Then, Now, Me

Chapter 16: Then

My mom looks so small, curled up in the guest bed.

"Do you need anything else, Mom?" I ask, looking over my shoulder at her as I"m heading into the master bedroom.

She looks at me a couple of moments, and then says, "No, Beth. Thanks, though." She pauses another moment before adding, "This is a pretty comfortable bed."

"I know, right?" I say with a smile, pleased to have her approval. "Well, if you get up before me, feel free to start the coffee and turn on the TV."

"Okay, sounds good, Hun," she says, reaching for her book on the bedside table. And then, as if rethinking her actions, she puts her book down, looks up and unexpectedly offers, "Scott seems like he really loves you."

"Yeah," I respond slowly, turning to face her and lean up against the doorway. "He does."

"You know," she begins tentatively, "you spend most of your life with the person you marry. Eventually, your life with that person becomes much more important that the family you come from."

I feel my eyebrows raise at the depth of insight my mom reveals in that one comment. I realize that I never thought about marriage that way.

The only reaction I can muster in response is a meager, "Huh. I guess that"s true."

She smiles and just like that, she"s done with the mother-daughter talk, "Well. Goodnight then, Sweetie."

Falling back into the familiar relationship territory, I step back into the landing and briefly wonder to myself, I wonder why she decided to say that the night before my wedding.

My mom continues to be a mystery to me.

"Goodnight, Mom," I say, and ease the guest bedroom door shut behind me.

OOOOO

"So, listen," Amanda practically shouts at me while in line for the Boston dance club, "this may be your bachelorette party, but you have some work to do in there!"

"Say what now?" I shout back in response, shivering in the chilly November air.

She laughs loudly - enough for the people in front of us to turn around and give us dirty looks. As usual, Amanda ignores them.

Kelly speaks up at this point, "Come on, what kind of single friends would we be if we didn"t make you do something embarrassing before you get all old lady on us?"

I glance over at Jill, the quietest girl in the bunch, and roll my eyes. She just grins at me.

Raising my eyebrows in surprise, I say to her, "You"re in on this too?"

Jill giggles and responds, "Sure! Why not?" And then she adds, gesturing to herself, "It"s not like I have to do it!"

Smirking in spite of myself, I turn back to Amanda. "Alright. What do I have to do?"

OOOOO

Rocking in the cab hours later, I grip the edge of the backseat, willing myself not to vomit.

I vaguely feel Jill rubbing my back, and Amanda"s loud voice shuddering with laugher, "Good God, that was entertaining!"

Gritting my teeth, I mutter, "Hmm, yeah. Lots of beaded necklaces to go around."

"Hey," Amanda quickly shoots back, "just admit you had fun. All you had to do was put necklaces on a bunch of hot men. Seriously, not that bad."

Closing my eyes, all I can manage is, "Uh huh."

"And," she adds, not realizing how close I am to blowing chunks all over the back seat of the car, "people got you free drinks all night. All things considered, I"d say this was a successful send-off."

Kelly chimes in from the front seat, "Yeah, I mean, you didn"t expect to be sober by the end of the night, did you?"

Groaning, I sense the cab slowing to a stop. Fumbling with the car door, I finally throw it open, and stumble to the nearest bush next to a brownstone stairway.

"Oh, dear," is all I hear from behind me, before I proceed to throw up all over the shrubbery.

OOOOO

Even though Jill has her back to me, I can feel the disappointment radiating off of her.

"I"m really sorry, Jill," I say, helplessly trying to explain, "I"m a mess right now, and I just need to go home before I have to pick up Tristan tomorrow."

She doesn"t say anything.

I continue, "I know we had plans, but please understand what I"m going through."

At that, she turns around, "Seriously, Beth? After all I"ve done to support you, you"re ditching our plans tonight?" Shaking her head, she adds, "And when"s the last time you returned any calls from Amanda? Or Kelly?" Her anger seems to escalate with every word that slaps me in the face, "What you"re doing? It"s really not okay. We all have stuff to deal with too, you know."

"I know, I know," and a fresh bout of tears escape my eyes, "I"m a bad friend right now. I can barely take care of myself, and my therapist says -"

"It"s fine, Beth," Jill says coldly, clearly conveying how not fine it really is. "I don"t know what it"s like to go through a divorce, much less get married or have a child or even have a steady boyfriend for that matter." She takes a deep breath before continuing in a more gentle tone, "You know what? I"ll talk to you later. Just text me when you get home, okay?"

I nod, standing up and slinging my purse over my shoulder. "Yeah, okay."

Not even stepping forward for a goodbye hug, Jill opens the door for me and says, ""Bye, Beth."

Managing a sad smile, I look at her, my instincts telling me this is the last time I"ll be in her presence for a very, very long time, ""Bye, Jill. Talk to you later."

The door latches behind me, and as I descend the stairs of her apartment building, I can almost make out the deadbolt of her door slowly slipping into place, solidifying the wall that has suddenly and irreversible risen up between us.

OOOOO

Two weeks after Emily moves to Colorado to start her new job, I finally get a crumb of communication from her in the form of a short text message.

Emily: Hey Beth. I"ve unpacked most of my stuff and settled in here... I was wondering if there might be a good time to give you a call to catch up?

Despite my better judgment, I put the phone down without responding. Bitterly, I think about all of the nights spent crying myself to sleep, drowning in my monumental loneliness. Now she wants to talk? I think angrily to myself. Now that it"s convenient for her?

No matter how much I try to gather the strength to respond to Emily"s text, what consistently paralyzes me are intense feelings of disappointment. Questions plague my mind: Why didn"t she call to say goodbye? Why didn"t she invite me on any of her "bucket list" activities before moving across the entire country? Doesn"t she remember how much I helped her when she moved from Indiana to Rhode Island? The groceries I bought for her? The phone calls, the visits, the trips to Target to fill up her empty apartment?

Why is it that when I actually need people to help me for once, they are nowhere to be found?

Now wound up from my built-up anger and resentment, I walk away from the phone - literally and figuratively leaving behind my attachment to people who keep letting me down.

Who knew divorcing Scott also meant divorcing from just about everyone else in my life?

OOOOO

About 45 minutes into my first session with Dr. Ruth Swanson, I"m finally able to get ahold of myself. With a damp Kleenex practically shredded to bits in my hand, and what I imagine are trails of black tears streaming down my face, I finish spewing out a summary of the past few years of my life with Scott.

Becoming conscious of my galloping heart and quivering body, I actively try to slow down my adrenaline-charged body. What is happening to me?

Seeming to read my mind, Dr. Swanson eventually speaks in a measured, even tone, "Beth, you are battered and bruised."

I must convey a sense of confusion because she continues, "I"m not saying you"ve been physically abused. Not yet, anyway. But clearly, you"ve been through some significant emotional trauma," and hesitating before continuing on, "I usually don"t come right out and suggest anything, but since you seem like a highly self aware young woman and I"m certain about this - I"d even say you have a touch of PTSD."

Studying her weathered face, I see compassion and understanding. Her whole persona exudes a kind of warmth and wisdom that puts me immediately at ease and my shaking slowly subsides. I feel indescribable relief that I don"t have to explain myself or convince her of the truth in my words.

She just knows.

I can only nod in response to her bold statement. I dig around in my memory for any bits of knowledge I gleaned from my college psych class about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and suddenly, some of my reactions and behaviors make a little more sense.

"Would you like to meet with me again next week?" She asks gently, not taking her attention away from me for even a moment.

Again, nodding, I whisper, "Yes, please."