Lindsey opened her arms and wrapped Leila in her embrace. She was a natural consoler; perhaps she really would be a good counselor. Jane felt utterly inadequate. She needed to learn.
“Hug me, too?” Jane blurted. Leila looked at her, a gaze that carried both her own sorrows and, somehow, an understanding of Jane’s.
Jane took Leila in her arms, and as she held her tight, Leila murmured, “I just want to remember how happy he made me.”
Jane felt a restless yearning as she drove home, and to her surprise, it seemed to be for Teddy. The anger and resentment were gone, replaced by something else. Affection, maybe. Even love? She had texted him before starting her drive home, and they made plans to go out for a make-up dinner that night. It wasn’t labeled as such, but they both knew that’s what it was.
She reflected on the surprisingly intimate exchange with Leila. Her husband had been an oncologist, the head of his department and a nationally recognized expert. It was so tragically ironic that a man who had dedicated his life to saving lives wouldtake his own. Maybe being around so much death had not only depressed him but also demystified it, made it quotidian, unthreatening, even comforting.
Jane marveled at the persistence of Leila’s love for her husband, even though it was mixed with feelings of anger and betrayal and sorrow. Perhaps love was the most powerful of all those emotions. It was what sustained Leila and gave her the strength to keep going. She had decided to keepInfinite Jestand was going to try once more to read it. Maybe it would help her assimilate the tragedy of her husband’s suicide. Their conversation hadn’t lasted more than five minutes, but those were five minutes Jane knew she would never forget.
Waze had Jane take the Golden State Freeway to Forest Lawn Drive, where flower vendors gathered along the perimeter of the Forest Lawn cemetery. It was dusk, and the cemetery would be closing soon, but at least a dozen of these ad-hoc flower stands were still open for business. The sellers, immigrants from Mexico and Guatemala and other Central American countries, huddled beneath umbrellas, waving bouquets, garish riots of color, at the passing cars, imploring them to stop and buy. They staked out their places on the side of the road, respectfully distant from one another to avoid competition, many with spouses or children alongside them, all waiting, ever so patiently.
There was something so courageous about these flower vendors, darting between cars, scraping together a living selling bouquets to honor the dead. It was persistence. It was hope.
One of the perks of living in North Hollywood was proximity to Sushi Row on Ventura Boulevard, an unlikely place for the cluster of top-notch Japanese restaurants, most tucked into modestspaces in strip malls where they were abutted by nail salons and pet food stores. A sleek L-shaped sushi bar dominated the footprint of Jane and Teddy’s favorite one. Usually, Jane preferred a small table on the perimeter over the sushi bar, but this was an impromptu outing and they hadn’t reserved, so they were squeezed into two stools at the bar.
Peering through the glass barrier, Jane appreciated the organization of the ingredient containers and the elegant display of the vibrantly colored fish—red, pink, orange—on beds of ice. The dexterous hands of the sushi chefs at work were mesmerizing. It was all so efficient, orderly, and harmonious.
To Teddy’s left, a young couple had perched their infant in a child carrier on the stool between them. Jane admired that they weren’t letting the baby interfere with living their best lives, but at the same time worried that this setup was precarious—it wouldn’t take much for something to send the plastic bucket with the squishy little bundle plummeting to the floor. Jane shuddered, reminded of the time long ago when she was eating at a diner and parents in an adjacent booth changed their squirming, gasping baby’s diaper right there on the table. Babies were messy, and parents could be so selfish.
As if picking up on her worry, the baby began bawling. Sometimes when she heard the shrill, agonized primal screams of babies, Jane thought she understood what could drive a beleaguered mother to infanticide.
She whispered to Teddy, “I hope they take their kid outside until it calms down.”
Teddy turned to the parents. “How old?”
“Twelve weeks. Sorry for the uproar. She’s got some lungs on her,” the proud father replied.
“All good—get her in a metal band stat!”
Teddy and the young family shared a laugh, and thankfully, they left soon thereafter.
Teddy took a swig of sake. “Jane, it’s like you’re allergic to babies.”
“I don’t have any maternal instinct. After all, where would I have gotten it from? My mother?”
“I think you do, Jane. That’s why a baby crying upsets you so much. It’s a deep-seated empathy.”
“Are you sure it isn’t just annoyance that someone is so selfish and entitled they cart their baby somewhere maybe it shouldn’t be? The way that baby bucket was sitting on the stool looked pretty dangerous.”
Teddy laughed. “Sorry, Jane, I’m sticking with maternal instinct and deep-seated empathy. You protest too much! I know you’ll be a great mother.”
This confounded Jane. It seemed so improbable. But maybe she should freeze some eggs. It was pragmatic; it might give her a modicum of control over something so essentially uncontrollable. In a perfect situation, she might be a good mom. But of course, perfect was impossible.
She brushed her hand against Teddy’s cheek. He loved little pets like this, and reflexively smiled—like a big baby.
“You would be a great father, that’s clear.”
“Yeah, I would for sure.” Somehow, coming from Teddy, this was sweet, not arrogant. “Between you and me, Jay, we’d have all the bases covered.”
As soon as they got to Teddy’s car, Jane spotted it.
“Teddy, there’s a boot on your car.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Teddy groaned.
“Why is there a boot on your car?”
