We're on the porch to nowhere

Just working it out

Hey hun, 

You’re probably gonna laugh at me, but Eve’s impending visit had me scrambling to get the house clean and ready this past week. We all know I’m not exactly neat as a pin – I don’t stress at all when family or the girls come over; nobody I know is above regular Demoulas brand 2-ply. Regardless, I found myself on my hands and knees, evicting an apartment complex of spider eggs in the mudroom. 

Yes, they’d already hatched, which means this house is almost certainly infested with creepy crawlers – just like at the end of Charlotte’s Web! Do you remember how you used to love watching that movie even though it made you bawl every time? 

Well anyway, Eve made short work of the drive from her sister’s. That apartment must have been starting to feel awfully small for the two of them. On the morning she was set to arrive, I moved Harold to the bookshelf in the living room, parked myself on the porch with a coffee and a book, and watched the morning fog peel itself away. 

The street jolted awake with a wave of kids in soccer uniforms piling into a minivan, ladies with those friggin’ massive drinking cups (surely they have water at the brunch they’re off to?), and a few dog walkers out for the first piss of the day. Finally, Eve turned in off the main drag in her old station wagon. 

Quite frankly she looked like she had just barely beaten the devil in a race out of hell, so I let her crash in the guest room while I caught up on my emails. But I felt nervous. We hadn’t talked since our phone call, and I had spent some time thinking about how to best approach it. What do you think? Does, “So sorry I imploded your marriage” sound better or worse than “You’re not alone, tons of lonely oldies get scammed online!”

I’m kidding, of course! I am more self-aware than that (...now). I decided to avoid the topic until it came up naturally and after her beauty sleep, I took Eve on a little walking tour of the town’s highlights: the grocer, the park, the cemetery, etc. We ended up at that little family restaurant and over our entrees, I finally asked her how she was holding up.

There’s a tip for you – never ask someone in crisis how they’re doing. It’s like asking someone in a burning house if a glass of water would be helpful. But when you ask how they’re holding up it means you acknowledge that there’s nothing you can really do as you watch them struggle through this shit patch from afar, sipping on a refreshing summertime drink. 

Because, boy howdy, is Eve in the shit. To cut a long story short, she and Julian still aren’t talking, she feels horrible and guilty, and worst of all, stupid. She’s afraid this will be the end and she certainly hasn’t told their son, who’s living abroad now.

By the way, I’ve never sat at a table so well-attended by the waiters. Our water glasses were constantly filled to the brim, with an attentive ear dipping down to do the task. I’m sure our whispered conversation was the most intriguing thing they’d heard all day. I’m not too worried about them spilling – it would be bad for business. Besides, you’d be shocked and appalled by the things my fellow senior citizens openly discuss in this place. The number of graphic medical diagnoses alone…

A couple of tiramisus later, Eve and I tottered back to the house and put our feet up on the porch and watched the street come to a slow end. The kids had moved on from soccer to chasing each other around on light-up scooters while their mother watered plants. 

We chatted a little bit about the news updates from Trevor, and about the possibility of me going back to Maine at some point, maybe later this summer. That, of course, floated the unasked question of whether or not she would be back in Maine soon. 

We fell into a silence, and Eve checked her phone and sighed. 

“I am sorry,” I said, “I know I said it before, but I’m really sorry you’re in this position and I’m really sorry that I helped put you in it.”

She didn’t say anything at first, just watched a car slowly pass and turn into a driveway. I thought maybe she just didn’t want to talk about it and got up to refill our glasses when she said, “I didn’t love the way you handled it, but I put myself in this position. My sister made that clear enough when I was staying with her. What an idiot you are, she would say. Well I suppose I am. I’ve thrown everything away.”

It was my turn for a reflective pause. Maybe once I would have been as quick to judge Eve. Heck, I know I was. But I’ve had time to think through this tangled mess and try to understand the why, the what, and the hows. It was easy for me to look at Eve and think, ‘You’ve got a good, comfortable life! Why the hell would you risk it?’

But then I would be a hypocrite, wouldn’t I? Hadn’t I just recently thrown caution to the wind to follow a hope and a what-if? Here’s something that sounds obvious but I don’t think a lot of people consider: Who you are now is roughly who you’ll be in a few decades. Your dreams and passion will age right along with you. They don’t go away when you become eligible for senior shopping hours, you just get more comfortable with how things are. 

So what does it mean when something feels worth the risk? I turned to Eve and said, “You’re not an idiot. You just chased something you thought was real and important to you but it was a little misplaced and your execution was kinda crap. But what do you want now? Do you want to fix things with Julian, or not?” 

Eve fiddled with the phone some more before finishing off her glass of wine. “I’ve spent more of my life with Julian than without. Even now, I keep catching myself seeing something and wanting to show it to him, or wondering what he’s doing. I know I wasn’t happy before, but I just don’t know who I am without him.” 

I went in to refill our glasses, and not for the last time that night. I might actually need to run back to the store and restock today because Eve and I sure do have a lot of porch sitting to do.

Love, 

Grams