On Second Thought. Kristan Higgins
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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. Was I allowed to leave the line? Probably not.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I said to the tie in front of me. If I looked only at the necktie, it was easier not to lose my shit and start with the hehn-hehn-hehn sounds of hyperventilating. It was so fucking embarrassing. I sounded like a dying duck.
My language had seriously deteriorated since my husband died.
“Bernard, how good of you to come. Thank you for being so kind,” said Eloise next to me. She wore a black knit St. John dress and pearls. Her eyes were dry, her heart broken, and she made Jackie Kennedy look like a strung-out wreck. “This is our daughter-in-law, Kate. Kate, our very dear friend Bernard Helms.”
“Great to meet you,” I said, then covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean that. Obviously, I wish we’d met under different circumstances. But you know, thanks for coming.” My left heel wobbled. I felt drunk with fatigue and grief. Now I looked drunk, too, wobbling around, constantly off balance. Eloise’s heels were higher than mine, but she was not the wobbling type. Brooke wore flats. Smart of her. “Did you know Nathan well?”
Bernard’s eyes filled. “I’ve known him since he was a baby. Such a good boy. I remember this terrible snowstorm, oh, maybe ten years ago. My wife had cancer, and we lost power, and I look out the window, and there’s Nathan, coming up our driveway. His place had an automatic generator, and damned if he didn’t take the both of us to his house and treat us like royalty the whole four days. Cooked us dinner, played Scrabble.” Bernard was now openly weeping. “I’m so sorry for you, my dear. Such a tremendous loss.”
I seemed to be gulping and sort of barking with a little choking thrown in for good measure. Pressing my hand against my mouth, I glanced at Eloise helplessly. Pain was carved so deeply on her face that it hurt to look, but she smiled sadly and patted Bernard’s arm, murmured something.
I felt like a junkie next to her.
My sister slipped up with a box of tissues. I didn’t need them, though. I was just barking, like a dog, or a fox, or a...a...stegosaurus. Did they bark? What was the question? Oh, tissues. The really good ones, with lotion. Ainsley was still waiting, so I took one, blew and wobbled. Ainsley steadied me, and I hated that she was being so nice. I didn’t want her to be nice. I wanted to be home with Nathan. “Hang in there,” she whispered, then went back to her seat.
“I’m so, so sorry,” said another one of Eloise’s friends, her eyes red and wet. “You just got married! How can you stand it?”
I have no fucking idea, lady. “I... It was a terrible shock.” Eloise had been saying that, so I borrowed her line.
“Awful! Did he...” She lowered her voice. “Did he make any noise?”
Jesus. “I... No. It was very fast.”
“This is why Indian women throw themselves on the pyre, isn’t it? You must want to do the same thing.” She looked at the casket. “He almost looks alive, doesn’t he?”
Yeah. We had an open casket. I wasn’t sure who said yes to that. It might have been me.
Most of the people here were strangers to me—friends I hadn’t met, friends of the elder Coburns, friends of Brooke. The boys’ classmates came, which was just brutal, seeing Miles and Atticus trying not to cry, and failing. The Little League team Nathan and Chase coached together came in as well, the little sweaty boy hands shaking mine, the kids unable to look me in the eye.
As wife, I came first in the reception line. Then Eloise, her finishing school posture ramrod straight, and Nathan Senior, who was medicated, I was pretty sure, the lucky dog. God. No, he wasn’t lucky. The rusty spike twisted.
Then came Brooke, who was being so brave and kind, though how, I could not imagine. Chase was solemn, nodding, speaking in a