“Hi, Sam,” Matt greets me from his position on the left barstool and all I can think is,
Get the fuck out of Hayden’s seat.
I suddenly feel like I am in a parallel universe. Jessie and Matt sat at the breakfast bar, all smitten and in love, when it was usually Hayden and I.
My facial expression must have betrayed my silent musings, because Jessie is strolling towards me with arms open, ready to comfort me again.
“Hey, sweetie, come on. I have done you a bacon sandwich,” she steers me towards the bar.
“I’m not hungry, Jess,” I mumble.
“Hey, you got to eat, for the little one,” Matt looks at my belly pointedly while hacking into his sandwich. Tomato ketchup seeps from the bottom, splattering onto the plate below. The mishap gives life to many conversations Hayden and I shared about my lack of etiquette when it came to eating and dropping my food. The words following him dropping a slice of turkey on the plate below on Thanksgiving echo in my mind:
At least it ends up on the correct surface and not in my cleavage.
I offer a sad smile as I attempt to eat, without dropping any food down Hayden’s shirt.
That night, I sit up in my bed, the comforter bunched around my hips and the sidelight emits a dim, gilded glow. I refuse to change out of Hayden’s shirt; his cologne embracing my raw, crestfallen body is the only thing that keeps me grounded.
Jessie knocks attentively on my door. Carefully pushing it open, she steps inside. “I thought you might have been asleep by now,” she murmurs.
It’s 10:30 p.m., and I’m exhausted, but I don’t want to sleep.
I gradually peek up at her as she strolls over to the foot of my bed, wearing her ice-cream cone pyjama shorts and pink camisole, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head.
“I’m too scared to sleep, Jess,” I whisper, feeling my sinuses burn along with my eyes as new tears begin to assemble.
She lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, causing it to dip. Taking my hand and smoothing over my knuckles, she lowers her head, invading my line of sight.
“What do you mean, sweetie?”
“I dreamed he came back, last night,” I glance up to the ceiling, attempting to blink back tears that threaten anew. “And I woke up feeling hopeful, but then reality crashed down around me, and I remembered…” languishing, I shake my head and stare into my lap. “I want to sleep, because I can’t bear the pain when I’m awake. But I don’t want to sleep because I might see him in my dreams and when I wake up, I know I have to feel it all over again.”
Raking her free hand through my hair, she softly quietens me, calming me in a way that Jessie is renowned for. Finally, she mutters, “Okay, come on.” And before I can pose any questions into the suggestion behind her words, she releases my hand, and switches off the sidelight.
“What are you doing, Jess?” I ask as she flounders across the mattress like a teenage girl at a slumber party.
“Snuggle down,” she demands and I do as I am told. Curling up onto my left side, I get comfortable.
“Jess, you can’t do this; it’s not fair on, Matt.”
She encircles her arm around my waist, holding me like a parent comforting her child after a nightmare. “Don’t worry, he understands. Shush now, I’m here, I will always be here.” She kisses my hair and I lock my fingers between hers, while she splays it across my belly. “Go to sleep now, sweetie. Tomorrow is a new day.”
And with her words and her warm embrace, I surrender to my fears, and drift off to sleep.
I am woken up by an overgrown child bouncing up and down on my bed. I groan at the disruption to my sleep and roll over to face the window.
“Jess, leave me alone, please. I am not in the mood for this,” I grumble before sinking my head under the comforter, to avoid the glare of the sun penetrating my eyelids.
“It’s 11:00 a.m., time to get up,” she shakes my shoulder.
“It is also Saturday, God, you are worse than Hayden with getting me up early.” The words slip from my mouth, unbidden. I feel myself begin to fall, crashing down to earth like a bird soaring and having its wings clipped in mid-flight. Jessie clearly notices, because her unremitting bouncing ceases immediately.
Turning to face my friend, I fling the quilt off my face. She is already dressed in her black turtleneck and white denim pants. Her hair left loose and tumbles to her breasts, and a modest amount of makeup has been applied. She sits with her left leg bent, her foot tucked under the back of her right knee. She gazes remorsefully at me; her lips a thin, firm line.
“I’m sorry, Sammy. I just thought we could do something today, get you out, and get some fresh air in your lungs. It’s not good for the baby.”
“Her name is Rose.” Her eyes alight with joy and delight, her mouth agape, but slowly quirks into a full-blown beam. “Hayden worked out the date of conception; it was around the time we first made love. So, Rose is fitting.” I hang my head and frown into my lap as I briefly consider the fate of our daughter’s surname. I agreed to, Rose Wentworth––but now, Rose Kennedy? I don’t know.
I sigh at the thought.
“Well, you being held-up in doors all day, isn’t going to do,
Rose
any good. Come on, we’re having a picnic in Golden Gate Park,” she concludes with a smile, and I cannot subdue my brief sense of amusement. Only Jessie could decide on a picnic at the end of February.
“You have planned a picnic, in Golden Gate Park, at the end of February?” Dubious, I narrow my eyes; my tone betrays the nuance of humor I feel as it raises an octave.
“Yes,”––the proud nod of her head is overshadowed by the overstated tone of her approval. “So wrap up warm.” And she exits my room, leaving me to my own devices.
I rub my belly. “And that is your crazy, Aunt Jessie.”
With my shower having prepared me to take on day two, after Hayden, I search my walk-in-closet for something to wear. I browse my rails five, six, seven times and with each item I push aside, memories of a happier time I shared with Hayden begin to form. My taupe, wing-sleeved sweater and beige pants––I was wearing that Christmas Eve when he proposed. My black asymmetric dress––I wore that on our first date. Sighing heavily, I offer a silent prayer to a higher power to help give me strength to move on, or at the very least, make the pain subside.
As I push up onto the balls of my feet to peruse the upper-shelf, I discover my Nikon camera buried behind old shoe boxes. I hold it in my hands and observe it in a sudden state of reflection. It’s heavier than I remember with the lens attached. The unexpected reminder and sense of natural ability, the passion for a vocation that I haven’t wielded in so long, fills me with warmth. We never did take any photographs with my camera; I suppose it’s the only thing I own that isn’t tainted by mine and Hayden’s relationship. It’s something that is still entirely mine; it holds no memories of us.
My contemplation is a welcomed distraction.
Having been preoccupied with work and everything else in my life, I neglected immersing myself in what I used to love doing, being on the productive side of the lens. I cannot ignore the speculation that maybe this is a sign…or an approach coming from a higher power to offer me guidance. I exit the closet and place it in the center of my bed.
After much wavering, and stumbling upon clothing that can no longer hold my bump, I finally opt for my blue faded jeans and a black cashmere sweater with a draping neckline, a pair of black, heeled ankle boots, and a black leather jacket. The length of my body looks presentable, yet my eyes are still red and puffy. It’s fruitless in applying a full-face of makeup with my emotions up in the air and making me dizzy. However,
a coat of waterproof mascara never fails to make you feel a teeny bit better
. For the first time in thirty-six hours, I smile at the truth and knowledge behind my grandmother’s many words of wisdom.
Hauling my ass from my dresser stool, I retrieve the Nikon from my lilac throw. And with a piece of the creative, former me resting in my hands, I stalk out of my room on a mission: to fill my day with as much distraction as possible.
It would be a lie if I said I didn’t expect Matt to tag along with our day of distraction and fresh air. But, I suppose the disadvantage of being a music store manager, is having to work on a Saturday, what with it being the busiest day of the week.
From Fillmore Point Apartments, we head east and within fifteen minutes we arrive at Golden Gate Park––thankfully, in one piece. As much as I love Jessie, seeing her behind the wheel of my cherished Honda is a scary experience. Her natural laidback, thoughtful demeanor flees when she is behind the wheel, leaving a fiend that would make Satan himself quake in his boots. The amount of road rage the woman issues, is barbaric. I idly ponder if the unfortunate cyclist who befell to Jess’s terse words, while hanging out of the window, is okay. The movie ‘Carrie’ springs to the front of my mind. I giggle inwardly at the similarity.
It is always the quiet ones.
Jessie carries the picnic basket, while I carry the tartan blanket and my holdall purse. We stroll lazily along an expanse path, the trees towering over us from each side, shielding us as they meld together, creating a canopy above us. It’s like walking through nature’s own archway.
Cyclists pass us by, couples talk as they mossy through the park with their dogs trailing in front of them. I stop and watch as people play games of pétanque on the maintained, lush, evergreen lawn, and I find myself willing the sphere to travel a diminutive bit further. I watch a man throwing a Frisbee to his son, to only have the family dog jump for it in mid-flight. The spectacle makes me smile. It’s a sight I wish I could have experienced with Hayden.
Walking a little farther, we follow the path along a right turn and are immediately ambushed by an entire contrasting pallet of colors as we enter and stroll through the botanical-gardens––purples, pinks, fuchsia, snowy whites, and greens––all different shades of greens. It’s magical. It reminds me of Dana’s garden in San Rafael. I feel a stab of disappointment that I will never have the chance to meet her again. She’s a lovely woman, a woman who I feel I could have looked upon with daughter-like attachment.
With aching back and legs, I mutter, “Jess, I need to sit,” and begin to rub circular motions against my lower back.
Observing my discomfort, Jessie props a supportive hand on my shoulder. “Okay, there’s a bench up ahead. We can stop by the lake?”
“The lake sounds good,” I concede, all the while silently contemplating how I’m going to manage the physical and emotional parts of my pregnancy alone.
We find an unoccupied pew along the water edge. It’s a beautiful, peaceful view. The sky is an undisturbed powder blue. The ducks glide along the calm waters of the lake, while the trees behind us offer shade from the blazing rays of the sun, which reflects into the water, making the surface shimmer and sparkle dazzlingly. The trees on the opposite side of the waters sweep and twist as Mother Nature intended.
Taking a seat, we place the basket and the blanket down beside our feet.
Propping her left arm along the backrest of the bench, Jessie turns her body to face me. “How are you feeling, Sammy?”
Sighing heavily, I deliberately crane my head to face her. Arching my brow, I roll my eyes, “Truthfully?”
“After all of these years, Sammy, I sincerely hope that you can be truthful.” I smile at her avowal.
Shaking my head, I bite the right side of my lower lip before letting it roll free.
“I just…I don’t understand the need to keep fighting––”
“Fighting? I don’t understand, sweetie.”
Staring in the distance, over the calming water, I watch the ducks bow their heads beneath the surface, then rise up again. “I tried, Jess. The person I was years ago no longer exists. I changed myself beyond all recognition. I’m ashamed of the person I was, and I can’t even contemplate becoming her again, no matter what life hurls at me,” I respond distracted, losing myself to the tranquillity of the park.
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
I can’t stifle a snigger at her prediction.
“No matter what I do to change, no matter what extent I go to, to make it happen, to be successful in it, I will always be judged on my past affairs. Hayden witnessed the changes that I made with the help and support of you both. I refuse to believe, that deep down he had reservations about my capability to revert back into that person.”
“What are you trying to say, Sammy?” She rests her hand on my shoulder, offering small reassuring squeezes, urging me to continue.
Wrenching my focus away from across the lake, I hold her gaze. Her emerald eyes complimented and more profound against the surrounding green foliage we sit in the heart of.
“If Hayden knew, indisputably that there is no way in Hell I would become that person again, then that means the look in his eyes, his expression that night, it was all because he is unable to accept, move on and see past
her
––the person that I was, to who
I am now
. It’s my past, Jess, and I feel as though it’s affecting
him
, more than it affects me. If everything in life is merited on your past…” teeming with pessimism, I shake my head. “…then I have already signed my death certificate.”
“Oh, Sammy,” she slides along the wooden bench, closing the space between us, and envelops me in an understanding and patient embrace. She presses a kiss against my temple. “You have so much life ahead of you. Don’t talk that way, please.” Releasing me, she holds me at arm’s length. Her eyes bore into me, drilling a hole in my skull, mutely pleading me to concede.
After what seems like a lifetime, I draw in a lungful of air and succumb to a wary nod.
“Good girl,” she praises, and my mood becomes a little lighter.
“So, moving off the subject of the past, and death, and ultimately discounting the future, where did you find your, Nikon?”
I bow down to recover the piece of technology from my holdall.
Rotating and inspecting the equipment that laying ready and waiting between my hands, I giggle, “It was behind my shoe boxes.”