The Barbecue

“We’re here! We’re here!” Came an excited cry from the backseat. “Mom, d’ya think Abby'll be here?”

“I don’t know, kiddo,” I replied, unfastening my seat belt and opening the car door. “It’s been awhile since we’ve all been together and I don’t know if Jen and Andrew made it.”

We headed up the front walk and through the door of the colonial style house that had been in Jill’s family forever. After growing up with Jill and her brother Andrew, I ceased being a friend and became family which gave me the privilege of never having to knock.

I could hear the standard barbecue noise associated with spring coming from the backyard. I smiled in triumph because Jill and I have tried in vain to arrange a gathering for our old neighborhood gang. But due to distance, jobs and my divorce we all hadn’t been able to get together for five years.

“Meghan! You’re HEEEEEEEEERE!” Andrew’s little girl Abby squealed.

“Looks like she’s here,” I grinned down at a beaming Meghan before the two girls took off.

“Lydia! You’re here!”

“Geez, Jill. You sound like the girls,” I teased as I hugged my best friend. “How’re you doing?”

“Just fine; everybody made it,” she began excitedly, leading me over to a picnic table. “Marc and Nan made it down from Albany; Patty and James made it out from Chicago; Karly and Sam, Jen and Andrew of course, and…”

“Hey, Lyds,” a familiar voice drawled behind me. I stiffened before I turned to face my ex-husband.

“Hello, Brad. I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“I was invited by…”

“By me,” interrupted Jill.

“Jill, how could you?” I cried, feeling ambushed. “You know what’s happened between us!”

“I do; and I also know that it’s been five very tense years for us all.” Jill placed a hand on each of my shoulders and looked at me very matter-of-factly, “You two are me and Andrew’s best friends and have been since we were seven. We’re tired of the tension between the two of you. It affects the rest of the group and, most importantly, it affects Meghan.

“Now, I’m not asking you guys to kiss and make up, but I am asking you to at least talk and learn to be friendly so that Meghan can grow up happy and we can all hang out as a group again.”

I looked at my feet, feeling ashamed about my behavior over the past five years, “You’re right, Jill. I’m sorry.”

I sat down at a picnic table as she walked away and Brad took the seat opposite me. I felt extremely uncomfortable being this close to him after everything he’d done to me. I know it wasn’t his fault that the baby had been stillborn, but I still wasn’t over the anger I felt towards him for the way he acted after it happened.

“You look good,” Brad said, attempting small talk.

“Thank you.” I shifted nervously on the bench, looking at my folded hands on the table.

“Lydia, look…”

“Just don’t Brad, okay? I’m not really in the mood for your excuses. You haven’t even bothered to say hello to your daughter.”

“I know, I’m a lousy father,” he began bitterly, “but I wanted to talk to you first.”

“About what?” I looked up at him angrily, “About how you decided to abandon your family for other women?” Brad looked ashamed so I pushed on, “Let’s talk about it then! I failed to give you a healthy son so to punish me you started sleeping around; forcing me to kick you out and tell Meghan her daddy wasn’t coming home.

“You destroyed me the day you went outside our marriage, and for years I blamed myself; thinking that maybe if I were prettier, or maybe if I had loved you more, or maybe if I’d been able to have a live birth…”

“Enough!” Brad snapped, tears filling his chocolate brown eyes. “Quit playing the martyr here by blaming yourself because it wasn’t you.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was me,” he looked down into his lap and continued, “I just couldn’t handle it, ya know?”

“So sleeping around was your way of dealing with the death of our son? Turning away from your wife is how you handle your grief?”

“It wasn’t that, I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of losing you!” Brad exclaimed, looking me in the eyes. “I would’ve rather lost you because I was unfaithful instead of you dying.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That pregnancy nearly killed you and I was so afraid that you would get pregnant again. I just couldn’t handle all of it.”

I could only stare while his gaze dropped back down to his lap, tears falling silently. Despite all of the pain he caused me and all of the anger I felt, I suddenly realized how selfish I had been thinking that I was the only one who had suffered.

“Jesus Lyds, I know it sounds like it doesn’t make any sense when I say it out loud, but in my head it seems reasonable.” He looked up and waited for my reaction; while I could only stare at him quizzically he continued.

“Lydia,” he reached across the table and took my hands in his, “I’ve invested a lot of time and money into therapy to help figure out why I’m the asshole that I am.”

“What’s the diagnosis?”

Brad shot me that quick, rakish grin that I fell in love with all those years ago. “There isn’t one, really; just that acting out like an immature child was the way I dealt with…with…Luke’s still birth.”

I was shocked. For five years he’d never been able to mention our son Luke, and now here he was. I couldn’t believe how far he’d come, and I couldn’t believe how proud I was of him.

“Daddy?” Meghan gasped in shock.

“Hey, beautiful,” Brad beamed, opening his arms so that Meghan could leap into his embrace.

“Daddy, I didn’t know you’d be here. C’mon, come teach me how to play Horseshoes.” She untangled herself and grabbed Brad’s hand, trying to pull his tall, solid frame up from the picnic table.

“Hey, beautiful, give me a minute, okay? Mom and I are talking.”

“No, Brad, it’s alright,” I began, standing up and walking over to his side of the picnic table. “We can finish talking later.”

“Well, right now I’m staying with Kevin and Gary,” he stood up and took one of Meghan’s hands, “if you want to meet somewhere…”

“No, we can finish talking at home.”

“At home? Are you talking about the house?” I nodded. “Are you sure? I mean—“

“It’s okay, really,” I interrupted, “we’ll talk later at home.”

“If you’re sure.” He turned and the three of us headed towards the horseshoe pit. As we walked across the yard, Brad slid his hand into mine; I entwined my fingers with his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sure.”