But Meg . . . Meg was a new universe. There was no question we’d be friends, because Meg was friends with everyone. I didn’t want to go out dancing with her the first night we met, but she had decided we’d go dancing, so we did. It was more fun than all of my freshman days smashed together.
But fun was just the start. With Meg I could almost imagine I was normal. She was hopeful, positive, and loving, and if I tried hard when I was with her, I could pretend to be those things too. Only for short moments, of course. I stole brief glimpses of the world through her eyes, and it was like reading the best book. I could lose myself in her story.
The most important thing about Meg, though—the thing that kept me tied to her—was her reliability. Meg was there for me every single time I needed her. She was the first person in the world I truly trusted. She was the only person. And she’s gone.
I’ve never missed anyone before. What do I do with that? Without Meg, I’m no longer sure who I am. She was my connection to a future. To love and children and marriage.
One day Meg would get married. I’d be her maid of honor. She’d have kids and I’d be their aunt Jane. Meg was my only hope of loving children, even if that love was seasonal and sketchy. I’ll never have my own. What would be the point in creating more people I’d barely connect with?
But I knew I’d love Meg’s kids through her. Enough to be there on Christmases and birthdays. To celebrate with them. To have a link to family and traditions, even if they weren’t my own.
Without Meg, my future is a cold march of nearly identical days. No true family. No holiday gatherings. Is that a reason to hang on to Cheryl? Is that what other people would do?
She promised Meg she’d take care of me, and I know she’s a more-the-merrier type, so if I keep in touch I’ll at least have the chance of a warm and raucous Christmas in the future.
But strangers aren’t family. Meg will never be there. I’ll never belong. I’ll be a stranger everywhere I go for the rest of my life.
Still, I don’t delete Cheryl’s email. I have no idea what that means.
By the end of lunch I’ve lost a little of my glow, but that’s a good thing. Hobbies are well and good, but I need to get back to the work of keeping Steven on my hook.
If I could get this all over with quickly, I would. Fall into bed with Steven and get close to him right away. Find out what makes him tick. This could all be over in days. But if I don’t resist sex, I won’t be worthy of love, and I need him to love me in his own little selfish way. I need him to show me his weaknesses.
So no sex tonight. Maybe a kiss. I’ll keep my cardigan buttoned up to my neck until Steven talks me into having a glass of cheap wine with dinner. Then I’ll get warm and unbutton it too far and he’ll think he made that happen.
This relationship will be tedious and nearly unbearable, but the end will justify the means. Maybe I’ll destroy his family. Maybe I’ll set him up for embezzlement. Maybe I’ll kill him.
I’ll find what’s most important to him and then I’ll take it away. However that plays out is fine with me.
CHAPTER 9
I’ve never killed anyone. I’m not that kind of sociopath. But you never know. Desperate times . . .
CHAPTER 10
Steven promised a hole-in-the-wall and he delivered. It’s a little Italian restaurant on a side street in downtown Minneapolis that’s either going to serve the most amazing food I’ve ever had or food that will reveal why this place is slowly dying.
To ensure I look eager to please, I arrive early. The tables are topped with honest-to-God Chianti bottles dripping with old candle wax. The host leads me to a tiny table and pulls out my chair before lighting the candle on our bottle. I ask for a glass of water and sit primly.
I wrote back to Cheryl before leaving my apartment. I told her I was doing well aside from missing Meg. I didn’t mention Minneapolis. Cheryl lives in Duluth now, and it would be an easy drive if I wanted to visit. I don’t. But I ask how she’s holding up and whether there’s anything I can do for her. I don’t tell her that the terrible example she set as a mother helped lead to Meg’s death. Even I am not that cruel. She has enough guilt to carry. So do I.
Meg committed suicide. She became so hopeless and broken that she killed herself, so we’re all to blame. Any one of us could have saved her, given the right timing.
But I wasn’t here, was I? I’d only returned to Minneapolis once in the past two years. If I’d come back more often, would she still be alive? What if I’d called more regularly? What if I’d been more empathetic, caring, human?
It had been a struggle to understand Meg’s problems, yes, but I’d tried. I swear I had. Still, patience is not my virtue. Nor is sympathy. Maybe I was her weakest link. Maybe her mother deserves none of my anger and I deserve all of it. I’ve never experienced regret before, but I do now. Missing Meg for the rest of my life will be my penance.
We were both thirty when she killed herself, and she’ll be thirty forever now. I will age and age and age without her.
Would I take her place if I could? Well, hell. I’m not given to selflessness, but I think I might. There’s no hope for me, after all. I’m not going to someday blossom into a happy, whole person. But there was hope for Meg.
Or maybe there was no hope at all. Maybe she was destined to marry shitty men and put her children through divorce after divorce and boyfriend after boyfriend. My life will be less destructive than that.
Still, I wish I could bring her back.
Melancholy is draping over me like a spiderweb that drifted in on the breeze, and if Steven doesn’t get here soon, I’m going to break character and order a carafe of table wine. If I’m quick, maybe I can drink it all before he arrives.
No such luck. Behind me I hear his loud, over-friendly greeting for the host. The host responds just as loudly. Everyone loves Steven! This could be a hilarious sitcom.
I stand and turn awkwardly to wait for him, as if I’m nervous. I’m probably overdoing this, but my instinct says to behave exactly the opposite of how I’d normally interact with a man. So far it’s working.
“Jane!”
He walks over quickly and gives me a long hug. Too long. I’m very proud of myself for not shoving him onto his ass. I’m not a hugger.
“You look gorgeous,” he whispers into my ear just as he’s pulling back. The anger in my cheeks looks like a blush.
“It’s just my work clothes,” I protest.
“You always look gorgeous.” I can see how women fall for him. He’s attentive.
“You drink red wine, I hope?” he asks as we both sit down.
“Not often.”
He ignores that and calls out to the host for a bottle of his favorite red. That’s when I realize this is a place he brings people so he can show off. Be the big man. It’s perfect.
“I’m glad you came,” he says.
“Did you think I’d chicken out?”
“You did seem pretty nervous.”
“I am nervous. I can’t afford to lose this job.”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on. No one really cares. As far as I know, nobody’s ever been disciplined for interoffice dating. It’s fine.”
“Do you think so?”
He reaches across the table to take my hand and tug it closer. “Trust me.”
His smile is meant to reassure me, but his words have the opposite effect. Why would I trust a man I’d just met? It’s a warning sign that he’d even ask me to. I give his hand a little squeeze as if I need someone to hold on to. When a waiter appears with a menu, I act embarrassed to have been caught in an intimate moment.
I fully expect the waiter to hand the menu to Steven so he can order for both of us, but he hands it to me instead. Steven winks. “I already know what I’m getting. Everything is good, by the way. You can’t make a bad choice.”
Oh, what a relief.
The waiter arrives. I order spaghetti Bolognese and my mouth waters at the thought of it. Please let this place be a hidden gem. This relationship doesn’t have to be all work and no play. I may as well enjoy what I can.
Garlic bread arrives. Honest-to-goodness hot, toasted garlic bread, and in that moment the future bad sex with Steven is all worth it. I grab a piece of bread, close my eyes, and bite.
“It’s good, right?” he asks.