Unsatisfied with my crabbiness, she pushed me into the bathroom. I turned the water on, letting the steam fog the mirrors. Though the bedside table read six o’clock, my body still thought nine. However, I wasn’t too tired to appreciate the lush bathroom amenities. With the marble countertops and an oversized shower tiled in deep variegated slate, it might not have been The Grand Del Mar, but it was the nicest hotel I’d ever stayed in.
“Hey!” Sarah called from the other side of the door. “Do you know the Black Eyed Peas designed a room in this hotel?”
I smiled in spite of myself, shaking my head. The shower felt wonderful, hot and strong. Uninterrupted. After drying off, I chose a simple black wrap dress from my suitcase, my new size eight. I may have been overwhelmed by my life, but I looked fantastic, the best I’d looked in years. I felt a stab of longing. For Greg? Or Drew? I didn’t know. For a man who loved me. I wished suddenly that I was not there in a fabulously trendy hotel with Sarah, but with Drew. My thoughts were marbles, shaking in a jar, ricocheting off one another: one marble for missing Greg, one for hating him, one for wanting Drew, one for wanting to pull the blankets over my head and sleep forever.
Sarah whistled when I emerged from the bathroom. “Woman, you look amazing!”
After a quick blow dry of my hair and some basic makeup, I not only looked normal, but possibly pretty great. Looking good helped my psyche. My melancholy faded, replaced by a fluttering in my belly that I vaguely remembered as excitement.
I admired Sarah’s nonchalance in choosing her clothes. She got ready in less than ten minutes, looking thrown together, yet wonderful in a way I could never pull off. She piled her hair atop her head in a trendy, messy bun and wore a white strapless sheath dress that made her seem positively willowy.
We headed downstairs to Nobu, and because it was Wednesday, we were able to walk in without reservations. We didn’t see any celebrities, and Sarah pouted. After dinner, we decided to have a drink in the hotel bar, which was surprisingly crowded. Apparently, we were staying at the only hotel I’d ever been to where the lobby bar was a chic place to hang out. Black tables and chairs with electric blue under-lighting dotted the room. The bar in the back held liquor bottles illuminated by neon lights, sparkling like costume jewelry.
I noticed the stares of men, and instead of my usual dismissal, I smiled encouragingly, returning their gazes. I nudged Sarah and nodded toward the corner, where two men sat at a table, both tall and good-looking.
She looked at me, astonished. Yes, I notice men, too. She glanced back at the table and gave the guys a small wave. I felt a bubble of excitement. Oh, my God. I’m having fun. How long has it been? We each got a martini, extra dirty with extra olives, and sat at one of the two top tables closest to the bar.
“Claire, you’re different.” She sucked the olives off her martini pick.
“I know. Losing a husband has that effect,” I said.
“No, not just that. You’re reckless; you’re angry. I mean, not right now, but in general…”
“Yes, I’m both. I can’t explain it. I think it’s part of the grieving process. I’m in therapy now. Isn’t that crazy?”
“Crazy would be not being in therapy in your situation.” She shrugged. “But you’re strong. I mean, you’ve always been a strong person, but you’ve erected this shell. I can’t explain it.”
“Oh, I think you’re doing a good job. Of explaining it, I mean. I feel like I have this armor now. I can’t rely on anyone; I even keep Drew at arm’s length. I haven’t called him since Christmas.”
“That was over two months ago! When was the last time you went a month without talking to Drew in your life?”
“Never.” I sighed. “I know it’s strange. I’m just trying to get through this first year. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m terrified of screwing up my kids.”
“It’s half over,” she pointed out. “I think you’re doing a great job of keeping it together. For the girls, anyway.” She slammed her hand down on the table. “Where the fuck is Greg?”
I laughed. “I must ask that a hundred times a day.” I told her about Christmas and showed her Drew’s bracelet.
“He’s in love with you, Claire. I hope when all this is said and done and you’re in the position to move on that you do it with him.”
“Do you think I picked the wrong guy? From the beginning, I mean.” I twirled the olive pick in my glass, not positive I wanted to know her answer.
She wiped the sweat from her glass. “No, in the beginning and even for a long while after, you and Greg were good. You seemed compatible, easy, complementary. He was introverted; you were outgoing. He was so in love with you. Then… he changed. Last time I saw you two together, there was definitely something off.”