Not To Us (13 page)

≈≈

Coffee. Bacon.
The delectable scent dizzies my senses and confuses me. I open my eyes and look around. Emily is still sleeping. Michael is still there, too. Who’s making coffee and bacon? Neither Nicholas nor Mathew is allowed to use the stove. Nick caused a small kitchen fire about a year ago and there is a ban in place for both of them because of this. And, after the mishap with the coffee maker a few months ago, I’d banned the privilege of unsupervised cooking of any kind for all my children.

I look over at Michael as I slide out of bed. He opens his eyes. “Who’s here?” I ask. “Because my kids aren’t allowed to cook. Does Elaina?”

“I don’t know,” he says in answer to all my questions.

He sits up in bed. His bare chest immediately bewitches me and I mischievously smile over at him.

“Well, good morning to you,” I say when he passes me; his hard-on evident through his boxers makes me smile wider.

“Give me five minutes,” he says. Curious, I follow him into the bathroom.

“Exactly, what do you plan to do with Emily, since she is in our bed? This is another reason why I didn’t want to invite her into it,” I whisper in my I’m-not-getting-my-way voice.

Michael comes over to me and holds me in his arms, bends down, and kisses me.

“I’ll meet you in the sixth bedroom,” he says with meaning. I smile in answer.

I hurriedly brush my teeth for our upcoming rendezvous. This house is like some kind of miracle, I muse, languishing on the gold duvet waiting for him. After a few more elongated minutes, Michael comes in. He immediately shuts and locks the door.

“Carrie’s here,” he says, bemused.

“Carrie?” I half-smile; uncertain. What’s Carrie doing at the house?

“She’s making breakfast for everyone. Nick and Elaina are helping.” He shrugs and then gets a wide smile. “Let’s not talk about Carrie, right now.”

And, so we don’t.

Michael’s lovemaking is inexplicable, life-altering. I can’t really explain it. He is gentle in his touch. I’m trying to remember if this is because I have had numerous surgical procedures or if he is always this way. His touch makes every cell of my body react. Respond. It is my undoing. I cannot control myself after a certain point. I have to answer in kind to his touch with some of my own because my body at some point must dance to this music. I think he knows this because there is a point after we come together when he gets this bemused look upon his face. Today, I say a silent prayer to God for this man and pain killers. I popped a few of those, while waiting for him. The aching pain across my chest has all, but gone away. “What?” I ask in this playful way when I see his thoughtful look as we languish in each other’s arms a half later. I don’t really expect him to answer, but he does.

“Ellie,” he says, now. “I’ll always be here. I’ll never leave you.” I believe him in the moment when he says this, but then, this senseless uncertainty drifts over me.

“Michael, I’ll always be here, too, and I’ll never leave you,” I say with this sudden urgency, smothering the other irrational thought before it can take hold.

≈≈

Carrie is in my kitchen, well, Michael’s kitchen and now mine. She has poured me a cup of coffee with cream, just the way I like it. It has been months since we have shared a cup of coffee together, so long ago, I can’t even remember that particular day.

She sets a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of me. I sit at the wide granite counter top bar across from her as she works away in our kitchen. Nick and Elaina sit at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Michael has come in fully dressed in Levi’s and a UW Huskies’ t-shirt, carrying Emily who is still in her Little Mermaid pajamas. He sets her down at the table and Carrie hands him a plate of food for her. My husband-to-be slides into a bar chair next to me, while Carrie sets a plate of food resembling my breakfast in front of him.

It’s a surreal scene.
“So,” I finally say. “What’s the agenda for today?”

“You need to be ready by two in the afternoon,” Michael says with a mysterious smile. “Everything else is taken care of.” He gives Carrie a meaningful look.

“Yep, everything else is taken care of,” Carrie says, now.

I’m at a loss. I just cannot put this puzzle together. “So, what…we’re all friends, now?” I have this queer, unsettled feeling and I know it’s apparent in my voice.

Everyone stops eating to look at me and appears spellbound in who is going to respond first to my question. It’s Carrie.

“We have always been friends,” she says. “And now, well, now…we are friends more than ever before because I love you both.” She struggles with her words and I sense she’s about to cry. I discern her suffering and watch her from this faraway place and wonder what she’s been suffering from. “I don’t want to
lose
you, Ellie.”

Geez!
She’s crying in front of my children and her own. All these children warily contemplate this scene as it unfolds.

I move quickly. I silently thank God again for painkillers.

With determination, I pull my former best friend along with me through the French doors of the home office. Through my peripheral vision, I see Nick, Elaina, Emily, and Mathew, and even Michael, gaping at Carrie and me through the glass doors.

“Okay,” I say a little out of breath. We stand apart from each other, while I still hold on to her hand. “Carrie, get a grip. They’re all watching.”

Carrie looks at me in anguish with tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Ellie,” she says. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. I just couldn’t take it.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say with disdain. I reach out and touch her hand. “Hey, I’m going to be
fine
.” My action unleashes her and she hugs me tight. I’m taken aback by her heartfelt sentiment. “Carrie,” I finally say. “That hurts like hell.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” She steps away from me and openly stares at my chest, as if she can see right through the white button-down blouse I’m wearing.

“They’re still there,” I say dryly.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, I know how much your bodacious tah tahs mean to you and since it is your best feature, I just…”

I start to laugh, a slight laugh, at first, and then, full-on laughter grips me. Then, Carrie laughs.

It’s twenty-one years ago, when we first became friends at college. I’m the lost, broken, and homesick freshman; and she is
Carrie
, the bubbly, alive and courageous freshman roommate I’ve just met. I think of all of this and abruptly stop laughing and just stare at her, transfixed, now. “I miss you. I miss you so much, Carrie.” My words are involuntarily stolen from me and I realize their truth as I utter them.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Carrie says. “I thought I would have everything I want. Everything I need, but Ellie, I…”

“You can’t live without me?”

“I can’t,” she says.

I glimpse her remorse, just now, just for a moment. Carrie starts to cry, again. I glance over through the glass French doors and see the assortment of our family standing there, even Robert’s arrived.

“Well, okay.” I take a deep breath and drape my somewhat good left arm around her shoulders. “You won’t have to. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re the best liar in the world,” she says now. “Don’t say it, unless you
mean
it.”

“I
mean
it. I’m not going anywhere. I
will
be okay.”

“And, what about the bodacious tah tahs?” Carrie asks.

“Tom Giordani has promised new perfection
—
even
better
—
bodacious tah tahs,” I say with a slight smile.

“He’s the best,” she murmurs. “That’s great. Okay.” She takes a deep breath and wipes away at her tear-streaked face. “Ellen Kay, I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry that you led me to the best part of my life? There’s no need to be sorry for that, Carrie.”

She looks at me with those green eyes of hers in this state of wonder and awe as if God has come down and bestowed sainthood upon me. She smiles as if she knows that secret.

“What?” I ask, suddenly defensive.

“You are so amazing, so extraordinary, Ellen Kay.”

I smile. There are no words that I can come up with in that moment. My smile falters and I can feel the tears welling up in my own eyes. My bravado fades. “I’ve missed you, too,” I say in this weakened state. “And, frankly, I could use a best friend, right now. It’s really not fair to burden Michael…to saturate him with all this
need
, all this worry, right now.”

“Michael can handle it. He’s got enough strength for all of us. Ellie, he loves you so much.”

I stare at Carrie, open-mouthed. Her words are like a gift
—
a blessing. I feel this release from guilt and anguish. There’s been this implicit barrier between Michael and me. In that moment, I realize it’s
me
and these feelings I harbor over Carrie, causing me this uncertainty. Somehow, in choosing me, Michael has gotten the lesser prize. Add to that, my battle with cancer and I’m no prize at all. Apparently, I’ve spoken of these insecurities out loud. Carrie gapes at me in disbelief.

“He
loves
you. He’s
always
loved you. It’s why…it’s why I finally reached out to Robert. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I could never be
you
.”

“What?” I ask in bewilderment.

“Ellie, he has always loved you. Always.” Her tone is so matter of fact, so believable. “It’s always been you. I knew this before I even married him that he was in love with you, but you were married to Robert, by then.” Carrie shrugs and gives me a twisted smile. “I think we both thought, if we got married that somehow the love would just grow between us and in some ways, it did. In others…well, I could never be
you
.”

I’ve heard too much. I can’t take it anymore. I move to the sofa in the room and sit down with a profound shudder. Carrie comes to sit beside me and takes my hand. She apologizes for upsetting me. She thanks me for listening to her, even though, at this point, I can barely hear her. I’m so far away in another place, her voice is like a whisper to my ears and the words make no sense. Michael has always loved me? And, she has known this? For like, ever? I don’t understand. I can’t understand this.

“What about Robert?” I ask anxiously. “Do you
love
him?”

“I do.” It’s the way that she says this. Carrie, who never really shares her feelings, is being truthful. Her voice resonates with this sincerity. It’s so solemn and enlightened.

“I love him,” she says now. Her beautiful face lights up in a way I have never seen before. It is a new face. It is in her eyes and her features
—
a face of wonder, delight and contentment.

“You’re happy?” I ask, still uncertain.

I cannot help myself. I have to know.

“I am.” She smiles.

“So am I.” Emphatic; I say this in a you-will-not-be-taking-him-from-me kind of way.

“I know.” The benevolence in her voice is not lost on me.

We have made it through this hell, these past months, without talking, without sharing our lives, with nothing, but disappointment and rage between us. It’s been hard, heartbreaking, and sad. It’s been like walking across fire, but now, I am on the other side and she is with me. We are together, again. We sit in silence for a few minutes, savoring the forgiveness between us.