Two years ago, my soul was crushed, and it wasn’t with one hard knock to my front door.
The harsh reality is that I was sitting next to my husband Garrett the day he died. My head hit the side window, and the lastthing I remember is a bright light and the color red. For over a year, I relived the accident nightly. I didn’t have dreams; it was always the same nightmare. One I couldn’t wake up from.
Garrett died. I survived. And that truth has haunted me for a long time.
My eyes catch on Garrett’s ashes, which sit in a generic, unmarked container on top of my dresser. Too cliché for a life as beautiful as ours had been.
A tear slips down my cheeks unbidden, and I swipe it away.
Not today, Satan.
My current grief is brought to you by my birth. I only have room for one trauma at a time.
“Earth to Ally,” Lanie sings through the phone.
I shake my head, clearing my mind. “What did you say?”
“It’s your birthday, and it’s Thursday wine night. I know you said you didn’t want to celebrate, but you must. Nina and I are headed out, and you’re coming.”
I chance a glance into the floor-length mirror resting against my wall and grimace. My wavy strawberry-blond hair is matted at the crown of my head, and I have dark circles underneath my bloodshot eyes. The entirety of my face is blotchy and swollen, a byproduct of crying.
I’m a hideous beast today.
“No, thank you.”
My spoon scrapes the bottom of the empty ice cream carton, and the tears stream briskly down my cheeks.
It’s been two years and I know this breakdown isn’t about him. It’s about a number. Forty always sounded ancient and here I am living it and feeling every ache and pain that decided to start on this very day.
How convenient.
“I... I’ll be... fine,” I cry. “I’m just so... ugly.” The wail thataccompanies that last part resembles that of a dying animal, and I’m sure Lanie is beyond concerned about my mental state.
“You’re not, babe. You need us.” The tenderness she uses is so unlike her.
She’s my bossy, no-nonsense friend, who’s more likely to slap the sense back into me than to allow the moping.
“As much as I don’t want to be the overbearing friend on your day, this isn’t a situation that I’m going to back down from. I’m coming to you.”
“No, I—”
It’s no use. The line is dead, and I know without a doubt that Lanie and Nina will be here at some point regardless of any protest on my part.
Forty wasn’t supposed to look like this. I’d had every intention of marching out of my thirties with my head held high, ass tight and no lines to be found from the corners of my eyes to my hairline, seventeen years into a blissful marriage.
Exactly none of those things are my reality.
I have tracks deeper than an off-road path lining my forehead and a scar that runs from my temple to the corner of my right eye, a permanent reminder of all I’ve lost.
Lanie is right. I’m wasting away in this room.
If Garrett were here, he’d tell me to pull myself together, get dressed, and plan on a headache in the morning. But he’s not here, so I’ll eat my ice cream and feel sorry for myself until the birthday hijackers I call friends arrive.
AT FIVE O’CLOCKon the dot, I hear the key turning in the lock in the door. I gave spares to both Lanie and Nina in case of emergencies. Apparently, my breakdown earlier constitutes an emergency.
Seated in a dark corner of the living room, with a clear view of the front door, I watch Lanie pop her head inside. The sun has long set, and darkness blankets the room, shielding me from her view.
“Alyssa?” she calls out, as though she cares about my privacy. “We’re coming in.”
