Original book: The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares
Christina
Marly. Alice. Ari. Me. The story of our daughter’s friendship begins with us and the bond we formed out of sheer necessity. We each signed up for an aerobics class at Gilda’s and became instant friends because we were all very pregnant (unlike the other stick-thin women in the class). They say you need a village when you raise a child and we were lucky to have found ours. What they don’t tell you is that you need to work to maintain that village and after two years of juggling kids, work and responsibilities, we stopped trying with each other.
I think about our falling out often, especially now. A lot has happened in 14 years that cannot be forgotten. My divorce, Alice’s move, Ari’s estrangement from her parents, Marly. I wish I could say that I tried to stop it, that I was there for Marly when she needed me and that I did everything I could, but that would be a lie. I didn’t know how serious it was and I didn’t know it would end this way.
“The girls are at Bridget’s house helping her sort through her Marly’s things,” I told Alice over the phone. I could hear Nicky and Katherine screaming in the background and questioned if Alice was even paying attention. Probably not, I thought.
“I was thinking we should get together with Ari and plan how we can help the Vreelands,” I continued anyway.
“We can just send some meals over. The girls will probably stay at Bridget’s for the next few days,” Alice without much thought.
“I feel like there is more we can do. Sending over food seems impersonal. We can do better than that,” I said. But the reality is that it’s too late to do better. Better was necessary when Marly was alive and silently suffering. Better doesn’t do much good now.
“I don’t know what you want to do. I’ll make some lasagna and send it over with Tibby. I’ve got to go, let me know if you think of something,” Alice rushed off the phone.
I put the phone down, poured myself a cup of coffee and began to think. Not about how I could help now, but what I could’ve done then. I overheard Bridget telling Carmen a few months ago that her mother was spending all day in bed and wouldn’t speak to anyone. I had called Marly once after that to check-in, but she didn’t answer. It was easier to believe she was tired than facing the truth. Marly was sick and no one talked about it. She didn’t tell us, she didn’t tell her family and she didn’t tell her doctors.
Carmen walked in the door, interrupting my thoughts, looking like she was on a mission.
“Hi Carmenita, how are you,” I asked.
“How do you think I am, Mom,” she snarled. I knew talking to a teenage girl on any day required a lot of navigating around landmines. But I always thought that a simple “how are you?” wouldn’t start things off on the wrong foot. I was wrong.
“I’ll ignore that. What’s going on at the Vreeland’s house?” I inquired.
“Lots of visitors that send their condolences and casseroles. Bridget, Lena, Tibby and I are just hiding out in her room and watching movies,” Carmen finally started to sound like she was dropping the attitude.
“I’m sure she really appreciates you being there for her,” I offered.
Carmen went upstairs to pack an overnight bag. Marly’s funeral is tomorrow. I don’t think I will go. I remember Marly as a beautiful debutante from Alabama. A real-life Southern Belle if I’ve ever seen one and I thought there was no way she’d fit in here in Maryland. I’d like to keep that memory instead of the one I’ll have if I go to the funeral. After all, I didn’t really know her anymore. The funeral should be filled with her loved ones, not friends that turned into acquaintances.
But we weren’t always just acquaintances. We were friends. Not good enough friends to let one another know when we were suffering though. Marly began pulling away when Bridget was very young, I wonder now if that was the beginning. Was that a sign? Should I have forced her to come around? Did she try to ask for help and we ignored it?
I picked up the phone. This time to call Ari. She answered on the first ring.
“Hi Chris, what’s going on,” she sounded more cheerful than I thought she would.
“Why do you think our friendship faded,” I jumped right into it.
“Oh Christina, life is busy and so much was happening all at once…” she trailed off.
“It was Marly, wasn’t it? She needed us and we didn’t know how to help. We didn’t really see what was happening,” I explained.
“We can’t blame ourselves. Or think about what might’ve happened. She was sick,” Ari said sadly. “She did her best, but she couldn’t get out of her own head.”
“We need to do something to honor Marly. In our own way,” I decided. “Skip the funeral tomorrow. Meet me at Gilda’s tomorrow for their 1pm class. I’ll let Alice know.”
We hung up the phone and I got to work. Just as the girls were together for Bridget to honor Marly, we, the Moms, should be together, too. I made a list of things we would need for our own celebration of Marly’s life. It became a list of Marly’s favorite things. Frozen pizza, Pretty Woman and white wine. It was interesting to think about now. Marly was such a simple person with simple likes, but underneath she was so much more complex. It just never showed.
The day of the funeral arrived, and Ari and Alice showed up right on time. Gilda’s was an abandoned studio now, but we were still able to get inside. Our daughters have a tradition of meeting here at the beginning and end of summer to exchange stories, expectations and fears. It was time we started doing the same thing.
We sat down on an old blanket Alice brought and I put the pizza in the middle. Ari opened the wine immediately and began passing it around. We didn’t say anything at first. I think we were all taking in the room and remembering all that happened here.
Alice started, “Thank God for this bottle of wine. Thank God for Marly. We had her for longer than we should have. I hope she’s free now.”
“We took this friendship for granted. Our laziness got in the way of being there for her and for each other,” I said. “I don’t want to continue like this. I want to find our way back to each other.”
“The kids are older now. We’ve got things handled. There’s no reason we can’t get together. I don’t know about you girls, but I haven’t found friends like you since we stopped hanging out 14 years ago,” Ari said.
“I couldn’t agree more. I keep thinking it was Marly’s depression that separated us but now it’s Marly that’s bringing us back together,” I confessed. It was the first time I said it out loud. That Marly was depressed. She was the first person I’ve ever known to suffer from depression. Or at least the first one that didn’t survive it.
As we continued sharing stories and honoring Marly, we came to an agreement. When we got together, at least once a month, we would volunteer at the suicide helpline to help others battling depression and suicidal thoughts. We didn’t help Marly and we could have. I will not allow myself to sit on the sidelines and let others struggle when I can do my best to help.
We left Gilda’s a little drunk on wine and filled with renewed love for each other. I felt like Marly was proud of us. She wasn’t with us physically anymore, but I knew she was there today and that gave me a reason to smile.
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