“Me? You were closer to her than I was,” I say.
“But you two were staring at each other so intensely. Did you make her jump with your mind?”
“Margot, that’s ridiculous, even for you.”
Rini’s head pops up inches to the left of where she fell with a dazzling smile and a ta-da.
“That was on purpose? Part of the act?” Eden asks.
“It was intentional, but it’s not an act. I’m afraid of death, and trust me when I tell you it’s more complicated than the average person’s fear. I want you to do the same.”
Eden turns abruptly, clearly angry. “I’m going back to the house. This is not for me,” she says. I can’t say I blame her. What is Rini playing at?
Rini waves the rest of us closer and points to a small shelf in the bluff three feet down where she must have landed.
“It’s barely a jump,” Farah says.
“I’m not falling off a cliff,” Margot says. “She could have easily tumbled down way past that little ledge.”
Rini steps between us and we fall back into our semicircle.
“You are missing the point. That was defiance of my fear. You have to identify your own act.”
“I don’t like that idea.” Margot crosses her arms. “What if the universe interprets what you’re doing to mean that you actually want to die?”
Rini walks over to Margot and takes both her hands. It’s strangely intimate and I want to give them privacy, but I can’t look away. Finally I search for Farah, who is already one step ahead in giving them their moment by staring at me.
“Margot, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I do need you to let go of your white-knuckle grip on life. It’s paralyzing you,” Rini says.
“I want that too. How can I do it?”
“Stand at the edge of that cliff. As close as you dare and shout out into the void.”
“Scream?”
“If you don’t want to defy your fears, then tell the Universe what you do want.”
Assuming I’m next after Margot, I consider what it is I want. I want my husband to be back to his normal self. I want our perfect life to be as real as it feels to me when I post about it.
Margot does not appear to need to think at all. She carefully lines her toes up with the edge of the cliff.
Margot balls her fists up and thrusts them behind her as she leans over the edge with her torso.
“I want to be a mother,” she yells.
Then she steps back and drops her head down. I notice a tear travel down her cheek, but it could have been conjured by the screaming wind at the edge of the cliff.
“I want to be the mother I never had,” Margot whispers.
Rini steps closer to Margot, her arm straight, her hand reaching out. I think of the way Rini wouldn’t break eye contact with me earlier, and the sickening feeling in my stomach returns. I can feel it, but I can’t name it. Like she might push Margot.
“Margot,” I say.
Rini touches Margot’s shoulder and Margot flinches. She shakes Rini off and turns to the house.
“Margot?” I call out again.
She turns, but I don’t know exactly what to say to her. I only know I have an urgent need to connect, one I haven’t felt in years.
Let’s get drunk together, without your brother.
Stay and talk to me.
And then the most pathetic:
Forgive me.
That is the most honest thing I could say.
My relationship with Margot can be divided into before and after. Before, Margot and I were on our way to being best friends. She was suspicious of my gregariousness at first because Adam needs to be the star of the show, but when she saw I was happy to let him shine, she backed off. After Adam and I got engaged, Margot threw herself into planning with me. She was dating Ted already and beginning to open up to the tradition and fun of a wedding. She was also happy to flex her super-organization skills outside the office. We had many deep conversations, largely revolving around love and life. But it was my bachelorette party that solidified our bond. We holed up in the corner of a midtown karaoke bar, whispering and laughing all night.
After, she had seen the monster in me.
I was an immature, damaged girl before I became a mother. And I acted like it, never more so than when I found out Adam was cheating on me during our first year of marriage. Adam let it go a long time ago, but it was mutual. We forgave each other. He had a choice. Margot didn’t. And so Margot will never forget, like I’m her own personal tragedy.
I’ve changed, but I haven’t had an opportunity to prove to her that becoming a mother healed me. It wasn’t in the power of giving birth, nor did I hold Clara for the first time and have my psychic wounds close up like in a sci-fi movie. The tingle of healing first happened when Clara was a toddler, when we were beyond the excruciating boredom of babyhood. One day we were making strawberry jam. Clara dropped a chunk on the floor and I clucked at her, No, no, don’t eat that. DIRTY.
Clara lifted up her dimpled hand to show me what she’d picked up. I saw her curiosity, her desire to explore. Not laziness and sloth, the way my mother the nurse treated messiness. That’s when I did the impossible. I inspected the glob in her hand and told her it was fine. I didn’t mention the microscopic viral particles as my own mother would have. I refused to think about the bacteria. Instead I told her she could eat it. She giggled as if I’d let her have cake.
