Like genuinely asked, not the polite version. He wasn't even sure why he said it. Olivia wrapped both hands around her mug. She didn't say anything right away. She just sat with it.
The way very few people sit with something someone says. Then she said, "Try 7 years." He looked at her. "7 Years?" she said again. That's how long it's been since somebody asked me that and actually waited for the answer. Something shifted in the room.
Not dramatically, not in any way you could point to, just shifted. What happened 7 years ago? Marcus asked. She was quiet for a moment. I was with someone for 4 years, she said finally.
We were I thought we were building something. I thought we had a direction. I was doing everything right. I was supportive. I was patient.
I was she stopped started again differently. He left. He said I was too focused on everyone else that he didn't feel like a priority. She gave a short humorless sound and the worst part was I understood what he meant. I just couldn't figure out how to be both things at once.
The person my family needed and the person he needed. That's not a character flaw, Marcus said. She looked at him. Caring about your people isn't a character flaw. He said, "You were with the wrong man, maybe." She turned her mug slowly.
"Or maybe I'm just built for taking care of other people. Maybe that's what I'm good at. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's She stopped again." "Lon," Marcus said. She didn't answer right away.
Then, "Yeah, he told her about Renee. He didn't plan that either, but there they were, 40 minutes past the point where he should have gotten back in his truck." And something about the way Olivia listened, without interrupting, without immediately offering solutions, without the uncomfortable sympathy face people gave him when the word widow entered. Any conversation made him keep going. Renee was sick for 2 years before she passed. He said breast cancer stage three when they caught it.
Stage four by the time he stopped. He looked at the table. Maya was four, old enough to know something was wrong. Young enough that I didn't know how much she understood. Olivia was very still.
The hardest part wasn't the hospital, Marcus said. The hardest part was afterward when everybody came to the funeral and everybody said all the right things and then went home back to their lives and I was standing there in my apartment at 11:00 at night with a 4-year-old who wanted her mama and I just he exhaled slowly through his nose. I had to figure out how to be enough for her. I had to figure out how to be everything. Are you?
Olivia asked quietly. Enough. I mean, he almost deflected. He almost said, "I try my best or I do what I can." That's what he usually said. Those were the socially acceptable answers, the ones that sounded appropriately humble, without letting anyone too close.