I asked, grinning.
“Piss off.”
She wasn’t smiling. My own smile died a quick death. “Paige,” I began.
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? You were the last single friend I had. I’d kill for a guy like Nathan, and you sit there wondering if you should marry him. Who do you think you are?”
“Um...a person? With feelings and thoughts? Come on, Paige. I thought I could talk to you—”
“Yeah, well, don’t. Okay? You have a two-carat ring on your finger. Wear white. Register for new china and, hey, how about a destination wedding to make your single friends use vacation time and spend their own money to cheer you on?”
With that, she threw down her napkin and left.
“Did you and Paige break up?” Daniel asked, appearing at my side. “Was it over me?”
I laughed reluctantly. “No. I’m getting married. Paige is...” My voice trailed off.
“A bitch?”
“No. Just feeling a little left out, maybe. I’m moving to Westchester.”
He shuddered. “Well, mazel tov, Kate. Nice knowing you.”
“I’m not dying.”
“You’re moving out of the city. Same thing. See you never.” He smiled and went back to his fan club.
I forgave Paige the bitchiness, but I knew she wouldn’t forgive me. I was getting what we both always wanted, and she was not. I understood. The little voice in my head, that tremor of warning, was snuffed out.
On New Year’s Day, Nathan and I went for dinner at a restaurant with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was snowing, and we had a window table. I wore a glittery white cocktail dress and slutty black shoes, and Nathan gave me a red rose. The justice of the peace came in, and in front of a room full of strangers, with New York shimmering through the windows, I became Nathan’s wife.
Ninety-six days later, I became his widow.
Kate
Taking a pregnancy test moments before leaving for my husband’s wake...the sense of the ridiculous was not lost on me.
I locked the guest bathroom door and tried to take a deep breath. Since the moment Nathan went down four days ago, I’d been in a dream-state of panic and disbelief, the edge of hysterical laughter never far from my lips, as if at any minute, Nathan was going to jump out of the broom closet and say “Surprise!”
I hadn’t cried yet. Not exactly. There’d been some...well...noises. A sense of strangulation if I dozed off. No tears, not yet. I did, however, seem to be hyperventilating rather a lot.
Ainsley used to have panic attacks when she was little. Mom dutifully taught her to breathe slowly—in for a count of three, hold for a count of three, exhale for three, hold for three. In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three. I used to chant it during thunderstorms when she was tiny and would climb into my bed, shaking with fear.
I tried it now. It wasn’t working. All the air wanted to do was rush in-out-in-out-in-out.
Two lines, goddamn it, I mentally ordered. Two lines. You owe me.
I wrestled my Spanx panty hose back into place (because one must look smooth and sleek at the wake of one’s husband), pulled down my black dress and waited.
Come on, Universe. Throw me a bone here.
The seconds ticked past. No rush. Wasn’t like I was going anywhere fun. My chest bucked with an aborted sob. Someone had told me I was in shock. Kiara, that was it. She was a doctor, she knew these things. Also, there was no normal reaction to a sudden death. Nothing I felt was wrong.
Except everything I felt was wrong.
I so did not want to do this widow thing. For a flash of a second, it seemed possible that I could say, “Yeah...no. I’ll pass.” Then I’d revive Nathan and go back to being married.
Eloise and Nathan Senior were waiting downstairs with Brooke, Chase and the heartbroken boys. The thought of their sweet, bereft faces made my throat feel like a nail had been driven through it. A spike, actually, a big rusty railroad spike. Their uncle. Their only uncle.
Four days ago, I was married. That had been enough of a trip. Now I was a widow. I ask you—how weird was that? (My brain seemed to be generating only italicized words, like an overdramatic narrator.)
Brooke lost her beloved younger brother. The Coburns no longer had a son.
Nathan was dead.
I mean, really. What the fuck?
Maybe I could stay here all night. It sure beat what lay ahead. I could simply wait for everyone to leave, creep out of the bathroom and watch Orange Is the New Black. I could make popcorn. Better yet, I could buy some of that popcorn with the salted caramel and chocolate in it. Get a bottle from Nathan’s wine cellar, climb in bed with our big TV on. Nathan wouldn’t be able to resist that. He’d definitely come back from the dead for that.
Funny—horrible—how fast I’d gotten used to sleeping with another person. For twenty years, I’d had my own bed almost without interruption. Two weeks into our marriage, and Nathan and I had already figured out how to sleep together, how we fit together, when to cuddle close, when to pull away.
Now the bed was like the vast Arctic Ocean, freezing cold and lifeless.
The panic was back, little squeaks coming out of my throat, my lips clamped tight.
Please don’t make me do this, Nathan. Please.
There was a gentle knock on the door, and I jumped. “Kate? Are you okay?” It was Brooke.
“Coming,” I said too loudly. My watch told me I’d been in here for seven minutes.
In a movie, there’d be two lines. After all, we did shag before the party. I would have a baby in my grief, and the baby would be a memorial to Nathan and our tragic love, and such a comfort to the Coburns. He absolutely would be Nathan the Fourth. I’d be really noble and quite beautiful, probably played by that chick who cried so well... What was her name? Rachel McSomething. Yes. Nate IV and I would make a new life together, and he would have his father’s blue eyes.
I looked at the test.
One line.
Insult to injury. “Fuck you, test,” I whispered. “You’re wrong.”
* * *
The carpet at the funeral home was so plush and soft that I wobbled every time someone hugged me. And everyone hugged me. I definitely should not have worn heels. Why didn’t anyone tell me this? Also, the Spanx panty hose kept threatening to roll down. Every few hugs, I’d have to reach behind and hitch it up a little. I had to pee, which would give me the chance to pull the panty hose back where it belonged.
