Epilogue
Dave does not hold back as he sets down his bags and walks through my Boston condo.
“It’s gorgeous.” He spins my way. “This living room? Wild.”
After he’s meandered through the space, and swooned, and checked out the quintessential Boston architecture view from the windows, he nears the back of my place.
“Okay, but I didn’t really prepare you …” I do a kind of face-plant and laugh.
When he comes back, he finishes my sentence. “For how the bedroom barely fits a full bed? The bathroom might allow one person to shower, but only if they’re hunched over? And the kitchen? Dear God, the kitchen …” But he’s smiling because it is sort of funny.
“Okay, I have some justifications here,” I say while laughing and spinning my way through the main room with my arms open wide, trying to sell the space.
But then I drop my hands and take a beat.
“This place made sense when I bought it. I don’t cook much, so I can excuse the kitchen.
The bathroom and the bedroom? I dunno. Yes, both are very small.
But it’s not as though I ever shared those spaces with other people. ” I drop my hands. “Not until now.”
Dave squeezes my hand for a second before he walks off. “I love it here. I will cook, and shower, and scoop you in spaces of any size.”
I feel as though I’m about to offer a good idea. I’m not nearly as terrified by this proposal as I would have been months ago. “What if I told you that there’s a two-bedroom above mine for sale? The living room isn’t as huge, but the other rooms are less teeny.”
Dave laughs. “Is the kitchen less weirdly teeny? Like, it might be possible to cook something there? Even a small meal?” His continued self-tour of my place is getting unnerving.
I about roll my eyes and admit, “It’s actually pretty spacious. There may even be two islands. And, fine, there’s a double fridge.”
“I think I might love that.” Dave pulls me in. “Like, I could cook an omelet and not nearly bash my head in when flipping a pan?”
“Funny, funny. Okay, but true.”
“This is all fun and decidedly gorgeous. And I so want to be Boston Dave with you, but I don’t need this … luxury.”
“I don’t need it either,” I agree. “Nobody needs this. But I’m earning enough to afford this and more. I get to treat myself. And now us.”
Dave happily slumps into my couch. “Fine. So, can I try these dumplings you’ve been loving?”
“You betcha!”
“Make that call.”
And so I do, and Chu and Jia show up soon with every flavor they have, and I insist they sit with us as we all dunk and devour.
After Dave and I get into bed and I’m resting my head against his chest and squeezing him hard, he asks me if I’m ready for tomorrow. For the flight. The visit.
“I splurged for those first-class tickets, so sure, I’m ready!” I say. “And I’m wearing my new polar bear jammies. Silky, huh?” I ease his hand over my waist.
“Diana …”
“Yes, I know that’s not what you meant.” I inch up a bit so that I can nuzzle my mouth against his neck, so that he can feel my steady breath, feel how solid I am. “It’s going to be awesome.”
It’ll be the first time that I’ll see Katrina and Tommy in person since Patrick left us. Since a major part of our lives blew up.
It’s an easy flight, and I’m glad we rented a car because I feel like an airport reunion would have been cliché and awful.
But then Dave is driving us to her house—the house she shared with Patrick and their son—and I start to feel panicked.
As much as I want to see where he lived, feel him, I also don’t.
I can understand why Katrina has avoided connecting with me too closely.
It’s got to be damn painful to be in close contact with Patrick’s friends.
Dave pulls the car into the driveway, and I freeze in my seat. He’s got to help me out of the car, and I do this clunky push-backstep thing. He opens the trunk to unload our luggage.
“We should have stayed at a hotel, right?”’
“No,” he says as he wheels our bags up the driveway. “Just hang on. Patrick would want you to stay here. And I think with me.”
He’s right, so I nod and follow him.
The house is so damn cute. Black shutters and a red front door. An actual picket fence around a grassy yard.
What really calms my nerves is when Katrina throws open the door with her gorgeous toddler in her arms. Tommy is wrapped in one of the rather tragic blankets that I knitted.
My originals were not great, and while my later attempts were not much better, I’d persevered enough to keep going, so I’m delighted to see her holding him in one of my shoddy blankets when the door opens.
When he about falls out of her arms as he reaches for me.
“DiNah!” He giggles and claps his hands. “DiNah!”
I immediately drop to my knees and wait as he rushes into my arms, nearly crying, but in the best way. “He remembers me?” I ask. “Just after from our Facetime chats?”
“Of course!” Katrina smiles and confirms. “And Tommy?” She points to Dave. “And who is that? Can you say hello?”
Tommy’s feet kick in excitement. “New Fwend Dabe? Huwoo, New Dabe.”
Both of us stop in our tracks.
Dave speaks before I can. “He knows me?”
“Of course.” She nods. “I’ve been showing him the pictures and videos you’ve been sending for months.
I even have what now feels like old-fashioned photo albums. He toddles over to the shelves and yanks them down every other day.
They’re mostly full of pictures of Patrick, Diana, my sisters, and obviously you and his bestie, RobBob.
Immediate family. Much-loved friends. Much-needed friends.
” Katrina beams as she watches me and Tommy connect in person.
Maybe this kiddo and I don’t see each other every day, but all the Facetiming has created a bond that is strong.
“And it became clear that I had to add in New Friend Dave.”
I can see that Katrina needs a moment, so I beckon her to move ahead without us.
“Is it too hard for me to be here for her?” I ask.
“Maybe the opposite,” he says. “Look at her.”
It’s so nice to see her smile.
After we’re inside the house, I swing Tommy up and down, then set him on my hip and let him snuggle against me.
“That was sweet of you,” I say. “What you said about Dave.”
Katrina touches her son’s foot. “It wasn’t to be nice. It’s because he’s your Katrina.”
Damn her. Damn Patrick. Damn this little sweetie now resting his head on my shoulder and gripping his precious hands against my fingers.
I hold back a laugh. “Damn Patrick for telling you that. And also bless him.” I rock back and forth.
We stand together silently for a bit. Soon, Katrina’s hand is against mine, and we together feel his back rising and falling, so rhythmically and measuredly.
“Do you have a rocking chair? I’m sure I could put him down, but I’d love to hold him for a bit more, if that’s okay. Just to watch him sleep. To feel him sleep.”
Katrina brings me another blanket and shows me to the nursery. “Because he rests peacefully, right? He doesn’t wake every half hour in panic. In misery. In agony. Not the way we do.”
These are just hard truths. Shitty facts we’re going to have to live with.
I nod. “We’ll live with this loss forever. The pain will always be there, but we will adapt.”
We’ll make our Super Bowls.
“Yes.” She takes a steadying breath and bites her lip, controlling the sobs that threaten to erupt.
I know that move well. It mostly works, but not always. Today, however, Katrina is able to let a bit of a smile win.
“There’s no telling where I’d be without this little guy. Tommy is saving me.”
The chair has luxurious pillows, and it’s only just before I sit that I process the print on them.
“Polar bears?” I whisper.
“Of course, polar bears.”
Katrina bends over and smooths a hand over her child’s head, his cheek, then straightens out his pajamas and the blanket I wrapped him in. After drawing the curtains closed to darken the room, she turns on a cute lighted mobile.
“How about some lullabies?” she asks.
Without needing an answer, she hits a few buttons, sets a stack of books down, and steps out, leaving the room softly aglow.
I rock, and rock, and rock this sweetheart, stupefied by Katrina’s generosity.
After I’m nearly unconscious, the door inches open, and Dave tiptoes in. He sits down and watches me—and me with Tommy-—for a while.
And so I watch him back. The way he just enjoys seeing me hold this toddler, but somehow not exuding any pressure on us. He’s just happy that I’m happy.
“I like this. More than I thought,” I confess. “Sure because this is Patrick’s little guy. But also because I just like it. Because I think I might not be a nightmare parent.”
“You’d, of course, be an incredible mother, but it’s nice to know you see that as a possibility for yourself. If you decide that’s what you might want.”
“For the first time, I’m thinking that maybe my horrible, nutty, neglectful parents could have accidentally raised their total opposite.”
Maybe I can be more than my shitty upbringing. Without realizing it, maybe I have already healed in the ways that I need to.
“Want me to take him?” Dave reaches out. “Trade?”
I really don’t. “No, but yes.”
Handing over Patrick’s kid is harder than I thought, but I do so because I didn’t realize how tired my arms had gotten until I budged.
Dave gently takes Tommy from me and passes me the Make Way for Ducklings book. “I saw your arms shaking. He’s likely down for the night, but I figure I can take a few minutes, right?” He settles into the polar bear chair.
“This one might have to be followed up with reading another book. Or five.” I settle onto the floor and wrap my arms around my legs. “Even if he’s asleep?”
“Even if he’s asleep,” he agrees.
I look at the polar bear cushions on the chair and smile at my memories from the trip I took with Patrick. Remembering makes me want to cry. But then I wonder about doing that crazy upgraded version of the trip, and I smile. Dave would love it.
“Are we done with hard rains?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“For now.” Dave answers me truthfully. “But there will inevitably be more.”
At least I know it’s possible to survive pain, and trauma, and crippling grief.
As Dave’s mom said, “It’s never too late to recover. To thrive.”
While I hold up the book and ready myself to read, I’m shaky, and I can’t get myself to start.
Losing Patrick is a hurt that I’ll carry with me forever. I will never be able to cry or grieve enough, and it may take ages not to feel as though I’m going to break into fragments at any moment, but I’ll get there.
My guy can see me struggling, and Dave reaches out a hand. “We are going to have such fun.”
He’s right.
“Ron Rifkin. Cybill Shepherd.”
I laugh. “Rosanna Arquette and Alec Baldwin.”
We didn’t ask for it, but the hard rain showered us. Deluged us all.
So, now we get to put on the best performances.
And keep reading all the books.