Lost Along the Way (17 page)

“Why don't you let him decide what's best? He's a big boy. Do you really think you should be making those decisions for him?” Jane asked.

“She's right,” Cara answered. “You got one of the good ones. You shouldn't give him away just because you won't be able to have children. You can adopt. There are other ways. I'm sure it's been awful and I'm not trying to downplay it at all, but leaving him isn't the answer.”

Meg eyed the black lacquered box on top of her bookshelf. She hesitated before removing it and carrying it over to the coffee table in the middle of the room. She crossed her legs under her and placed the box on the table. It had been so long since she'd opened it. She couldn't for the life of her understand why she felt the need to show them, but she didn't fight it. She was tired of fighting.

“What's in the box?” Cara asked.

“Is there a bowl or some rolling papers in there? Do you smoke pot?” Jane asked.

“What are you, fifteen?” Meg said.

“Oh please. Like you haven't smoked since high school,” Jane said.

“I haven't!” Meg said. “I didn't smoke pot
in
high school.”

“Well, that's an entirely different issue we should probably address,” Jane said.

“Jane, I've got news for you: most grown women don't sit around in their apartments smoking weed by themselves.”

“Who said I was alone? Sometimes I invite the maintenance man over, too.”

“Sometimes I feel like you haven't changed a bit, and sometimes I feel like I don't know you at all,” Cara said.

“I am a paradox, aren't I?”

“What's in the box, Meg?” Cara asked again. Her voice was timid—their cease-fire was tenuous and she knew it.

“Is it a Ouija board? Because I swore off those after it told me I was going to die at twenty-five. It completely screwed me up for a while,” Jane said, remembering that awful slumber party and pretending to shiver.

“They're letters, actually,” Meg said. She rubbed the top of the box gently, like she was petting a kitten.

“What kind of letters?” Jane asked. “The only letters I've gotten are hate mail telling me how I deserve to die. I found it's not good for my self-esteem to keep them around. Throws off my inner chi.”

“They're letters from Steve. He sends me one a week. I haven't written back, but I keep them. It makes me feel close to him just knowing they're around. Don't laugh at me.”

“You mean to tell me that you have an entire box full of love letters?” Jane asked. She was incredulous, as if Meg had just told them she had a million dollars in cash stashed under the couch cushions in the living room. “Listen, Meg, I realize that I'm in no position to tell you what to do with your life, but if you've got a guy who actually writes you love letters, you'd be a complete idiot to throw that away. I didn't know Steve was a romantic. I just thought he was a sap.”

“He's not a sap. He's old-fashioned in that way. He used to say
how no one ever writes love letters anymore and how everything is so impersonal. He hated how the kids in his classes thought that an appropriate sign-off to an e-mail was ‘TTYL.' He doesn't think that anyone really knows how to communicate with one another anymore.”

“That's for sure,” Jane said. “My husband's idea of communicating with me these days is a monitored two-minute phone call asking for a conjugal visit. I don't go, in case you're wondering.”

“Sometimes, when it's late and quiet and I feel lonely, I take them out and read them. They're not as good as being with him, but it makes me feel like he's still part of my life, like we still have something special. It isn't fair, what happened to us.”

“What do you mean by ‘fair'?” Cara asked. “Fair has nothing to do with life. I think we all should've learned that by now.”

“It isn't fair that there are women out there who have no problem staying pregnant and take it for granted. I used to see women eating fast food on the train while they were nine months pregnant and toting toddlers on their hips and it used to make me so angry I couldn't even see. I had to stop reading magazines because every one I picked up had some story about a celebrity who was pregnant at like forty-seven years old, or a story about how someone else got her body back two weeks after having twins, or how some celebutante whose idea of a meaningful life is discovering a new way to prevent her lip gloss from wearing off on her martini glass accidentally got knocked up and how her life was changed. It's not fair. It's not fair that they don't seem to even care that they're pregnant. I did everything right, and God wouldn't let me keep any of mine. I know I sound silly and bitter, but I just can't understand it. How is it fair, huh? Tell me.”

“It's not,” Jane said. “It's not even remotely fair.”

“No, it's not,” Cara echoed. She stared at the floor.

“And you wonder why I had a hard time staying friends with you when I found out that you just opted out,” Meg said, finally addressing the elephant between her and Cara. “You didn't even realize the gift you had, or you didn't care. I don't know which, and at this point it doesn't matter. You basically decided you didn't want to be pregnant anymore, and just like that, you weren't. How am I supposed to forgive you for that? I'm sorry, but to me it just seemed so selfish.”

“Wait . . . what are we talking about?” Jane asked. “I'm confused.”

“Cara's abortion,” Meg said flatly.

“Whoa. I need more wine. And weed, if you have it. Are you sure there's no weed in this house?” Jane asked. She stared at Cara and at Meg, neither one of them willing to look at the other.

“I told you it was complicated,” Cara said.

“I can't believe I didn't know,” Meg muttered. “How could you not tell me?”

“I never wanted you to know. Do you think I felt good about it? That it was an easy decision? It wasn't. The entire thing was excruciating. I couldn't possibly have a child with Reed. I wasn't strong enough to handle it. I've second-guessed that decision every day since. And I probably will for the rest of my life, but there's nothing I can do about it. I may not forgive myself for that, but I don't think that I need to answer to you. I don't mean that to be harsh, but it's just the truth.”

“I had no idea, Cara. When?” Jane asked.

“Three years ago.”

“I'm really sorry. For both of you,” Jane said. “Wow.”

“What was it you said, Meg?” Cara asked. “Make decisions that make you happy, so that you have good memories to fall
back on? If I had made a different decision, I wouldn't have the option to leave. I'd be tied to him for the rest of my life. You didn't know what I was dealing with, and you never bothered to ask. You just disappeared from my life. You didn't answer my calls, my e-mails, nothing. You abandoned me. And the truth is, I needed a friend then more than ever. I'd always been there for you. And when I needed you, you walked out on me.”

Meg was silent. “I didn't walk out on you. I walked away from everything. I'm sorry, but I just wasn't able to see your side of things. To be honest, I'm still having a hard time with it. I know it seems selfish, but it's complicated for me, too. I thought about calling you, but what was I supposed to say? It was too hard to talk to you. I wasn't able to untangle everything.”

“You could've tried. I should've meant enough to you that you'd at least try.”

“I know that. I'm not proud of myself, but somehow it just seemed easier to be alone. I'm sorry, Cara. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.”

“I'm sorry.”

“If you had called and said that years ago, we could've moved on from our argument and been there to help each other. There was no reason for both of us to be alone all this time.”

“I know. Do you forgive me?”

“Yeah, I do. Still, what are we supposed to do now? Group hug and pretend that none of this ever happened? I don't think we can just rewind time and start over like nothing ever happened,” Cara said.

“I disagree,” Jane said. “Women can totally do that because we are just better at accepting our own shortcomings and asking
for forgiveness. None of us are free from blame, but that doesn't mean that we can't forgive each other. I don't want to lose another ten years with you guys.”

“I don't know how,” Cara said. “I don't know how to start over.”

“I do,” Jane said. She hopped off the couch and grabbed the last bottle of wine from the bar cart. She opened it and returned to her seat, filling each glass with a healthy slug of white. “Let's toast.”

“To what? How much we all suck at life?” Cara asked.

“No—to friendships that are worth more than any argument. And to women who may be in pretty fucked-up predicaments at the moment, but who nonetheless are trying to pull themselves together. I think it's time we start over without having to pretend. I'd like you both to know that I am a complete mess. I'm totally and completely fucked up.”

“So I heard,” Cara said.

“I read that in a magazine, actually,” Meg added.

“Good. All cards on the table. What do you guys say?” Jane asked.

Meg and Cara stayed silent, each of them waiting for some sign from the other that sins would be forgiven. Finally, Cara spoke. “I'd like that,” she said.

“Okay,” Meg said. “Maybe you're right. I guess it's time we leave the past in the past.”

They clinked their glasses together and took a sip, and then sat in silence for a minute.

“Am I the only one who'd like to see some of these letters?” Cara asked, reaching for the box.

“I'd love to. I always liked Steve. It makes me happy to know that he at least is as good as he seemed,” Jane added.

“Yeah,” Meg said quietly. “He really is.” She removed a letter from the box and without hesitation began to read.

M
eg woke early in the morning despite barely sleeping and slipped down into the kitchen to make muffins for breakfast. It felt strange having houseguests, but so good to have a reason to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. She scooped coffee out of the bag and poured the grinds into the large old-fashioned coffeepot she kept stored in the hall closet but hadn't used in years. She removed the canisters of flour and sugar from the cabinet and began measuring ingredients for muffins. Soon the smell of coffee began to waft through the house, and as she expected, Jane appeared in the kitchen in search of a cure for her hangover.

“That is the biggest coffeepot I've ever seen in my life,” Jane said. She grabbed a mug from the kitchen cabinet and stood in front of the percolator, inhaling the aroma.

“It comes in handy when you have houseguests. I haven't used it in a while,” Meg admitted.

“And you're making muffins now? If I had your job, I'd weigh two hundred pounds. How do you stay so thin?”

“I don't know. I give a lot of this stuff away, or stash it in the freezer. Anyway, I wouldn't worry about the calories. When was the last time someone made you breakfast?”

“I can't remember.” Jane reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “I can't remember the last time I breathed this much fresh air.”

“That's sad.”

“Lots of things in my life are sad. That said, I'm really happy we're here. Thanks again for letting us stay. I don't know where we would have gone without you.”

“It's nothing. Really.”

“What's nothing?” Cara asked. She appeared in the doorway in her pajamas looking well rested and much more relaxed than she had seemed when she'd arrived the day before. Meg wasn't surprised. Ocean air had a way of sucking the stress out of you without your even knowing it. It was one of the things she loved most about the beach. Meg pulled another coffee mug from the cabinet and filled it, then handed it to Cara.

“So you made us breakfast, too? You didn't have to do that,” she said. She took a long sip from her mug. “God, this tastes good.”

“Don't look a gift muffin in the mouth,” Jane joked.

“Are you helping?” Cara playfully asked Jane. “Because if you're involved in the making of these muffins, I think I'll go to town and get bagels.”

“Hey! I think maybe you forgot what happened the last time you made a comment like that.”

“You wouldn't dare,” Cara challenged.

“Oh my God. No. I just cleaned in here!” Meg said.

“Wouldn't I?” Jane asked, a glint that had disappeared a long time ago returning to her eye. She plunged her hand into the canister of flour. “Admit those brownies were good. Admit it!” she ordered.

“Jane, we aren't kids anymore. We are too old for this kind of stuff!” Cara said.

“Admit it or I swear to God I'll do it. I am nowhere near too old for this stuff and you know it.”

“Okay! They were awesome,” Cara agreed. “Even if you forgot the marshmallows.”

January 1997

“Come on in. She's sleeping on the couch,” Cara's mother said when she opened the front door. “It's so sweet of you guys to do this.”

“How's she doing?” Jane asked as they stood in the foyer, speaking in hushed voices.

“She's hanging in there. The doctor said it will be six weeks until she can start rehab, and the drugs he gave her are helping with the pain. I think more than anything she's just depressed she's stuck on the couch for a while.”

“It's got to be torturous for her,” Meg agreed. “Cara can't sit still to save her life.”

“I think I'd like it,” Jane said, trying to make everyone laugh. “Assuming I had a butler to bring me things and a really big TV.”

“I don't think she'd agree with you!” Meg said as she elbowed Jane in the side. “Can we go in? Are you sure you don't mind if I take over your kitchen for a while?” She held up two huge shopping bags.

“Not at all. You girls are really great friends. She's lucky to have you both.”

They smiled as they made their way into the kitchen and glanced into the family room at Cara lying on the couch with her leg in a massive brace. “She should sleep for another hour or so, so make yourself at home. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you when she wakes up.”

Cara's mom went upstairs and left Meg and Jane to unload boxes of butter, a carton of eggs, and bags of flour, sugar, and
chocolate chips onto the counter. Meg had packed an entire baker's kit to bring over to Cara's house, complete with wooden spoons, measuring cups, and in true Meg fashion, aprons for them to wear while they tried to bake Cara back to good health. Meg set up mixing bowls while Jane stared at the groceries they now had spread out all over the countertops.

“I don't know how I let you talk me into this. I don't like to cook,” Jane said as she held up a box of unsweetened chocolate. “Why is this chocolate unsweetened? Don't we like the kind with sugar in it?”

“This isn't cooking, it's baking,” Meg corrected. “And we're going to add our own sugar to sweeten it. That's called baking chocolate.”

“The fact that I didn't know that such a chocolate exists should prove to you that I am not the one to help you with this kind of stuff. Are you sure we can't just go buy her a whole bunch of stuff from the bakery?”

“Come on! It's fun. Besides, it's for Cara. Don't you want to help cheer her up? Anyone can buy her something from the store. We're her best friends, so we're going to bake for her. Don't you think that's nicer?”

“You're right. I'm sorry; I think I'm just overwhelmed by all of this stuff. I don't want to mess it up.”

“You won't mess anything up. Just do what I tell you to do and it will smell amazing in here in twenty minutes.”

“Okay, Betty Crocker. I know better than to question your authority in the kitchen. What can I do to help?”

“I'm going to make her brownies. Where are the marshmallows I told you to bring?”

“Oh, shit,” Jane said. “I knew I forgot something!”

“You forgot the marshmallows? You had one job!” Meg cried, as if Jane were supposed to bail her out of jail and forgot to bring her checkbook instead of forgetting to pick up a bag of mini marshmallows.

“I'm sorry! I can go get some now. I'll be back in twenty minutes. You just make the batter. Crisis averted,” Jane said, trying to keep calm. This was not a big deal in the slightest.

“Forget it. I'd rather you stay and help in case she wakes up. We'll just make regular brownies. Maybe if I have time we can make some peanut butter cookies, too.”

“This is how you say ‘sorry you hurt your knee'? Peanut butter cookies and marshmallow-less brownies? I think I'd rather you guys buy me a sweater or something,” Jane said.

“Yes. This, and we are going to spend a lot of time at her house watching movies with her until we have to go back to school. She's going to go crazy being forced to stay inactive. We need to help take her mind off it.”

“Okay. But if we decide to bake again at some point, can I put in a request for chocolate cupcakes?”

“Deal.”

The truth was, Cara didn't just hurt her knee; she ripped two ligaments skiing with her new boyfriend from Bowdoin at his family's house in Vermont over Christmas break and needed surgery. She had to wear a huge leg brace and was going to be laid up for a while, which would've been bad for anyone. For someone who couldn't go more than two days without doing some kind of activity it was excruciating both physically and mentally.

“I feel so bad for her,” Meg said. “I mean, she's going to be in a lot of pain for a while. I wish there was something more we could do for her, but making her baked goods is kind of all I can think of.”

“What exactly happened? Cara's an amazing athlete, I can't believe she took such a bad fall.”

“I know. I don't really know any of the details. I just hope she's not in too much pain.”

“They can give her pills for that. What's really going to upset her is that she embarrassed herself in front of Reed's family, too. I mean, did the ski patrol have to bring her down the mountain? Do you think she cried in front of him?”

“Oh, there's no way she cried in front of him.”

“She ripped ligaments. I've seen professional basketball players cry on the court when that happens,” Jane said.

“They're not as tough as Cara is,” Meg reminded her.

“You're right.”

“You guys are very funny. I'd laugh if the painkillers hadn't made me so groggy I can barely see straight,” Cara said, propping herself up on the couch. She winced a bit when she tried to shift her weight.

“She's awake!” Meg said.

“Are you going to come in here and talk to me or are you going to make me hobble out there on my crutches?”

“I'm so sorry, Cara. What happened?” Jane asked as they scurried into the den. She leaned over to kiss Cara's cheek while Meg gently tucked a blanket around Cara's legs.

“I'm so mad at myself. I don't know what happened. One minute I was fine and the next minute my edge caught some ice or something and my ski flew out from under me. I'm so embarrassed I could die.”

“Why are you embarrassed? Who was with you?” Meg asked.

“No one. Just Reed. But now I look like an unathletic girl who can't keep up with the family activities.”

“That's ridiculous. You had an accident. It could happen to anyone,” Jane said.

“I don't want him to think I can't keep up.”

“He should be worried about keeping up with you. Not the other way around,” Meg said.

“Seriously! Since when are you insecure about your athletic abilities? That's absurd.”

“I don't know. I just want to impress him.” Cara sighed.

“He's already your boyfriend. I think you've already impressed him. Your ego is just a little bruised because the mountain kicked your ass. Don't worry about it!” Jane chirped in an effort to cheer her up.

“You're right. It is. I'm just so mad at myself. We go back to school in two weeks and I'm going to have to spend the entire winter hobbling around on crutches and doing rehab. It's not exactly how I wanted to begin my semester.”

“You'll do the rehab and be good as new before you know it. Until we go back to school we will come over every day and hang out with you as much as you want,” Meg reassured her. “It'll go fast, you'll see!”

“What are you guys doing in there?”

“Baking. Why don't you come sit in the kitchen? Do you need help with the crutches?”

“No, I can do it. It will feel good to get up off the couch. Even if I only move to a kitchen chair.” Cara grabbed the crutches that were lying on the floor next to the couch and Meg and Jane helped her stand up.

“Are you sure you're okay to move?” Meg asked.

“Definitely. I'm allowed to hobble around. I'd rather sit in there with you guys.” The two girls flanked Cara as she slowly made
her way thirty feet into the kitchen and collapsed in a kitchen chair. Jane dragged over the footstool from the den and helped slowly prop Cara's leg on the cushion. She winced, which for Cara was a pretty clear indication that she was in pain.

“So, what am I getting? Thank you guys so much for doing this. You're the best, by the way.”

“Brownies,” Meg answered. “And you're welcome. It's our pleasure. I wish we could do something else to help you feel better.”

“With marshmallows?” Cara asked. “I love those!”

“Don't say it, Meg!” Jane begged. “Don't do it!”

Meg didn't blink before she answered. “They were supposed to have marshmallows. But Jane forgot to bring them. Even though it was the only thing I asked her to do.”

Cara smiled. “It's okay, Jane.”

“I offered to go get some now, but Meg said no because she'd rather I stay here and help.”

“You want Jane to help? Seriously?” Cara asked, as if assisting in mixing brownie batter were somehow akin to neurosurgery.

“Hey! I resent that.”

“No seriously, are you helping?” Cara asked Jane.

“Yes, I am. I've already learned about unsweetened chocolate. You should know that I wouldn't do this for just anyone.”

“I know. I really wish that there were marshmallows, though. You know they're my favorite. Oh well,” Cara joked. “I'll live.”

“Fine. If you don't want me to help, I won't help,” Jane said. “I'd much rather keep my clothes clean anyway. Too bad yours are already a mess.” Jane dunked her hand in the bag of flour and flung a small amount at Cara, knowing full well that she couldn't get up from her chair.

“Oh my God. You did not just do that. I'm an invalid. You
can't throw flour at me!” Cara said, shocked that Jane would have the audacity to attack her when she was immobile.

“Except, I think I can,” Jane said, flinging another handful of flour in her direction. “Oops, I think I got some on your pants now, too.”

“I'm going to kill you!” Cara said, cracking a groggy smile.

“I think that's going to be difficult, seeing as you can't move.”

“Here!” Meg said as she grabbed the bowl she'd poured flour in and brought it over to Cara. “Use this!”

“You're arming her? Whose side are you on?” Jane asked.