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Mary had done all that and was over it.
Now, listening to the other women talking about their families, Mary was exhausted in the remembering. How did she do it? How had she made it to this point? The point where her beloved sons were off finding out who they were going to be as adults and Mom—who had been their everything for oh-so-many years—was barely a passing, if not downright irritating, thought.
Divorced from Dan, ignored by her boys, and a square peg in the round hole of Norfolk society—not fitting comfortably into the demographics—and now, yeah, she was in a birthday funk.
She was chewing on the cud of her existence, again, Mary pointed out to herself. She’d get these thoughts and keep gnashing her teeth on them. The thoughts went nowhere, but there they were—repetitive and mood-crushing. Mary looked out the window at the sky painted a leaden gray, heavy and oppressive. Maybe that was adding to her mood.
Her phone jangled on the counter, and Mary leaned in to read the screen, Deidre.
Deidre was entirely too upbeat for Mary’s present mood. She’d check the text later. Reaching into the grocery bag, Mary dragged out her yogurt and plastic box of strawberries, a package of salmon, and a couple avocados. She should have picked up a bottle of wine to go with her inner whine, she mused as she opened the fridge. Yeah, that needed a good cleaning, she thought as she looked over the glass shelves, and it wasn’t happening today.
Her phone jangled again, signaling another text, Deidre.
Persistent. Mary leaned over and muttered at her unanswered phone, “Give me five minutes. Let me finish putting this stuff away. I’ll grab a cup of tea and then be ready for a chat.” She could have texted that, but then the conversation would be off and rolling. Mary tipped her head back and wiggled her shoulders. “Get it together.”
The clatter at her window made her look up. The sky had opened up, and the rain pummeled the glass angrily. The sudden deluge was so heavy that she couldn’t see anything beyond the water sliding down the pane. She was grateful she got home and into the house before the sky opened up and began dumping. Being out in that mess would be painful.
The phone rang, Deidre. Okay, that was out of character.
Mary snatched the phone up and swiped the screen. “Are you in an ambulance?”
“What?” Deidre asked. “No. What gave you that impression?”
“You usually wait for a go-ahead text before you call,” Mary said. “Modern phone etiquette.”
“I don’t have time for that. You don’t have time for that either. I am about to rock your world.” Deidre sounded like she’d just won the lottery.
Pulling the coffee out of the grocery bag, Mary put her nose to the plastic and sniffed the slight scent of fall seasonings. Closing her eyes, she imagined how good it was going to taste in the morning. Cinnamon Roll, yum. “You can rock my world if I can do it in my pajamas,” Mary said into the phone. “I’m about to curl up on the couch with a bowl of ice cream and listen to the rain on my roof.”
“Why?” Deidre’s voice turned momentarily concerned before it bounced back to excitement. “No, don’t tell me. We haven’t got time. I need your passport number.”
“My, what now?” Mary tapped the speaker button.
“Your passport number for these plane tickets.”
“Okay, I feel like I walked in in the middle of a conversation.” Mary reached the coffee bag on to the shelf and shut the cabinet. “I have no idea what’s going on here.”
“Go get your passport while I explain. I don’t want to lose these tickets. Go. Hurry!”
“For where?” Mary turned and found herself heading toward her bedroom.
“Amsterdam to Geneva, then a train to Haute Nendaz.”
Mary stalled with her hand on the doorknob. “Why?” Switzerland, she could find on the map. Haute Nendaz not so much.
“Chocolate, of course.” Deidre was laughing, her excitement palpable.
“Of course. Also, there’s chocolate at the grocery store and that doesn’t require my standing in line at the TSA. When is this that you want to go?” She pressed into the room.
“Tomorrow.”
“Shit, Deidre,” Mary stopped mid-stride. “Fly to Switzerland tomorrow? What are you even talking about? Did someone die? Can we send flowers instead?”
“Prescient. Yes, someone did die.” Deidre coughed and gasped. “That went down the wrong tube. Sorry.” She coughed again. “I told you about the woman I read about in a magazine, the horoscope lady.”
“She does special charts to figure out where in the world you’re supposed to be on your birthday to change your life. Is that the one?”
“She’s the one, Rushpa Viswan. I filled out a form to get on her wait list. I figured, why not hear what Mrs. V. had to say.”
