Two Halves or a Whole?

Sushi was never going to be a food choice for his parents, so Pete laughed with his folks and carried his bag to the kitchen table. His mom produced napkins and silverware, even though Masu had included both. She sat on one side of Pete. His dad brought over three bottles of Molson, handing one to his wife and one to his son, then sat on his other side.

Pete didn't have to say a word while he ate and drank. His mother updated him on all the doings of his brother and wife and their daughters, the recent medical histories of his older relatives, the real estate transactions in their neighborhood, the local small-business openings and closings, and a few tidbits of news about his few childhood friends who were safe to discuss. Which is to say no one who was part of the Independence Day party two summers back. His dad added tidbits of information and made wry comments when he felt it was warranted.

When Pete finished his meal -- his parents had a single spring roll each at his insistence -- he rolled up everything in the bag and put it in the trash can beneath the kitchen sink. He took the last swallow of his beer, then rinsed the bottle out and put it on the counter next to the refrigerator.

"I'm beat. Am I still in my old room, or have you adopted someone you like better?"

"Oh, hush, you. It will always be your room. We just wish you used it more. Sheets are clean, and there's new towels in the bathroom."

He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek and headed back to his room. Emptying his pockets, he saw the text from Jenny Ortega.

► Saw u @ Masu. How long u here?

Crap. Just his luck.

But Jenny had been a good friend for many years, and she alone made the effort to stay in touch. He typed back quickly.

► The wknd. Dads bday.

He unloaded his toiletries and took them into the bathroom. When he came back he saw Jenny's response.

► Happy bday 2 ur dad!

► Got time 4 n old friend?

He sighed. He wouldn't mind seeing Jenny, he supposed, but that might be a slippery slope. He was pretty sure Jenny wouldn't ambush him, but he was still wary.

► Maybe. Idk plan yet.

► K. Let me know. Im open all wknd

► K

He'd deal with that in the morning.

* * * * *

Jenny slept with Gwyn in Gwyn's queen-size bed. They talked a little bit about what the next day would bring, but they both realized that whatever happened would need to evolve organically. They were treading in deep and unknown waters, so extreme caution was warranted.

Gwyn thought she'd be keyed up, but in fact seeing Pete again had the opposite effect. It was hard to explain, but it was as if all the introspection, the self-flagellation, the painful recountings since she gutted her marriage had anchored her. She knew what she'd done, she knew who she was -- then and now -- and she was ready to accept her fate. She slept soundly.

The women arose earlier than they expected, and Gwyn made a Nespresso for Jenny first and then for herself. They sat at Gwyn's table splitting a toasted English muffin with jam.

"When can we text Pete again?" Gwyn asked.

Jenny shrugged. "Let's give him until ten or so. We don't want him to think that it's the first thing I thought of when I woke up."

"Yeah. But what are we going to do for the next two-and-a-half hours?" Gwyn said with a big smile.

"Have you thought about what you're going to say to him if you get the chance?"

"I haven't thought of anything else for more than two years, hon."

"And?"

Gwyn smiled. "You've heard it all in one form or another. First, I'll be forever sorry I hurt him so badly. It will always be my biggest regret, and if there was any way to undo that weekend I would. Since I can't, I can only say that I've examined myself inside and out to understand how I could be so thoughtless, so blithely cruel. I don't like what I've seen, but I am resolved to be a much better person than I was for him then. And if there is ever anything I can do to help him in any way at all, I am willing to do it, no matter how painful, no matter the personal cost. I'm not asking him for anything, but I hope one day that he will forgive me and let me be some part of his life again."

Jenny's eyes pooled with tears. She reached across to hold Gwyn's free hand.

"I know what you've gone through to get to this place, cuz. I'm so proud of you. You did a terrible thing. I've seen how much that hurt you, and I see you now. You're not the same woman you were, and that's only because you've willed yourself to be different. No matter what happens with Pete, you're still a beautiful person."

"I don't feel beautiful, Jenny. Beautiful people don't do what I did to Pete, what I did to my marriage." Gwyn held up her hand to silence Jenny's objections. "But I do feel like a different person, and I thank you for your part in helping me get here. Now, how much longer until we can text him?"

"Two hours and twenty minutes."

Gwyn shook her head and laughed. "Let's go for a walk."

* * * * *

Pete was up early too, thanks to the time difference and a lifetime of habit. His mother still beat him to the kitchen though.

"Good morning, sweetheart! How did you sleep?"

"Good. Really good actually." This house really did feel like home. He realized he missed being around it. It was a touchstone, and he had denied its touch for the most of two years.

His mother's face broke into a pleased smile. "Sit, sit. I'll have your breakfast ready in a couple minutes. Coffee's hot. You know where the mugs are."

She made him ham, scrambled eggs with cheese, fried potatoes with onion and peppers, and toast, and again he didn't have to say a word while he ate. His mom told him all about their summer neighborhood potlucks, including who came and what they brought, as well as the awful accidents that had befallen some of the people they knew. He smiled as he ate.

He started to clean up his dishes, but his mother wouldn't have it, sending him into the family room with his laptop to read the weekend Journal. He handled the couple e-mails that had come in since he left work yesterday afternoon. And then the day loomed ahead of him with only two options for distraction: this house with his folks, or his brother's house with Luke's wife and kids. Without friends to moderate family time, the weekend suddenly seemed interminable.

So he wasn't unhappy to see the text notification pop up on his phone.

► U up?

He smiled. Jenny usually had that effect.

► Yup

► Got plans 2day?

► Kinda. Not firm

► Going 2 lunch @ Bunny's. U in?

► Maybe. Just u?

► Just me. Unless u want more?

► No. Just u

► K. 1?

► K. c u there

God, he hoped his trust in Jenny wasn't misplaced.

* * * * *

Jenny was going to meet Pete!

Gwyn's nerves sizzled. It was just a first step -- okay, maybe a second step after the texts -- but she was going to learn more about Pete. And that thought thrilled her.

Gwyn was sitting in Dusty's, a bar a few blocks away from Jenny and Pete. There were only a few other patrons, mostly older, mostly men, mostly serious drinkers. She'd ordered club soda with lime, and she'd let the bartender's stare guilt her into adding an order of fries. She hoped she'd be here for a while. The more Jenny and Pete talked, the more she'd know about her husband. Her ex-husband.

And the more she knew about Pete, the more certain she and Jenny would be about the next steps that might, if they were lucky, lead to her speaking with him again.

And after that? Well, that would be enough, at least for now, even if she could dream of more.

* * * * *

Pete had left earlier than he needed, because his parents had gone out on their weekend errands. Bunny's wasn't crowded, so he took a quick walk around, but he didn't see Jenny. She came in a minute later, looking just like he remembered, with a smile and an honest hug.

He'd missed her. They grew up together, so their history was deep. The thousands of conversations and activities they shared since kindergarten had created first familiarity, then dependability, and finally trust. He'd also felt that same trust with Jeff. But Jenny wasn't a backstabbing asshole like Jeff, and hugging her calmed him, reminded him that individuals rise and fall on their own merits, and that one person's failings don't sully anybody else.

Jenny leaned back to look at him, her arms still holding his shoulders.

"You look good, Pete. A little skinny, but otherwise good."

"And you look great, Jenny. You're clearly winning life."

The hostess took them to a hightop table with stools and left them with menus, one for food the other for drinks. A waitress came by shortly after and took their orders.

Jenny hesitated, giving Pete the chance to direct the conversation, but his brow furrowed in confusion. He didn't know how to start, and he felt uncomfortable. Jenny smiled at him, hoping to help him relax, but she realized just how right Gwyn had been the night before: this wasn't the same old Pete. That man had never felt uncomfortable around anyone. So she stepped first.

"This doesn't have to be awkward, Pete. I just miss you. And I want to know what you've been up to."

Pete nodded. "Thanks, Jenny. I didn't realize how much I missed you too until I saw you."

"Where are you living now?"

"New York. Outside White Plains."

"Still doing the consulting thing?"

"Yes. Corporate development. Mergers. Acquisitions. Boring stuff."

Jenny laughed. "Doesn't sound boring. I mean, I don't understand it, but I'm sure it's pretty interesting."

"You still nursing?"

"Yup. Just started on my gerontological certification."

"Gerontological?"

"Aging. A lot of Baby Boomers are getting old and need nursing care."

Their waitress dropped off Jenny's cider and Pete's IPA and told them their food would be out in a bit. The old friends talked more about their jobs, their immediate families, recent travel, and other innocuous topics until their meals arrived. They were content to eat without much conversation, but then, as always happens when you step lightly, they ran out of safe topics and sat quietly.

As long as Jenny had known him Pete was the one to give voice to the unsaid, to plow through awkwardness. He never craved confrontation or conflict, but it didn't scare him either. Seeing the uncertainty in his eyes, the discomfort in his hands and his arms and his shoulders, Jenny knew what she had to do. She still felt a bit of trepidation.

"We don't have to talk about anyone you don't want to talk about, Pete. But I see all of the old gang. They all think of you as their friend. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Pete stiffened even more. He started to say something, then stopped. He covered his mouth with a hand and rubbed it across his cheeks then his chin. He scratched the base of his skull.

"I don't think I can go there, Jenny."

She reached for his other hand, covering it with hers. She took it as a good sign that he didn't pull away.

"I don't mean Gwyn." She said the name purposely, and he flinched. She thought he might, and it told her what she suspected. "There's a whole bunch of people who would love to see you."

"Yeah. I just don't know if I can open that door."

"Mutt and I are still together, you know."

Pete looked up. He smiled at Jenny. "I'm glad to hear that. Although it kind of scrambles our wedding plans."

Jenny laughed, with some relief but mainly good humor. And it helped Pete relax. They'd had a running joke since junior high that they'd get married if neither could find someone else, even though they'd never once considered dating. She squeezed his hand, but didn't let go of it. She knew physical touch helped connection.

"What's Mutt doing these days?"

"Boring shit." Pete raised his eyebrows, and Jenny chuckled again. "Those are his words for it. He runs the back office for Gray Duck Advisory Services. He likes it, and they seem to like him. God knows why."

Pete laughed again. "No accounting for taste. He's lucky you have a soft spot for strays."

She chuckled. "Mutt. I see what you did there."

Jenny told him all about their friends who were married. Angie and Tom had a baby girl turning one in November, and they were thinking of moving out to a smaller exurb that would be more family-friendly. Tony and Deb were trying for a baby, but might have to put that on hold because Deb had a chance to manage the bath and bedding department at Von Maur, and she didn't want impending maternity leave to affect their decision. Pete found himself soaking up the news, asking questions and making the same kind of comments his dad made when his mother was filling him in last night. He smiled at that.

Their conversation hit a natural lull. Jenny knew it was time. She took a breath and forged ahead.

"You know she misses you like crazy."

Pete stiffened again, but less noticeably this time. "Yeah, well, can't be helped, I suppose."

Jenny sighed, deeply. "I can see you're still really hurt, Pete. I can only imagine what you've had to deal with. You were the innocent party, and you got slammed. It's not fair."

"No, it isn't. But it happened, and I need to deal with it."

"How are you doing with that?"

He shrugged. "Not very well, to be honest."

"I can see that. It's written all over you. In bold type."

"Gee, thanks for that, Jenny," he said with a smile. "Are you going to kick me when I'm down too?"

"You're not the one I'd kick, Pete. But I don't need to kick Gwyn either. She kicks herself all day, every day since it happened."

"Maybe she deserves that."

"Oh, she deserves that. And she knows it. She's different now, Pete. I mean, she's still Gwyn. Outgoing, full of energy, beautiful, funny, smart. But she's better in a lot of ways too. Really focused, super aware of other people and what they need, responsible. She never tries to get away with anything. Not even the smallest things. No excuses, no shortcuts. Ever."

"You'll forgive me if I'm not on the Team Gwyn bandwagon," Pete said with no small amount of bitterness.

"Of course." Jenny squeezed his hand again. "What she did was awful. You never deserved it. But I'm telling you, Pete, she has gone through hell too. She did it to herself, but what eats at her every single day is that she did it to you. She's always loved you, Pete, and she will never forgive herself for what she did to you. She's not the girl you married. She's so much more mature and centered. But she's also incredibly sad, not for her loss but for your pain. She wants to make it right with you."

Pete scoffed. "That would take a time machine."

"Or maybe just an honest conversation." She closed her free hand over those already joined. "I love Gwyn. She's my cousin. But I love you too, Pete. We've known each other since we were five. I haven't seen you in over two years, but I've been with you for forty-five minutes today, and I can see you are suffering so much. You're not over her, she's not over you. Maybe just talk to each other, hear each other out. I'm sure you've got things to say to her. I know she has things to say to you."

"You sound just like Mack."

"Mack?"

"A guy I know. Back in New York."

"Smart guy." Jenny smiled.

"He seems to think so." Pete paused. "He's usually right."

"Do you want to talk to Gwyn?"

"No." Pete sighed. He released Jenny's hands, and ran his palms over his eyes. "I don't want to talk to Gwyn. I don't want any of this nightmare to ever have happened. I don't want to feel so fucking lonely every fucking minute of every fucking day. I don't want any of it."

Jenny cringed inside, but she rested a hand on Pete's elbow. He needed connection. It was all up to him now. She held her breath.

He was quiet for a long time, his head buried in his hands. He could hear only a steady buzzing in his mind. He didn't know he was vibrating from his tension. Jenny was nearly in tears for his agony. Finally he let out a deep breath and sat up.

"If Gwyn has things to say, why hasn't she called me to say them?"

"Really, Pete? She wants to save you more pain, not add to it. She wonders if hearing from her out of the blue would hurt you even more. But if you want her to call, she'll blow up your phone in two minutes. You should know that she'll do anything to help you heal. No matter what the cost to her."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious, Pete. She's not the same woman. She's been through a crucible, and she knows what's important to her. And that's your wellbeing. Full stop. She'll sacrifice anything for you. She doesn't care if it hurts her, she wants you to be you again. More than anything."

"I just don't believe it, Jenny. I can't trust her. I just can't. Her guilty conscience isn't worth crushing my heart again."

"Don't trust her then. Don't do it for her, Pete. Do it for you. Tell her what you need to say. You never have to see each other again if you don't want to. But you're dying inside, and so is she. Neither of you deserves to be so miserable."

Pete tried to get the waitress's attention, but she was walking the wrong way.

"I'm sorry, Jenny. I gotta go. Thanks for making time for me. I, ah, I'll let you know when I'm back in town and maybe we can see each other again. I'll take care of the check."

Jenny's eyes teared up as he stood up to leave. She jumped off her stool and hugged Pete tightly. His body went rigid, but she refused to let go, and he finally relaxed just a bit.

"Don't give up on yourself, Pete. You have so many people who really care. Let us help you."

"Thanks, Jenny." His voice wavered. He closed his eyes to focus on his composure. "Take care."

* * * * *

Jenny felt wrung out. Her second vodka tonic sweated on the bar in front of her. Gwyn sat next to her, pensive but resolute.

"I am a monster, Jen. How could I destroy such a good, kind, and generous man?"

"You haven't destroyed him, sweetie. His career is going very well. He's been promoted once already, and he'll be partner in just a few more years. He owns a condo, he stays busy with friends. He's just not whole."

"He ran a thousand miles away from everyone and everything he knew because of me. I sucked the life right out of him. I hollowed him out."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Gwyn looked sharply at Jenny. "What do you mean?"

"You did a shitty thing, Gwyn. A real shitty thing. And you've been punishing yourself ever since. And that punishment has given you clarity about how you feel and what's important to you. So now what are you going to do about it?"

Gwyn thought for a few moments. "I have no idea. I have to talk to him. Any ideas how?"

"Call him."

"Maybe I should text him first."

"No. Call him. Don't give him a chance to deflect you. Ask him to meet you someplace public for just a few minutes."

"What if he doesn't answer?"

"Call him again."

"What if he won't meet with me?"

"Call him again. But he will take your call, and he will meet with you."

"You just told me the man is a shell of himself and doesn't want to see me."

"That's what he said. He doesn't want to see you. But he needs to see you, and he knows it. He just can't make the first move. He's paralyzed, hon. He's hurt, and he's terrified that the slightest movement will bring an avalanche of more pain. When you reach out to him, when he starts talking with you, I think he'll see that it's not nearly as bad as he thought."

"I hope you're right, Jen. I hate the thought of him suffering. And I'm sick that I'm the one who did this to him."

"So do what you can to make it right."

Gwyn took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. Finish your drink, and then let's go home and call the man I love."

* * * * *

Pete's parents had returned from their errands. His father was in the garage or the basement or the backyard shed, and his mother was fluttering around the house, putting things away and moving things around. Pete had seen her do this for hours before, and yet nothing in the house ever seemed to change.