Mariposa nodded. “She had. She only just now started to crawl.”
“I can’t believe this,” Valerie cooed excitedly. She stooped down and held out her hands. “Can you walk to Grandma?”
Olivia wavered on her feet, then fell on her butt. She looked at us, surprised, as though it had never occurred to her that she might fall down.
“She hasn’t taken any steps,” Mariposa said.
“Well, she’s only eleven months old, after all,” Valerie admitted, but she sounded disappointed. We all wanted Olivia to get back on schedule physically, because it would be our only indication of how she was doing emotionally.
“I won’t tell you when she does, I’ll let you think you were the first to see it,” Mariposa went on.
“That’s…brilliant, actually,” Valerie said with a look of admiration. “I assume we’re waiting until Neil gets back to tell him about the standing up, then?”
My heart squeezed at the mention of him. He wasn’t here to see this. He was still in a hospital somewhere.
My sadness must have showed on my face, because Valerie’s smile faded slowly. She scooped Olivia up. “You know, I think I’ll reconsider that offer of overnight accommodations. I’d love to stay here with Olivia. If the offer still stands.”
The thing about Valerie is, she could be the biggest, nastiest b-word some of the time. Well, where I was concerned, most of the time. But she could also be supportive and caring, because even if she didn’t like me, she had a good heart. I hoped she could tell from my small nod how much I appreciated this, because if I said it out loud, she would make it really weird.
“You’re always welcome, Valerie.”
It surprised me how much I meant that.
* * * *
The first night was hard. But it wasn’t the hardest. The hardest was the second night, when I called the rehab center to speak to Neil, and he declined my call. That’s when I knew we were in real, deep shit.
Two weeks into our substance abuse-driven separation, I was a mess. I contacted Dr. Harris’s office every single day, even when I knew the message wouldn’t change. That Neil said he was doing well, that he missed me, but that they couldn’t share any more information.
“I feel like a widow,” I blubbered to Holli. She’d taken a night off rehearsals to come to Sagaponack and comfort me, and now, we sat on the couch in the den, in a two-person leopard-print Snuggie she’d bought just for us, talking over A Royal Affair and not reading the subtitles. We didn’t really need them we’d watched the film so much. “What if he’s like this forever? What if he never talks to me again?”
I wanted her to say, “He’s going to talk to you again,” but she didn’t. She squeezed my arm. “If that’s what happens, that’s what happens, and you’ll deal with it. But are you really ready to give up? It’s only been two weeks.”
“Two weeks. And he stopped speaking to me.” I blew my nose. “This is like…the worst fade-away breakup in history.”
“It’s not a fade-away breakup.” Holli rolled her eyes. “It’s not a breakup. I know you’re feeling sorry for yourself right now, and I’m here for that a thousand percent. But I can’t be here for you making Neil a villain in this.”
“I’m not trying to make him a villain.” I leaned my forehead on my hand. “I just feel so deserted. And I know he had to go. Jesus, I was the one who signed the psychiatric hold paperwork. Yeah, this is all for his own good, but my good is seriously imperiled here.” I sniffed. “I just want my husband back.”
“I know you do.” Holli put her arm around my shoulder, and I leaned on her.
Of all the friendships in my life, Holli was my most important. She understood me in a way most people couldn’t—she knew things about me that even Neil didn’t—and while she never sugarcoated things when she thought I was making stupid choices or fucking up royally, she didn’t judge me.
Oh, she gave me hell about it and mocked me mercilessly—once, when I was nervously awaiting the results of an STD test, she taunted me with previews of the jokes she would make for each of my possible diseases should I have one—but somehow, that kind of helped.
Since I knew she wouldn’t judge me, I added, “And I’m lonely. Like, in the pants department. I know that’s really super selfish of me, but there it is. I like physical intimacy. And I’ve gotten so used to it that I need it. It’s like an addiction.”
“So, what’s up with your whole open marriage thing?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Because Deja might excuse a little sympathy—” Holli made a circle with her thumb and forefinger and plunged her index finger into it.
“First of all, ew,” I said giving her a push. “You’re my best friend. I am not DTF my best friends.”
“You’re DTF Neil, and he’s your best friend,” she teased.
“And, second,” I went on, rolling my eyes at her, “it wouldn’t be like this—” I repeated her hand motion. “It would be like this—” I made scissors out of my index and middle fingers and jammed them together.
“No, it wouldn’t. Grow up, Sophie, everybody who’s, like, over the age of five knows that scissoring isn’t really a thing.” She shook her head at my ignorance.
“Five, huh?” I whistled. “Public school has changed since our days.”