Chapter 8

“I expected it to be hard at first”, the letter continued, "After all, everything I did reminded me of you. I would put a Trader Joes can of fried onion rings in my cart and think,’Oh, Lily loves these’—remember when we forgot the green bean casserole in the oven and it took us two hours to clear the smoke out? Or I would see someone wearing pearls with a fake leopard coat and I would imagine you strutting across the room, looking like Rita Marino with your knee high black boots and that chenille blue scarf I always loved."

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"I expected a period of horrible pain. I was prepared for it. I focused on Andy and Amy. And when I watched Mike trying so hard to be more attentive and thoughtful to me, I tried to settle in with him, like it was before I met you. I tried so hard. For months. And then years. I wasn’t surprised when you didn’t respond to my Christmas card. Or to my phone message. By then I knew you needed me to keep away, if only to be sure I did not hurt you all over again."

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"But Lily, it never did get better."

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Lily put the letter down. She straightened her back and positioned her feet just so, remembering her how hard she worked at her posture in parochial school after Sister Agnes told her she would spend time in purgatory if she did not sit properly at Mass. She sat the way she was taught, now, perfectly aligned in the service of the Lord, waiting for the start of the organ pipes and the blessing of the Sacrament to tell her what the holy hell she should be feeling.
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She then walked to the kitchen, put on the kettle and prepared a cup of tea, wrapping her both hands and fingers around the cup as if its warmth would protect her. She then walked back to the couch, sat down with the overstuffed purple satin pillow behind her, and continued reading:
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"You know how I try not to dwell on emotions I refuse to face. But when I started feeling really sick, I needed you here. I’d go for tests and chemo and Mike and I would sit down with the doctors and all I could think is, 'I need Lily.'"

"When Dr. Chambliss told me I had progressed to stage 3, I broke down. Mike took me to the Easy Street Diner—remember that place? It’s where you and I couldn’t stop laughing when you dropped your nachos and they splattered all over that nerdy guy’s new shoes—the kind with those gross little tassles on them? Anyway, Mike was as shell-shocked as I was but he tried to comfort me, he really tried, and I tried to comfort him too, but before the bill came I put my face in my hands and all I could say was, “Mike, I need to call Lily.” His face turned white. He dropped me home and came back a few hours later. He looked worse than when we first heard my diagnosis. He didn’t say anything for days. We’d make small talk at dinner and go to Andy’s games together, but I knew he was trying to protect himself. I wanted to reassure him, to help him be safe, but I couldn’t.

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Finally, one night when the kids were out, he sat me down, told me he loved me, he thanked me for trying, he told me I was an asshole making the biggest mistake of my life, but he told me I should stop trying. He cried, Lily. He told me he would stay with me if I wanted that, help me through my treatments, work out something fair with the kids, give me a divorce, he told me he would let me go, that he knew I am not a bad person. We cried together, Lily, and I loved him then and there like he’s deserved all these years."