I spotted a plastic bag full of doll clothing and pulled it closer.
“All right, Grace. How about we play Shopping Mall and take Barbie to try on some different outfits?”
Grace nodded enthusiastically and I dumped the bag on the floor with a sigh, sorting shirts, pants and dresses into piles. While being with Grace was certainly less stressful than hanging out with Denise, I still prayed that Cohen wouldn’t be gone long.
A couple of hours later, a sweaty and worn out Cohen returned to his mother’s house to pick me up. His excitement to go on the call had drained away, and had been replaced by somberness at what he’d just seen and experienced. I’d learned not to ask questions, but instead knew that if he wanted to share the details, he would. During the lake house weekend, I’d heard him telling some of the more difficult stories to Aiden. Like the time a car went over the bridge into the Chicago river, and Cohen, being a certified rescue diver, went in after the woman trapped in the vehicle. He’d delivered babies and fought fires and arrived on the scene of fatal accidents more times than he could count in the last few years.
I gave him a reassuring hug, and his expression lifted just a bit, then I went to the kitchen to retrieve my casserole dish. In Cohen’s presence, Denise was nothing but polite and friendly, her earlier demeanor gone but not forgotten.
We said our goodbyes and left, since it was past Grace’s bedtime already.
I said nothing about his mother attempt to warn me off on the drive home. It was dark outside and the hum of the highway kept Cohen lost in his thoughts, a slight smile playing on his lips.
He had everything he needed in his mother and sister—well, almost everything. I knew he was waiting for the right girl to come into his life. I don’t think he realized that the bar was raised too high, that his mother was overbearing and that he just seemed too…perfect.
Regardless, I knew the right girl would be lucky to have him, and acknowledged the fact that in a tiny, unused corner of my heart, I held out hope that girl might be me.
***
I headed up to my bedroom alone, needing some space from Cohen and the dinner that had stirred up strange sentiments about family and life that I hadn’t felt in a while.
I glanced around at what used to be my favorite spot in my beautiful townhome, the window seat in my bedroom that overlooked the back yard. Now that I knew Cohen’s bed sat above me in exactly the same spot, I couldn’t quite look at it the same way. I trailed my fingers along the champagne-colored fabric I custom-ordered for the seat covering, and the stack of coffee table books I’d neatly arranged there. My fingers skimmed over the spines of the books. I didn’t give a crap about Patisseries of Paris, or Dog Breeds of Westminster, or Buildings of the New York Skyline, I just thought the stack of books looked interesting, intriguing. But instead—much like my life—they were dull and lifeless and without meaning.
I sat on the seat and stared out into the darkness. The past several years of my life tumbled through my brain and I realized that I’d been afraid to graduate from college. To actually begin living my life. I’d hidden in the shelter and routine of student life, like I could pretend his death never happened, knowing I could never again open myself up to that kind of pain. But all I’d succeeded in doing was stunting myself from living. It was no wonder Ashlyn thought Cohen and I were a good match. And we probably were, when you looked at our emotional levels, our maturity. I’d done everything in my power to stop myself from experiencing anything even remotely real. When all I’d succeeded in doing was accumulating a collection of worthless things, and worked my way through more than enough men to fill several little black books. All I felt was empty and hollow.
I moved from the seat to my bed and pulled a throw pillow into my lap. I picked up my cell phone and dialed my mom, deciding that it’d been too long since we’d spoken.
She could tell something was wrong, even though the only words I’d uttered were “Hi Mom.”
“What’s got you all tangled up? How’s school?”
“School’s fine, Mom.” I let out a slow sigh. “It’s just…I’ve been thinking lately…about Paul.”
“Oh, Eliza Jane, don’t do that to yourself. Dr. Carson told you. None of that was your fault. It’s time to move on honey. ”
“It’s Liz, Mom. Liz.”
She huffed softly into the phone. “That’s not your name. That’s the cold, hard version of yourself you’ve tried to become, honey. It’s time to get back to being you.”
Easier said than done. She’d given me this same talk numerous times, and I knew it was better to keep my mouth shut than try and argue with her. “There’s someone I’ve sort of been seeing, and his family and relationships are really important to him. I know you think it’s time, but I can’t seem to get over the hurdle of losing Paul like that and, I mean, look at your and Dad’s relationship. It’s not exactly a winning endorsement for love and marriage.”
“I’m happy you’re seeing someone, honey, but leave it to you to jump fifty steps ahead, into marriage and babies. Just take it one day at a time. And as for your dad and I…you think I regret marrying him?” She chuckled. “No Eliza, I don’t. I got you and your brother out of the deal. Those first fifteen years of marriage were the happiest time in my life. I don’t regret them at all. Things eventually changed between me and your dad, and while I wouldn’t wish for that to happen to anyone, I wouldn’t change a thing.”