Chapter 3: Seeking Clarity
As if guided by Divine intervention, an old friend reached out to me just days after I’d declared my need for time away to clear my head. Broderick and I had been the best of friends since ninth grade and had grown to become family over the years. Despite his living clear across the country since law school, I was nearly as close to him as I was my husband. Romance was the only distinction.
Broderick was planning a trip to Florida to help his mom move into her new home, so he invited me over to visit them. He knew I’d been feeling taxed by my thesis work and the publishing process, so he suspected a brief escape might be appreciated. (He had no idea how right he was!)
It’d been about a year since Broderick and I had seen each other, and several years since I last saw his mom, Angel. I missed them both dearly. Reconnecting with extended family wasn’t going to offer the same type of personal space I was initially envisioning, but I embraced the opportunity. We were long overdue for some quality time together and I figured any change to my daily routine would be a step in the right direction. Whether or not it would be how I’d envisioned, I knew it was the perfect chance to gain a different perspective on things. Plus, if anyone could help me make sense of the drama whirling around my mind, Broderick was the friend for the job.
The following week, I embarked on the several hour drive to Angel’s house, as well as a deeper journey inward. The long ride was a comforting departure from the otherwise constant rumination I’d gotten used to, as my mind was too focused on driving safely, making sense of the directions, and singing along with the radio to think too deeply. Arriving at Angel’s charming neighborhood was another departure for my senses. It was manicured, yet welcoming and somehow felt like home even though I’d never been there before. But I suppose, if one’s true home is where their family is, I had returned home.
There must’ve been at least ten minutes of hugs and various questions about how I’d been before we’d all made it fully inside Angel’s house. Memories of the three of us in Broderick’s childhood home came flooding back in record time. The last time we were there was nearly fifteen years earlier, which seemed mind-blowing. Life creeps past day by day and before any of us realizes, a decade has passed—then a decade more. We’d all grown noticeably older and possibly a little worse for wear over those years, but we still felt like family.
Angel was now in her late fifties and still in nursing. She’d moved to Florida when Broderick was in college with the intention of adopting a more relaxed lifestyle. That translated to working one full-time job instead of juggling multiple positions like when Broderick was a kid. I imagined that was a welcomed change of pace for her.
Broderick and Angel had a wonderful relationship. His dad didn’t return home from deployment when he was thirteen, which played a huge role in not only the formation of their friendship, but his appreciation for the sacrifices Angel made as a single mom. With age came Broderick’s dream of returning that generosity by buying her a home. He wanted her to be free from all lease and mortgage payments, and to have the luxury of giving to herself for a change. It was heartwarming to stand beside them as Broderick lived out his dream. And years earlier than expected, thanks to a few very smart investments.
Angel was so proud of her only child that she couldn’t help but boast about how Broderick pushed for a larger house so she’d have ample space for hobbies when she retires. She said she’d insisted on a more modest place, though, so it would be easier to maintain on her own. She spoke about Broderick and her new home with such love and gratitude that the weathering earned from a lifetime of caring for others had transmuted into a glow of appreciation right before my eyes. It was beautiful to witness.
The three of us sat at the kitchen table for a couple hours talking about where life had led each of us and the new chapters we were each starting. It was a lovely reminder of where I’d been and the obstacles I’d overcome, but it also felt painful. I didn’t want to discuss the current state of my marriage because I was still figuring it out, but it felt deceitful leaving out such details when asked about Nate and I. Broderick and Angel had always been among my favorite people, so lying by omission made me feel dirty.
As my discomfort grew, I found myself fidgeting in my seat and anxiously twirling my long hair around my fingers. I excused myself by saying it had been a long day with a tiring drive and that I needed to head to bed. Angel showed me to the guestroom she’d prepared for me and noted which boxes had the essentials that would help me feel at home during my stay: bath towels, blankets, snacks, etc. She made me feel as comfortable as ever- even given the circumstances.
I took a quick shower to try to wash away the storm cloud that was forming inside of me and returned to my guestroom for the night.
A few minutes later there was a knock on my door, and I heard Broderick clear his throat on the other side. I invited him to enter while I wrangled my sopping wet hair. He nonchalantly walked in and sat on the foot of the bed the same way he’d done a thousand times before. It felt as if no time had passed since we were teenagers.
I continued looking in the mirror, applying oils and potions to my mane to help control the inevitable frizz that would otherwise appear by morning. But I felt his energy grow stronger as I focused my attention on anything but him.
“It’s just you and me now, Candace. Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked as only he could. And he called me by my given name, instead of the annoying nickname he’d often used since we were teens, so I knew he meant business.
I really didn’t want to talk about my marriage yet because I was still trying to make sense of things, but I knew there was no getting around it. Broderick had known me for about twenty years at that point; we’d shared too much history for him to allow me to spin my wheels about anything and not attempt to help.
“I know you’re hiding something,” he continued, “You got squirrely as soon as mom—
“Fine, we’ll talk,” I said softly, “but I’m too sober right now,” I added to delay the inevitable. I still couldn’t look directly at him, so the only eye contact we made was through the mirror while I fussed excessively with my hair.
With that, Broderick got off the bed and left the room. He returned moments later with a beer in one hand for himself and what I assumed was a spiked lemonade for me in the other. He handed me my cocktail and said, “Drink up, Candie.”
There it was—the nickname he knew drove me crazy. I thought it made me sound like a stripper, so I hated when he’d call me that. But it changed the energy of the room, at least. It felt more like when we were teens sitting in one of our bedrooms complaining about teachers, homework, or something else that was trivial in the grand scheme of things.
I guzzled my entire cocktail in three large swigs before ever looking him in his eyes. That’s when I felt my shoulders relax and a warm wave wash over me. Before long, I found myself divulging how Blaine came out of nowhere and turned my world upside down by causing me to question everything I thought I knew about myself, love, fate, and so on. My recount of the few months prior ended in tears when I verbalized that I might have to consider leaving Nate after my “vacation” was over.
Those tears quickly escalated into a crying spell so filled with raw emotion that it was difficult for me to catch my breath. Broderick responded by holding me tight against his chest and rubbing my back. He knew that would help calm me because he’s had to do it before.
Once I was able to collect myself, we hashed everything out in full detail. We dissected my love life for about an hour or so before the mental chaos drained us both enough to fall asleep atop the comforter.
The next thing either of us knew, it was morning and the smell of breakfast had stirred us awake.
Still lying beside me, Broderick squeezed my arm reassuringly and affirmed, “We’ll figure this out,” before getting up to see what his mom had prepared in the kitchen.
Over the course of the following week, Broderick spent most afternoons helping Angel get settled into her new house by moving heavy boxes and rearranging the furniture until everything felt comfortable for her. Sometimes I helped, but there was only so much I could do. Angel needed time and space to design her new life with each reopened box. Instead, I spent a good portion of my afternoons in pensive thought as I sat on her lanai that overlooked a small lake or while walking around the soothing neighborhood.
Broderick and I used our evenings to catch up one-on-one. We mostly reminisced about our youth and compared the reality of adulthood with how we thought it would be but, no matter our topic of conversation, all roads seemed to lead back to relationships.
As I unleashed the pain of my potentially ending marriage, Broderick hinted at some relationship troubles of his own. I didn’t know if he’d withheld pertinent details to give me space to air out what was weighing so heavily on my heart or if he wasn’t up to facing what weighed on his. Shamefully, I didn’t think to ask until after the fact. I was too tangled up in my own confusion to thoughtfully maneuver our conversation as it was unfolding. But I knew if there was something Broderick was ready to get off his chest, he’d have told me.
We weren’t especially helpful to one another in a problem-solving type of way, but there was an unspoken comfort that came from merely being in each other’s presence. Spending time with someone who loved me unconditionally, without expectations or obligation, offered its own type of healing. It was something I didn’t even realize I’d needed.
During many of our heart-to-hearts over the years, Broderick referenced an old adage he’d learned from his mom: In order to know where you’re headed, you need to understand where you’ve been. I suppose that was a form of soul food for him because he proclaimed it many times that week. At first I thought he was simply trying to direct me on my path to clarity, but then I realized he may have been subconsciously guiding himself. I still can’t say for certain who needed to hear it more, but it eventually helped me make some decisions about Nate.
Even though I’d packed enough clothing to last me for at least two weeks away, thinking about where I’d been—and who’d I’d been there with—made me want to talk through things with Nate some more. I decided to head back home at week’s end when Broderick returned to Portland instead of forging forward on a solo expedition. Thankfully, Nate was open to my early homecoming and seemed eager to discuss the future of our relationship.