Megan's Way (12 page)

Holly said, “Oh, you know Jack. He has so
much to do—always has a list—but he promised to try and come later.
Besides, it’s more fun without the men!” She smiled and sat down
next to Megan, propping the oversized cranberry pillows comfortably
against her friend’s sides and leaning back against the corner of
the couch.

Peter cleared his throat with a loud,
“Ahem!”

Holly looked at him and laughed, “Well, you
know what I mean. You’re like one of us!”

They all laughed.

“Cruz couldn’t make it. Besides, it seems
like he’d be invading our time together, and I’m not really there
yet.”

A knowing glance passed between the friends,
as, in unison, they said, “Uh-huh.”

“Peter, after three years, don’t you think
you could let him into your life a little?” Holly asked.

“Only if he wants to keep him,” Megan
interjected, “and therein lies the problem.”

Peter plopped down on the chaise lounge,
sinking in as if it were memory foam. “Whatever, you guys. I let
him in. He’s with me two, three nights a week.” He sipped his
wine.

“Commitment-phobe,” Holly said.

Olivia brought in appetizers from the
kitchen. Hearing the tail end of the conversation, she asked, “Are
we discussing the trials and tribulations of Mr. Peter ornsby
again?” She set down the platter of stuffed mushroom caps, bit into
one and dribbled it down the front of her shirt. She laughed, “Oh
sorry, Mom. Now you’ll have to wash it.”

Megan motioned her unconcern with a wave of
her hand.

Olivia turned on the radio, which played
top-forty tunes in the background as she bounced around the room,
nibbling off of the trays and humming.

“So Meg, this is the big thirty-nine!” Holly
put her hand on Megan’s knee. “How does it feel? I mean, you are so
much older than the rest of us.”

“Yeah, right!” Megan placed her hand on top
of Holly’s, thankful for the warmth as it seeped into her own cold
skin. “I think you’re a little older than me.”

Holly got up and walked around the living
room, inspecting photos of the four of them, admiring Olivia’s vase
from first grade art class, and ignoring Megan’s comment
completely.

“Hol-ly!” Megan sang. “
Aren’t
you
older than me?” Holly spun around. “Actually, no. You see, when I
was

born, you were not, but then you were and we
skipped a year and then I was no longer older than you. Don’t you
remember the old skip-a-year thing that our parents did?”

“What skip-a-year thing?” Olivia asked,
perched on the arm of the couch next to her mother.

“Well, you know that grandma and Mrs.
Blackwell were great friends, right?” Megan said.

“Yeah, you and Holly were playmates when you
were little.”

“Right. What you don’t know is that when I
was born, our parents decided that they wanted us to be best
friends, like
they
could decide it
for
us. So Mrs.
Blackwell told Holly that she was one year old for two years in a
row, and basically just pretended that she was the same age as me.
It fell into place when we were about five or six, I think.

Right, Holly?” Megan looked at Holly, who was
lying on the chaise lounge next to Peter. “Yeah, right around
there.”

“No way!” Olivia interjected. “So she just
pretended you were the same age and it went on that way
forever?”

“Yup, pretty much,” Megan said. “Grandma and
Mrs. Blackwell enrolled us in school the same year. Back then there
weren’t as many rules and regulations. No one gave it a thought if
your kid started school a year later than was normal, and then each
year they would send notes to the principal asking to place us in
the same class.”

“That worked until about sixth grade,” Holly
said, “until we talked so much that we became problematic.”

“Then,” Megan said, “we would just meet in
the bathroom several times each day, or pass notes through other
kids.”

“That is so cool!” Olivia looked from one to
the other. “And Holly, did you know how old you
really
were?”

“Well, not until many years later. I needed
my birth certificate to drive, and when I saw it, I told my mother
it was wrong, that she had to get it fixed.”

“You were so pissed!” Megan remembered how
Holly had screamed at her mother for not telling her the truth, and
how badly she had felt—like it had been all her fault.

“Yeah, but only for a day or so, then I
wanted to be your same age again,” Holly said.

Megan remembered that decision fondly; Holly
had snuck into her bedroom window in the middle of the night and
had crawled into bed with her. Holly had looked her

In the eye and had told her that no matter
what her birth certificate said, she was always just the same as
Megan. The memory sparked an affection that filled her with
warmth.

“Wow,” Olivia said. “Your moms were really
cool.
My
mom would never do that!” She looked at Megan, who
passed an intimate look to Holly.

“I might have, if the right situation had
occurred,” Megan said as she squeezed Holly’s hand.

Megan snuggled into the couch, the afghan
draped across her legs, the pillows embracing her petite frame. The
din became a dull hum, and she was enveloped by the kindness that
emanated from her closest friends. The lavender fragrance of
candles, burning quickly down their wicks, mixed with perfumes and
baked goods and filled the air. Scents of the ocean wisped through
the open window, intertwining the many smells into one of comfort
and happiness.
How did I get to this place?
Megan wondered.
After thirty-nine years, she still couldn’t believe that she was
now the age that she’d always remembered her mother being.
When
did this happen?
When had age crept up on her, like a flower
that had bloomed, vibrant and beautiful, and quickly browned around
the edges, struggling to simply keep erect.
There is no going
back
. gone was the energy that once revolved around what could
be—wants, desires, and aspirations—and it was replaced with
thoughts of what was best, what had to be.

Her small, veined hands felt cold, and she
rubbed them together. Her olive skin had lost its sheen. It was
slightly more wrinkled than what she had believed it was, what she
had envisioned and held onto in her mind for the past few years.
Her legs, she knew, were no longer strong and lean, but wilted and
frail. The reality was like a weight in her heart. She had chosen
to ignore it for so long that the realization hit her fast and
hard, like a punch to the gut. She had truly thought she could beat
it, age gracefully, and maybe even glow.

Peter popped up off his seat, “Okay, ladies,
enough of this. Let’s get down to the real thing, the cake.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Jack?” Megan
asked.

“No way! He’ll get here when he gets here.
Don’t let a man’s tardiness ruin our good time! Besides, you know
Jack, he may not make it until the morning,” Holly said, offering
Megan her hand.

Megan took it gratefully and was surprised by
the ease with which Holly lifted her to her feet.

Olivia dimmed the lights. Holly held Megan’s
hand, warming it as her thumb caressed her friend’s thin skin.
Holly swallowed hard, fought back the tears as they rushed forward.
Her sadness sat hard and fat in her throat, as if she had swallowed
an egg. The four of them stood around the lightly-textured
countertop, brown sprinkled with beige and greens, like Megan’s
eyes.

Peter was the first to speak, “Well, Meg,
this is your chance. Make it a good wish this year!” He looked at
Holly and Olivia, who each looked down, unable to meet his
eyes.

“Wait!” Olivia yelled, her smile revealed
perfect white teeth like a fine strand of pearls. “We have to sing,
remember?”

They all laughed, and Peter started singing
Happy Birthday, softly at first, and careful, and then it grew
louder and filled with joy as they each tried to sing the sickness
out of their best friend’s body.

Megan’s eyes drifted closed. She could hear
the singing and happiness around her, but separated her thoughts to
be solely her own. She needed a quiet moment to make what she knew
was to be her final wish. She envisioned herself as a sponge,
absorbing every sensation. The muscles in her arms ached, her frail
fingers clenched around her best friend’s, like a lifeline. Her
breaths felt shallow and weak. She took note of all of these
feelings, and realized that they didn’t fill her with sorrow. She
accepted her frailty, accepted her pain, laced with a strange kind
of loneliness, and accepted her fate. She relaxed her grip, and
gave her wish to the powers that be, keeping her eyes closed for
good measure.

Megan had only wished for two things in her
life. Well, two things on her birthday wishes anyway, the important
wishes, the ones that counted, the ones that god heard no matter
how busy He was. She’d wished the same wish since she was eight
years old, every night before she went to bed and every birthday
before blowing out the candles. The wish had changed when Olivia
was born. Her wish had gone from being solely about her to being
inclusive of Olivia. Her heart sank, as she realized that this
year’s wish would be placed only half-heartedly, knowing that her
first wish wasn’t granted after thirty-seven years of wishing,
hoping, praying, and making deals and promises in the dark, when it
was just her and god. She really thought He had heard her wish for
all of those years. She thought she and god had a special
connection about that one wish, but she was wrong, as she had
discovered a year ago. She was very wrong.

Yet here she was, putting her faith in Him
yet again. Rethinking the first thirty-seven years of wishing, she
held her eyes closed tightly and said in her mind,
Please, God,
just half the wish. That’s all I ask for, just half
. She wished
her yearly wish, then, knowing it had already been broken,
shattered like a glass fallen to the ground, she took a deep
breath, and wished a new wish,
Please let her let go of me
.
As a tear slipped down her cheek, she added quickly,
Let her
move on with her life, but not forget me
.

She opened her eyes and returned to the
present. She wiped the warm tears from her eyes, their salty
remains landing on the cake. No one seemed to notice. Megan never
saw the tears in her friends’ and daughter’s eyes.

Megan blew out the candles, and a wave of
uncertainty thickened the air. Smiles and well wishes surrounded
her. She felt the love that swirled in the air like a scent that
she could smell, a taste that she could swallow. She realized,
then, that though she had never wished it, the love she had assumed
would always be there, taken for granted, and reveled in, was the
most precious wish of all. That love, which had been there through
the good years and the bad, would be Olivia’s future, her
stronghold, her vice. Megan said a silent thank you to god, and
eked out a smile.

Holly wrapped her arm around Megan’s
shoulder, hugged her, and kissed her forehead. “Happy birthday,
Meggie.” Her smile came to rest softly in Megan’s heart.

“You go, girl!” Peter said. “Let’s have some
cake!”

Olivia, who was already sneaking frosting
from the bottom of the cake, licked her long, thin fingers and
said, “I’ll do it!” She cut huge pieces and handed out the heavy
plates.

“Livi, I can’t eat this much!” Holly said as
she eyed the thick chunk of chocolate cake.

“Oh, come on, Holly. It’s a party!” Olivia
said.

“Well then, give it to me!” Peter said. He
snagged the plate from Holly and took a big bite, leaving white
frosting on his upper lip like a child would.

“Here, Mom,” Olivia said. She handed her
mother a large slab of cake, knowing she wouldn’t eat it. “It’s
your birthday, live a little.”

“Thanks, Liv,” Megan said. Her hand brushed
against Olivia’s. “You guys mean more to me than you can ever
imagine,” Megan said. She looked around the room at her most
cherished friends. “I couldn’t have made it through my breakups, my
heartaches, my
life
without you guys here to help me
through. I just want to thank you guys for being so great. I love
you all!”

Tears welled in Megan’s eyes, “And Livi, you
know you are my heart. You are my reason for being, and my legacy.
I love you, honey.”

“We know, now drink up and let’s have some
fun!” Peter was never one for tears when there was fun to be had.
Eating cake and drinking a few too many shots of tequila, they
laughed like goons and moved easily through their conversations,
reliving moments in time, college events, and inside secrets, which
Olivia loathed because she was not privy to them. When the sun
dipped from the sky and the moon slowly took its place, when shoes
were long ago kicked off, when neatly pinned hair had been pulled
down for comfort, and when all of the excitement had died down to a
familiar lull, Olivia, who was curled up in front of her mother on
the couch, Megan’s arm draped easily over Olivia’s body, whispered,
“Isn’t it time, Mom?”

Holly answered in her own whisper, “I think
it is, Livi.” She had been sitting on the floor in front of the
couch, and she reached her hand up behind her to hold Olivia’s
young, warm hand in her own.

“Well, let’s get ready!” Peter whispered, his
quiet tone was filled with mischief.

“Mom?” Olivia asked, hesitantly.

“I’m still thinking about it, Livi,” Megan
said, torn between spending every last second with Olivia and
wanting her friends all to herself for this last ritual. She
wrestled to find a balance between hurting Olivia’s feelings and
saving her own. She knew what was coming, and she wasn’t sure
Olivia should be there to bear witness. Olivia jumped up,
forgetting how frail her mother was, and threw her body right on
top of Megan’s, taking her by surprise, and sending an ache
throughout her ribs and back.