Because Jacob makes very good coffee while I talk to myself. He's happy I'm talking at all. Prattling even.
Fragile Miss Bridget's 96-hour bender appears to be officially over. Not willingly, mind you. In all honesty I would have forgone reality altogether but again, Jake took away all the liquid escapism and even the pills again and left me with this rawness that hurts when the wind touches it.
If you cover it up it will never heal, you beautiful mess, you.
Why does he do this? Oh yes, to push me forward. Onward, you idiot. Get moving. Get better. Get a grip on yourself and be a proper mother because you are all those kids have. And you are all he wants.
Right, okay. Faces are washed, breakfast is made. I am scrubbed and shining and wearing jeans and a shirt. Buttons again! Braids. Jacob came in with coffee and nodded his approval because when you're drunk, dresses half fall off sometimes which is lovely, and he gave me aspirin. I swore at him because I am such a bitch sometimes.
Instead of laughing at me he asks if he can have the ten year designation a bit early. He wants to claim ownership. I know, feminists cringe. Oh shut up. He's tired of everyone knowing me as Cole's wife.
What the fuck?
Oh hell. The most confident man I have ever met in my entire life is asking me for validation? For reassurance? Kind of like looking for shelter within a house of cards. Did he think I had taken the easy way out by leaving Cole to be with him? I point out the uncharacteristic lack of confidence in that statement from Jacob.
He just shrugged. Shaken again because of me. I should be so lucky as to not ruin everyone I love somehow. Seriously. The 'It's not you, it's me.' statement people use? Well, it's me. By far.
Of course he can. He has it. I told him it was only after the requisite decade did I ever allow myself to claim ownership of a feeling, obviously. It's funny how this long a time afterwards we both still remember our first real conversation, word for word. How naively I hung on to that decade with Cole that I had just accomplished like some sort of endurance marathon, and I held that up as the standard by which all relationships should be compared.
Hell, not like our relationship is really any less dysfunctional, most of it so far spent in total lust and complete denial, and yet if you ever saw us make dinner together or argue efficiently, you would guess we had been married for a hundred years.
It will be so perfect if only we are now given half a chance to enjoy it for what it is and what it should be. I can't even imagine life without Cole's presence looming over me. I can't. More denial which Jacob ripped the lid off because he's in a hurry. And after tomorrow is over with we can begin. The hundred year storybook marriage in complete love that I wished for so badly my whole life and I can't imagine it with anyone else, ever. I can't breathe at the thought of all that happiness within reach once and for all. He is holding his breath too. I'm touched beyond belief that he even still wants me, us, at all.
I just need strength to get through tomorrow first. I didn't want the grieving widow designation. So I won't claim it. Honestly I had wished Cole would just die so many times over I am exceeding careful of what I wish now. The memorial is not for me. It's not for Jake. It's for Ruth, Henry and all of Cole's extended family and friends. The ones who knew him as the loving father, helpful son, talented artist, the crazy musician, the passionate guy who boasted so loudly of his beautiful wife to total strangers even, the guy with the work ethic that never ever quit. They can have it. I won't argue. I'll sit passively and not openly cringe while they ignore the Cole I knew and instead exalt the virtues of the Cole they knew. That Cole was a very cool guy. I wished I could have known him. He was quite the superstar of our little universe.
But since I didn't, I will join Jacob and just pray to get through the day. Hurry hurry.
