He scrubs, and I dry and put things away. I pour us each another glass of wine. And it’s nice, with the din of my family upstairs and us in here, quiet and slightly cramped and feeling new at this friendship thing.
“Have you and Edie always been this close?” Jude asks.
I could just say yes, but of course there’s more to the story,and I can’t believe I want Jude to know it. Because I don’t talk about this with anyone. Only ever Edie. And Sam, I try not to think. But earlier tonight, after dinner, when he spoke about Walter Matthau, I’d felt Jude opening up to me in a way that I want to reciprocate. And if I’m opening myself up, this is what I hold inside.
“So, funny story,” I start to say, keeping it casual. “When I was ten, I kind of…died for a minute—”
Jude drops the plate in his hands. My reflexes kick in, and I catch it just before it shatters.
“You good?” I ask.
“Sorry,” he says awkwardly. “I just, wow. That’s very interesting. And not what I thought you were going to say. What happened?”
“Pneumonia first, then I spiked a fever. They took me to the hospital. And I…”
I look at him, feeling the bright warm rush of his full attention on me. He seems interested, like he doesn’t think I’m crazy yet, but can he handle this? Jude, who doesn’t believe in anything, will he believe me when I tell him? If he laughs, or dismisses me, then at least I’ll know.
“I left my body for a little while,” I say, holding his soft brown gaze. “I saw how much more there is.”
“How much more is there?” Jude asks, transfixed.
If I closed my eyes I could call it all right back. But I don’t want to look away. My eyes are caught on his.
“It’s everything you’ve heard,” I whisper, and it feels like we’re closer than we were a moment ago, although I don’t think either of us has moved. “It’s far beyond words.”
“Wow,” he breathes.
I nod. “And I almost, you know,wentthere.”
“But?” Jude whispers.
My eyes sting. I want to say this part without my voice cracking. Because it isn’t sad, and I don’t want to be misunderstood. “But I saw Edie. On this side. And I came back.”
“Fenny.” He’s looking at me in amazement, like I just did something impressive. Maybe I did. It certainly feels important that I shared this with Jude. But what do I really want him to know? Not just an explanation for why I’m close with my sister. I want him to know how my experience then shaped who I am now.
“I guess what I’m trying to say,” I tell him, “is that, in that moment, I knew exactly what I was supposed to do. I felt so clear, seeing Edie, choosing to come back. You could say I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.”
“The feeling of certainty? Purpose?” Jude asks.
“Yes.”
He nods. “And you’ll have it when you direct. I get it now. Fuck that jerk who stole your job.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, meaning it. “There’s a way in which I let it happen. I’ve put in all this work onZombie Hospital, but sometimes I fear I’ve yet to make myself stand out.”
“You stand out to me. Thanks for telling me that story. Is it weird to say I feel honored?”
“Thanks for listening, for not laughing. That moment changed my life. And I’ll always feel grateful to Edie. It keeps us tight.”
Jude hands me a platter to dry, and I’m surprised by howquickly we’re moving through the dishes. He gets easier and easier to talk to.
“I’m an only child,” he says. “I don’t often imagine what siblings might have been like. My parents split when I was really young. But this house, your family, it does make me wonder…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. What I’m missing. What Walter Matthau’s missing.”
“Probably a lot of tummy aches for Walter Matthau,” I joke. “But yeah, I know what you mean.” This conversation is so nice that I don’t want to wreck it, but I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t ask: “You were going to ask me something, earlier. Something about the show, I think?”
