chapter thirty-four

MEREDITH

“Isn’t there another way?” Nolan asks me in early December as we stroll through the botanical garden, enjoying the Festival of Lights with Harper, one of our holiday traditions.

“What do you mean ‘another way’?” I say, keeping my eye on Harper, who is about ten yards ahead of us.

“Can’t we find a way to be happy? Even though you don’t love me?”

I sigh, weary of his self-pitying comments, and say, “Nolan, I do love you.”

“Okay. Even though you aren’t in love with me,” he replies, as we begin to go around and around in the same futile circles.

You aren’t in love with me, either.

Yes, I am.

No, you’re not.

But I’m happy with our marriage.

You can’t be.

I’m happy enough.

“Happy enough” is not enough.

It is for me; why can’t it be for you?

And that’s what it has always come back to over the past few weeks, since I returned from New York. The worst of my anger has ebbed, and we’ve agreed not to make any big decisions until after the holidays, but that question always remains: Is what we have enough?

I think of the recent heart-to-hearts I’ve had with Ellen, and the several intense sessions in Amy’s office. I’ve even talked to my mom a bit about the subject, though I’ve yet to admit just how dire things are. We all agree that there is no bright-line litmus test for what works in a marriage, or for what happiness looks like. That it all comes down to the two people inside the relationship.

On the one extreme, there are those rare soul mates, the blissful marriages filled with unwavering passion in which both parties are completely head-over-heels in love. On the other end of the spectrum are the shitty relationships, marked by dysfunction, mean-spiritedness, even abuse—those that are destined to end in divorce or disaster.

In between lies a vast bandwidth of gray-area marriages. Some are arranged by two families, built entirely upon shared values rather than the notion of romantic love. Others have become sexless over the years, morphing into merely high-functioning partnerships, two people committed to their children, or the religious institution of marriage, or the theoretical idea of family and forever. Sometimes people are brought together by loneliness—or default, because nobody else seems to want them.

All of these scenarios can easily be dismissed as pitiful or a version of settling. And for a long time, I subscribed to this notion, too. Now, I’m beginning to see that many different kinds of marriages can work, as long as both people are satisfied by the status quo. But it has to be both, not just one, and I’m pretty sure this is what Nolan is trying to say now. Can’t I just accept what we have, and who we are together, and find a way to be happy in spite of what we don’t have? Can’t I, just for once, see the glass as half full? Can’t I get on board with him, and find a way to make this work?

I watch him take the last sip of his hot chocolate and toss the cup into a garbage can. He then pulls out his phone and calls out to Harper.

“C’mere for a second, honey. Stand right there. In front of that tree,” he says, pointing to a huge magnolia strung with thousands of tiny purple and green lights.

Harper happily obliges, posing with a big, toothy grin, then runs ahead again as Nolan checks the image, frowns, puts a filter on it, then shows me his work. “Cool shot, huh?”

“Very cool. Text it to me. I’ll Insta it,” I say, wishing that life were that easy. Take the flawed image and simply crop it, brighten and saturate it, throw a fancy filter on it. Make it what you want it to be. Then again, I think that is the way Nolan approaches life, with his rose-colored glasses.

As if reading my mind, he says, “I know our marriage isn’t perfect. I know we have things to work on…but we make a really good team, Meredith. Can’t we just try a little harder to…to get some of that magic?”

I sigh, noticing that he said get, and not recapture, and tell him I don’t think it works like that; either the magic is there or it isn’t. “Besides,” I say, “isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the past seven years?”

Nolan shakes his head and says, “No. It’s not at all what we’ve been doing…because we weren’t being honest with each other.”

“I was,” I say, my defensive instinct kicking in.

“No, you weren’t,” he says, his face becoming animated. “You weren’t truthful in the dugout when you said yes. You weren’t honest on our wedding day…and even before that, you weren’t being true to yourself.”

I know he’s talking about acting and New York and law school and maybe even moving back to Atlanta and into my childhood home, and I can’t deny the charge. So I simply shrug, and tell him maybe he’s right.

“But now you know the truth about the night Daniel died,” Nolan continues. “And I know the truth about your feelings….Now we both know the truth….Isn’t that a clean slate?”

“I guess,” I say, though I’m not sure what a clean slate really gets us, other than forgiveness and understanding. These are no small matters, but not enough to create magic. “But where do we go from here?”

“Well. For one, I’ve been thinking about our house….I really think we should sell it.”

“We can’t do that,” I say, but I feel a rush of relief just considering the freeing possibility of living somewhere—anywhere—else.

“Sure, we can.”

“Mom would be devastated. Dad, too.”

“They’d get over it,” he says. “It’s just a house….It’s just not good for us, living there….Every time I walk by his room…”

“I know,” I say, sparing him the rest.

“And I think we should consider leaving Atlanta, too. At least for a while. We need an adventure. Just the three of us. We have enough money to do it…and I’ll always have a job to come back to,” he says, talking excitedly.

“Where would we go?” I ask, playing along for a second.

“Anywhere we wanna go,” he says. “New York City? You could act again….”

I shake my head and tell him that I think I’m finally over the city—and acting.

“Okay, then. Where would you like to live? What do you want to do?”

I tell him I don’t know, anything but the law. I’ve been back at work since the week of Thanksgiving, but I’ve already made the decision to resign, as I realize that it’s a lot easier to say what you don’t want than what you do want.

“Well, let’s think about it,” he says as we quicken our pace to try to keep up with Harper. “Let’s really, really think about it. Let’s think outside the box…like Josie….”

My shoulders immediately tense at the mention of my sister—whom I’ve yet to communicate with since she left New York in the middle of the night.

“Say what you will about her,” Nolan continues. “And I get it…she can be a real pain in the ass. But the girl knows how to think outside the box.”

“She’s selfish,” I say, the default tagline I give my sister.

“Is she, though?” he asks. “Or is she just trying to be true to herself? Having a baby alone is really brave.”

“She won’t go through with it,” I say. “She’s not that brave.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But we can be. Let’s be brave together, Meredith. Can you just keep an open mind and give it one more, last-ditch try?”

Always before, his idea of trying felt like faking, even lying. Having another baby. Making our parents happy. Going on family vacations to Disney World and the beach, smiling and posing for photos to promptly post for all the world to see. Going through the motions of pretending to be the perfect family. Daniel’s sister and his best friend, brought together by tragedy, yet utterly and totally “meant to be.” Hashtag blessed.

But suddenly now, his idea of trying feels authentic, and I see a small glimmer of possibility.

“Maybe,” I say.

He takes my hand, then stops walking, facing me. “Don’t say maybe. Say yes, Meredith. Not for Daniel or your parents or even Harper. But for us.” He is pleading, begging, yet still looks so strong.

I look into his eyes as it occurs to me that we are standing exactly as we did on our wedding day, before our family and friends, promising forever. Yet remarkably, I feel closer to him now, in this crossroad of crisis.

I hesitate, holding my breath, before I finally nod and say yes. It is a soft and shaky yes, filled with apprehension, but it is still a yes, and it is more sincere than my yes in the dugout all those years ago. Then, for the first time in forever, I take his hand, rather than the other way around, and we continue on our way, following our little girl along the lit garden path.