The Unfortunate Side Effects of Heartbreak and Magic(64)
“It’s crazy, now, knowing how she got stuck with us.”
“I don’t think she sees it that way.”
“I know, but you know what I mean. I mean”—he shook his head—“I can’t even wrap my head around it. I don’t want to. I can’t think about it because it feels so disloyal to her. Gigi, I mean. Not … not our mother.”
“I can’t think of her being gone. I don’t know how. I just—” She blinked rapidly, trying to keep the sting of tears from her eyes.
“I know. But you can’t spend your last days with her like this. I know it’s hard, right? But let’s try to be happy, celebrating her and her life. I see the way she’s been looking at you. She’ll never say anything, but I have to. Don’t let your sorrow be her burden. Wait until she’s gone to mourn her. You know what she’s always told us: ‘Don’t borrow trouble.’”
It was the gentlest Seth had spoken to her in years. And that’s how she knew he meant it. And annoyingly, she knew he was right, as he so often was. She would be useful, cheerful, happy, even if it killed her. Even if it felt like little pieces of her were dying right along with Gigi.
The next day, Anne was the only other one awake when Sadie ambled blearily downstairs, following the scent of fresh coffee. She’d spent half the night choking back tears and the other half letting them flow. Her eyes were puffy, and her hair settled in a wild halo, making her look like a Botticelli painting come to life.
Anne wordlessly poured a second cup of coffee.
They sat at the bar, and her aunt was still uncharacteristically quiet. Normally, her words came at the speed of thought, her internal monologue flowing out like a constant conversation with herself.
“Did you sleep?” Sadie asked her.
“Of course not,” Anne answered. “I never sleep anyway.”
“I’m going to the farmer’s market. Do you want to go with me?” Sadie surprised herself by asking. It was usually one of the things she reveled in doing alone. Perusing the vegetables like she was picking out a dinner date; chatting with the stall proprietors; letting Jim, the potato seller, badger her about opening up her own stall.
“Absolutely,” Anne answered without hesitating. “I need to get out of this house.”
The sun was still cold, the morning breeze rustling through the ponderosas like whispers and secrets as they caught themselves on the sharp points of the pine needles. Anne turned the heater on and rolled down her window. Warmth and chill played across Sadie’s skin, and Joni Mitchell’s “Circle” blared on the radio. Her hand was out the window, the wind gliding smooth over her fingers, buffeting them like a wave, and she smiled, her head tilted back against the headrest. In that moment, she was happy. And the realization made her guilty, snatching away the slice of joy as sure as the wind whipped it from her fingers, carried away by the undertow until she drew her hand back in, and the lyrics of the song washed over her.
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.
Sadie was caught on the carousel of life, her knuckles white against the shining, braided brass pole, but her ribboned horse seemed only to go down. And even then, the guilt bubbled like burnt sugar. Others had it worse than her. Destitute or in slavery, without food or home or love, who’d lost children. And here she was, bemoaning Jake and her brother and her grandmother. Gigi, who’d lived a long life and had given every ounce of love she’d possessed.
“What are you thinking about over there?” Anne asked.
“Do you think we have a right to our pain when so many others have it worse?”
“I don’t think pain is a competition,” her aunt answered without hesitation. “Somebody else’s ten might be your six. You can’t compare heartbreak. No matter what, it’s valid. And that’s all that matters. You’re allowed to feel,” she added, as though aware of Sadie’s internal struggle.
“Sometimes I think if I let myself feel, really feel, I’ll never be able to climb my way back out. I can’t stuff it all back in.”
“You’re not supposed to, sweetheart. You’re like a volcano. One of these days, you’re going to erupt. Do they have jewelry at this market? I’d love to find something for Emily. You know your cousin and her jewelry.”
Sadie chuckled. Just like that, Anne could never stay on one thing too long. It went against her nature.
They ambled around the market, Sadie introducing her aunt wherever they went, and Anne pouring out tidbits of her life before jumping to another subject so fast it gave the listener whiplash. The air was filled with the smell of ripe tomatoes and fresh flowers.
By the time they were halfway through the stalls, their arms were laden with cloth bags full of vegetables and fruits that Sadie didn’t grow in the garden. But there were also the things she never would have bought that Anne pounced on. Lavender-scented soaps and mason jars full of local amber honey so fresh it still had bits of hive in it. She bought a hand-painted ashtray for Gigi and a bottle of pomegranate balsamic vinegar for Brian. And even though Sadie tried to convince her not to, she bought a bonsai for Seth. For Sadie she picked out a hand-carved wood birdhouse to put in the garden. And she found a moonstone pendant for Emily.