“Yes…” Lydia held it out as if it was contaminated and she needed to stay a safe distance away. She would serve it to us, but never drink it herself.
Pete came out then, a beer in his right hand. His tie looked like it had once been cinched tight, but now was hanging loose around his neck. His eyes were bloodshot and I sensed it wasn’t his first drink of the evening. The last time we saw the two of them, Dean murmured to me that he was worried about how much Pete had been drinking lately. He was worried about how Pete was performing in the ER and worried about their daughter, Violet.
“Con! Anna!” Pete held out his arms, as if to wrap us both in an embrace. “Lydia, you’re being rude, making them both stand in the doorway. Invite them in!”
Lydia shot her husband a look, then marched off to the kitchen with our wine. Pete rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind her. She’s in a mood. You know.”
Pete’s comment prompted Dean to put his arm around my shoulders and pull me tighter to him. That will never be us, his eyes told me.
Dean eventually ended up in the living room, watching some sort of sports game with Pete. I wanted to stay close to my husband, but I felt obligated to check on Lydia in the kitchen. It was the polite thing to do, given she was cooking dinner for all of us. I may not be a professional chef like Francesca, but I’m very handy in the kitchen.
But when I got into the kitchen, Lydia was just standing there. Staring at the stove. A blank expression on her face. The smell of something burning assaulted my nostrils.
“Lydia.” I reached past her to shut off the stove. I didn’t know what she was making in there, but it was too late to save it. “Are you all right?”
“No.” Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot. “I’ve barely slept in a week.”
“Oh…”
She looked away from me. “The doctor gave me some pills but they do nothing.”
“Do…” I bit my lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t want to burden you,” Lydia murmured. “I’m sure you’re overwhelmed with the baby.”
“Lydia…” I shut down the stovetop as well before the fire alarm went off. “I’m sure it’s not that bad…”
“Marriage counseling isn’t working,” Lydia practically spat at me. “We’ve been going for three months. What a joke. It’s forty-five minutes of Peter telling the therapist what a witch I am. And the therapist always takes his side.” She lifted her red-rimmed eyes to look at me. “It’s all my fault. Did you know that?”
I winced and handed her a tissue from a box on the counter. “I’m sorry, Lydia.”
“And Violet…” Lydia dabbed at her right eye with the tissue. “I’ll probably only see her on weekends. Peter will make up some argument about how I work too much on the weekdays so he should get her. I can’t imagine not being able to come home to my baby…”
This time, she couldn’t stop the tears. They flowed freely from her eyes, soaking the tissue in her hand. I imagined someone taking Andrew from me. I’ve only known him for months, but I can’t even fathom it. They’d have to kill me first. I was about to tell Lydia I understood, but then she blurted out:
“I wish I could talk to Francesca about this.”
Ouch.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but Francesca… she was like my sister. It’s all Joel’s fault that she’s gone. I’ll never forgive him for that.”
I couldn’t blame her for wishing Francesca was there to talk to. I still remember how isolated I felt when my relationship with Joel fell apart. It was horrible.