Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Eleven

It's amazing how much can go unnoticed when you're being interrogated by the police and mourning the death of your fiancé while hiding out from the media and counting the number of friends you no longer like. When I'd ventured out one time to get the papers the cashier had asked lightly, as she click-clacked her keyboard with her pointy nails, "Engaged?" For a long minute I was flummoxed, long enough for her to look up quizzically and point to my ring, as if to explain to the daft lady why she thought someone wearing a diamond engagement ring might be, in fact, engaged. That was my first clue that I was losing focus on daily details: I had completely forgotten about my engagement ring, had not even paused once to consider whether I would continue to wear it now that I was no longer technically betrothed to the person who gave it to me. Or would I always be betrothed to him, caught in some mystical and morbid catch-22?

This was now only the latest in a growing number of signs that I was losing my mind, but it was by far the heftiest—and soon, I suppose, I would mean that literally. Al and I had been on the pill, but when he died I stopped taking them, assuming, as I think was fair, that I would not be needing them anymore. The problem there was that I didn't get my period. And as every woman knows, if you stop your pill and don't get your period, you'd better start downing that folic acid, because you are preggo, missy.

Or, at least, I should have known that. In another time I would have known that. Instead it never registered that I should have been bleeding, the easier thing to miss always being the thing that isn't there. And the reminder, of all things, was reality television.

Julia had called the day after our failed girls' night to ask if I was busy. I snorted on the phone.

"Very busy," I answered. "I was just picking at the nail polish on my toes. It's indecent of you to interrupt me when I'm doing such important work."

"Need help picking?" she asked. "I'm bored and could use some entertainment."

In Julia speak, that meant she wanted to come keep me company because she knew how pitiful I was, but also that she was too nice to say as much.

"I have a couple toes left. You'd better hurry."

Since then, it became our nightly routine: Julia would come over to my mother's, we would make some popcorn, and curl up under blankets in front of whatever terrible program was featuring any number of vain, vapid women who were famous for being famous. I wondered, at times, what Julia did with her time before Al died, then told myself sternly not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

This was my new life, and I didn't have the time to worry about how long it would last or what I would do when I grew up or whether I would ever move back to my own house. I was busy with my lawsuit. When I was honest with myself, I knew what I was actually being was obsessed. I had lost interest in anything else, even my own health. Watching Desperate Housewives of Omaha was the only frivolity of my day, these plumped and pinched women a font of unlimited fascination, my indulgence and reward for having such focus during the day. What drove them to these lives they lived? What made them so passionate about pocketbooks and eyelashes? Their energy for the smallest things intrigued me in some grand, vague way, and I felt the dull throbbing ache of my own life disappear as I, too, worried whether Cassandra would lose those two pounds in her ass. It was a lot easier than worrying about what life would be like when I was ready to face it without Al.

On this particular and, as it turned out, pivotal evening, Julia came over later than usual; she didn't explain why and I didn't ask. Last time she had missed a night was due to our mutual friend's bridal shower, which I had completely forgotten about and wasn't reminded by said friend to attend. I assume they were all relieved I had missed it, awkward as it would have been for them to celebrate with me what would now never be mine. Cassie and I had gotten engaged within a week of each other and joked about having a joint wedding. I bet she was glad we never went through with that now. So this time I avoided putting Julia in the position of having to tell me about whatever it was that made her late, sure that it was someone else's engagement party or bachelorette party or wedding. Amy would be here tomorrow and then I'd be busy all weekend with the lawsuit; right now I needed to erase my brain of all serious matters and focus on the troubles and tribulations of the women of television land.