Nothing.
Then I remembered.
I was alone.
And for the first time in decades, I could choose what happened next.
I walked to a café three blocks away.
I ate eggs outside beneath a striped umbrella.
For illustration purposes only
After breakfast, I wandered through an art market and bought a ridiculous turquoise scarf.
At eleven, Linda called.
“Are you busy?”
“I’m buying things I don’t need.”
“Excellent. You’re recovering beautifully.”
We had lunch.
Afterward, she drove me to a neighborhood in north Scottsdale I had passed hundreds of times but never entered.
A low stone sign read:
SAGUARO RIDGE — ACTIVE ADULT COMMUNITY.
I frowned.
“What are we doing here?”
“Looking.”
“At what?”
“Options.”
“I don’t need to be put somewhere.”
Linda stopped the car.
“No one is putting you anywhere.”
Her voice was gentle.
“That is the point.”
We toured a two-bedroom townhouse with white walls, a shaded patio, and a small den.
The agent talked about walking clubs, book groups, yoga, woodworking, day trips, a community garden.
I barely listened.
I was looking at the kitchen.
Not because it was impressive.
Because it was mine to imagine.
My coffee cup by that window.
Arthur’s photograph on that shelf.
Dinner for one if I wanted it.
Dinner for twelve if I invited people.
No one needing permission from anyone else.
“What do you think?” the agent asked.
“I think I’m not ready.”
“Of course.”
She handed me a brochure.
“Keep it anyway.”
I tucked it into my handbag.
Two days later, Daniel called again.
This time, I answered.
“Mom.”
His relief was immediate.
“Where have you been? We were worried.”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you get my email?”
“I did.”
A pause.
“Are you angry?”
“I’m thinking.”
“About Thanksgiving?”
“About the last four years.”
Silence came through the phone.
In the distance, I heard children laughing and waves breaking.
“Mom, Hawaii was Rebecca’s idea. We found a last-minute package and—”
“You don’t need to blame your wife.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Another pause.
Then Daniel lowered his voice.
“We honestly thought the flight would be hard on you.”
“Did you ask me?”
“No.”
“Did you think about asking me?”
He didn’t answer.
I looked around the apartment.
My boxes were still stacked against the wall.
“Daniel, the problem isn’t Hawaii.”
“Then what is?”
“You stopped seeing me as a person who makes choices.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It may not feel fair.”
“You live with us because we care about you.”
“I moved in because you asked me to.”
“We all agreed it made sense.”
“It did make sense. Then.”
His voice became more strained.
“Why are you talking like you’re leaving?”
I took a breath.
“Because I already did.”
For several seconds, I heard nothing.
