On Second Thought. Kristan Higgins
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Mischievous eyebrows.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said in a low voice, and he gave me a hug, and then I knew who he was, and I was suddenly so unexpectedly happy that it took me by surprise. Someone from my old life was here, someone I would never have expected to see. His neck was solid and warm.
“God, you smell good,” he murmured. “Sorry. Inappropriate?”
“Very,” I said, hugging him back. “What the hell are you doing here, Daniel the Hot Firefighter?”
The room went quiet.
Oh, shit. I mean, that was what we called him, but still.
“It’s the grief talking,” he said to Eloise, releasing me. “Hi, I’m Daniel Breton, a friend from Brooklyn. I’m so sorry.” He looked back at me. “So. Shitty luck, huh?”
“Yep.”
We just looked at each other a second. “How are you?” I asked, not wanting him to go.
“Better than you.” He cocked an eyebrow.
“True enough.” It was so strange to see him in my new life, in Westchester County. Aside from a few parties in the apartment he once shared with Calista, the only time I’d ever seen Daniel the Hot Firefighter was in bars or riding past in a fire truck.
We’d never been friends, exactly. Calista had been my friend before she got so spiritual and limber. Daniel was just her man-child ex, fun eye candy. At most, Paige and I had let him sit with us for a drink while he was waiting for a False Alarm to wander past.
But here he was. And it probably took him two hours to get here.
“Were you happy together?” Daniel asked.
The question brought the spike flying back. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Good. That’s good.”
The line was stopped, the endless mourners waiting. “Thanks for coming, Daniel.”
“You bet. See you around.” He moved on, shaking hands with the Coburns.
For a second, I pictured four of us—Daniel and one of his False Alarms, Nathan and me, back at Porto’s Bar, laughing. We should’ve done that. Why hadn’t we ever done that? They would’ve liked each other, maybe.
Unfortunately, Nathan still seemed to be dead.
So no beers with Daniel the Hot Firefighter.
I glanced at the casket, which I’d been trying so hard not to do.
Nathan wore a blue suit and a tie I’d given him for Christmas. Or had I? He had lots of ties. This one was purple with red polka dots. From now on, I’d be obliged to hate red polka dots.
This was just not funny. Seriously. I was not amused. For a second, I felt like kicking his casket and saying, Wake up, you selfish shit. Look at your poor mother! Look at Miles and Atticus! How is your sister supposed to go through life without you? And what about me, huh? What about our baby? Remember that little project? Huh? Huh? You can’t just run out on all this, you know!
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Another tie. This one was navy blue with silver. “Thanks.” I raised my eyes. It was Jonathan, Ainsley’s boss.
He’d been great that night. When I started, ah, screaming and stuff—Nathan’s slits of blue eyes, those unseeing blue eyes, and please, Higher Power, take that image away from me—Jonathan had been busy. Chest compressions until the paramedics arrived. He drove me to the hospital, I think. It gets blurry around that point. No. He did.
“He seemed like a very nice person,” Jonathan said, and the simple words caused another agonizing swallow.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and he inclined his head in a courtly nod and moved on to shake Eloise’s hand.
“Kate,” said a quiet voice next to me. Brooke. “Can I have a word?” She guided me a few steps closer to the...the...the casket and lowered her already quiet voice to nearly inaudible. “Kate, Madeleine is here and wants to pay her respects. Is that all right with you?”
“Madeleine? Nathan’s ex?”
“Yes. She...she was devastated when Mom called her.” Brooke’s eyes filled with tears.
“Oh. Um...well, sure. I mean, is it okay with you guys? The family?”
“It’s up to you.”
Well, I couldn’t exactly bar the door, could I? “Sure. Of course.”
Brooke nodded, then walked from the room, and I went back to the hated line.
Nathan never told me much about Madeleine; it was one of the few subjects he was touchy about. It hadn’t been easy, I knew. They’d been married for six years. She’d had a difficult upbringing and was, in his words, brilliant. She worked in...in something cool. I couldn’t remember. Otherwise, I knew nothing.
“Thank you for coming,” I said to the next tie.
“I’m very sorry,” said the man, and I was so tired, I didn’t bother asking how he knew Nathan.
“Thank you,” I said.
“At least you didn’t have children,” his wife said, patting my arm, and I felt like stabbing her.
And then in came Madeleine with Brooke.
My husband’s ex-wife was stunning. He hadn’t mentioned that part. So you were married to Jessica Chastain, huh? I thought. Why isn’t she your widow? Doesn’t seem fair that she had you for six years, but I’m the sap who has to stand here. Also, my feet are killing me.
Madeleine was slim in that “Diet? What do you mean by this foreign word?” way. She was a vegan, Nathan had told me; he’d been watching me lay waste to a bacon cheeseburger and seemed quite content with my meat-eating habits. Vegans were difficult, he’d said.
But they did tend to have great figures. Her dress was navy blue, simple but fascinating, too. Chic, smooth haircut, expensive-looking gold earrings that twisted and swung.
She saw the casket and froze, her face turning white as chalk.
Then she let loose a wail that made my blood run cold.
The place fell silent.
She collapsed right there, folding (gracefully) to her knees, and put both fists up to her face. “No!” she sobbed. “Oh, Nathan, no!”
I hadn’t wailed, or collapsed. Was this a point in my column, or a demerit?
A demerit, it seemed. Eloise rushed to her side, helped her up and put her arms around her. “My deah Madeleine,” she said. “Oh, my deah.” They hugged, and finally, it seemed, Eloise cracked. Her face spasmed.
Just for a moment, though. She led Madeleine to the casket, where Madeleine put her hand on my husband’s chest—my dead husband’s chest—and shook with sobs.
Six years, the lucky bitch. Eloise murmured to her, and Brooke came in for a group hug.
Them, the popular girls in high school. Me, my panty hose rolling down.
“Where’s the bathroom?” my grandmother asked loudly. “I shouldn’t have had all that Pepsi at lunch.”
“Come with me, Gram-Gram,” Ainsley said.
“Kate.” The ex-wife was in front of me, trembling, pressing her lips together. Should I try to out-grieve her? Should I also wail and collapse?
Then I looked in her eyes, and all my bitchery evaporated.
She had really loved him.
“Hi. I’m...I’m so sorry,” I said, and my mouth wobbled, because I was so sorry, so sorry I hadn’t taken better care of Nathan. She’d kept him alive for six years. I lost him in our first.