She’d reached out to her daughters with more of herself, and they’d reached back. Her grandchildren didn’t have to be strangers; true, she hadn’t much liked being a mother of young children, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a different kind of relationship with Brooke’s kids. James and Arthur had welcomed her with open arms. And she could do so much more to help the community center thrive in the coming months and years. Not just with flowers, but with fundraising initiatives, events, old industry connections she could dig up that would benefit Julie and her staff.
“I think, if it was just up to me, I’d want to stay here,” Anne said softly. “But I know the job is a huge opportunity, and those don’t come often in your field, or at our age. If you want to take it, I’d gladly support you. I’d go.”
“Why would you want to stay?”
How could she sum all of it up in a way Sadie would get? Eventually, Anne said, “When I talked to Claire on Wednesday, she told me what coming out felt like for her. She’d never shared anything like that with me before. Sadie, for the first time with her—it was easy.”
The slow, gentle exhalation in Anne’s ear let her know that Sadie understood.
“Do you want to take the job?”
“I still can’t decide. Yes, it’s a dream job, but then there’s the baby coming—and the kids, of course—and if I don’t organize next year’s Passover seder at Kol Emunah, Rachel will. Let me tell you, her dinner parties make you feel like you’re on the wrong antidepressant.”
“I think the synagogue would survive,” Anne said dryly.
“Well, I’ll do some freewriting with my Mont Blanc when I get home. There’s nothing like a good fountain pen with a perfect ink flow to help you have a decent chat with yourself. Entirely underrated form of self-care.”
God, she missed Sadie so fucking much. “I’m beginning to see the benefits of that myself.”
“Fountain pens? Those long fingers of yours were made to manage one.”
“No.” Anne wouldn’t think about fingers. “Self-care.”
Anne could almost hear Sadie’s smile through the phone. “So you’ve cut out drinking and you’re starting to expand your palate. What other parts of herself has my beloved been caretaking?”
Sadie hadn’t meant it to be suggestive, but Anne couldn’t help but think about how she’d spent last night and the night before and the night before that. How thoroughly she’d taken care of herself, thanks to her new pink implement. A tiny, strangled noise left her throat.
“What is it?” Then, very quietly, “Ah.”
Anne froze. “I know you didn’t mean—”
“I didn’t.”
Right. Okay. Anne would change the subject. If she could think of any other subject. Anything at all.
A long pause. Then, “Speaking of.”
When Anne found the ability to respond, it was somewhat uneven. “Sadie, if we talk about this, we’re going to head very quickly down a road you haven’t said you’re ready to travel.”
“No, no, I don’t mean that. Or, more accurately, Idomean that, but not, ah, salaciously. There are…some things I need to tell you that I couldn’t put into my email. About sex. I need to say them out loud. For myself. And at this particular moment, I’m feeling brave, so there’s no time like the present.”
Anne sat up a little straighter, feeling the weight behind Sadie’s insistence. “Please continue.”
“I told you,” Sadie said slowly, “back in Joshua Tree, that sex felt emotionally daunting for me.”
“You did.” Anne remembered, too, that Sadie hadn’t elaborated. “Is this about Fred?”
Sadie made an affirming sound. “During our marriage, we had a very active—well.” She paused. “I won’t be specific. What matters is that there was never a lull between us. In a sexual respect.”
“No lull,” Anne repeated, and did her best to ignore the jealousy curdling in her stomach. “All right.”
“Not even before he left me.”
Then Anne understood, and the curdle of jealousy was swept away by a rush of protective indignation. “So he was sleeping with you the whole time he thought you were too much for him? Before he told you how he felt?”
“I didn’t know,” Sadie croaked. “I gave myself to Fred, every bit of me, not just the physical parts but my total trust, the most intimate, vulnerable places in me, and for months, foryears, he didn’t want who I gave him. It made me never want to sleep with anyone again.” Now her words were wobbling, too, not just her breath. “Did you feel like that with James? Like he’d lied to you with his body?”
“No.” Anne didn’t need to think about it. “I felt betrayed, yes. Furious. But that was because he made me look foolish. I never let myself trust James—or be vulnerable with him in the first place.”