonder if it thinks the same of me. I sit, elbows on knees, head in hands.
Choppy breaths escape as gut-honest questions run through my head.
What’s wrong with me?
Am I good enough?
Am I worthy of being loved?
Why am I here?
Am I a disappointment?
My questions sit in raw pain.
I fumble through my purse looking for Kleenex and try to soak up all the tears. But it’s to no avail because the floodgates have opened.
“I want answers.” My guttural words are soft but forceful.
“Everything I have loved is gone. I can’t make the love I have work.
I have no idea what to do with my life.” I cough through sobs.
I curl my hands over the top of my head and clutch my neck.
“This is all that I have and all that I am.” My lips tremble. “Is it enough?”
There it is. I’ve said the ugliest things I can think of about myself. I’ve asked the scariest questions I can ask. I’ve voiced the things that I thought could break me.
But instead of breaking me, the returning silence coats me in an odd peace. I don’t move.
The fire in my belly extinguishes, and soft tendrils of smoke release the last of my anguish into the air. I don’t have an exact answer, but somehow my shattered soul knew it had to voice my cries out loud.
I slide my hands across the top of my head, rest them over my closed eyes, and draw in a long breath. Here in the dead of winter, the garden smells of tranquility.
In the distance, the gate creaks open and footsteps approach.
“Meredith?”
First Stanley. Now my sister.
“Are you okay?” Her worried tone lacks the judgment I’ve been dreading.
Holding up a hand, I shake my head.
“I thought I’d find you here.” She plops down next to me, hands intertwined, resting on her purse. “Stanley called. He told me about your breakup with Harlan. And the fun discussion you just had with him.” She sighs. “Who knew he could be such a jerk?”
I sit up and look at her. “He’s right about everything he said.”
We let the conversation rest for a few minutes while we stare in front of us.
At the crinkle of a wrapper and a faint spicy smell, I glance down at Molly’s hands. Peppermint discs.
She pops the candy in her mouth and digs in her purse to pull one out for me. “A peace offering.” Her thick words accompany what looks to be a reluctant smile.
“For what?” I untwist one side and slide the treat out of the wrapper with my teeth. My mouth salivates with a taste from our childhood.
“I’m told I’m highly codependent and if I don’t work on myself, I’ll ‘ruin our relationship.’” She uses air quotes for the last portion of her shocking statement.
I freeze, not wanting to scare away this new version of my sister. “What do you mean?” I ask quietly.
“You stopped talking to me, Meredith, and I fell apart.” Irony fills her short laugh. “And then”—she touches a hand to my knee—“I don’t mean this in a bad way, but I felt relief. I wasn’t in charge of you anymore.”
I just stare at her.
“Finally.” She shrugs. “I wasn’t in charge of you anymore.”
I close my eyes, take a breath, then return my attention to her.
“Michael gave me some Stanley truth.” She flicks off a piece of lint from her wool pants.
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“I think it deserves a name, since who knew Stanley had it in him? Anyway, Michael dragged me to a counselor’s office.
She scheduled weekly appointments for the next three months, then ordered me to CoDA meetings.
Co-Dependents Anonymous.” Molly exhales a heavy breath.
“I haven’t been doing life very well for a long time. ”
“Molly,” I whisper, compassion drawing through me and wanting to reach out to her.
Her voice cracks and her eyes mist. “You got the help you needed after Steve and the kids died. But I didn’t. I thought I had to hold everyone together.”
Guilt slices through my heart. I take her hands in mine. “Molly, you did a great job in our time of crisis. But at some point, we should all live our own lives.”
She leans in and places her head on my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around her and squeeze.
After a while, she asks, “Do you want to talk about Harlan?”
I let out a long sigh. “No.”
Maybe it’s the peace in the garden, but by some miracle, she allows the topic to lie.
She nods. “Do you want to talk about how gross and bizarre the concept of the black-eyed-pea pancakes is?”
My shoulders shake with laughter.
Molly sits up. “Seriously. The least I could have done is gotten you volunteer work that didn’t betray a classic American breakfast food.”
An ache hits my soul, but I smile.
There she is.
My sister.
It’s been a long time.
But while Molly is probably willing and ready to nurse me through a breakup, I’m aware of the inherent backward slide in that plan.
This newfound space in our relationship is going to take work.
My job is to dream again. Hers is going to be to let me.