Page 38 of This Is Who I Am

CASS

“I went by her dad’s house earlier,” I say to Suzy as we sit on her back patio, the sky dimming into evening, “but she’s already gone.”

“Like a thief in the night,” Suzy replies. “Like she was ashamed of something.”

“Have you seen her? Heard from her?” Another Friday evening service has gone by without Estelle at her favorite table.

“Nope.” Suzy sounds a little offended, as she has every right to be. “We weren’t super close, but a goodbye would have been nice.” She refills my wine glass.

“You know how I thought after we first started dating that she was too good to be true.” My stomach still folds in on itself when I talk about her, despite my nagging anger at Estelle for just upping and leaving like that. “Turns out that she was.”

“I can see why she swept you off your feet, though.” Suzy grins at me.

“Fuck, yeah. She really did, but…” That very first climax Estelle gave me, against all expectations, is still a huge deal to me.

“For someone who claimed that communication was the key to a successful relationship, she sure sucked at it when it came to her being ace.” I reach for my wine glass. “It was all such a mind fuck.”

The back door of Suzy’s house opens and shuts. Hunter walks into the living room.

“Hello, meno-bitches,” he says, a big smirk on his face. “How are the estrogen levels today?” He’s come to see me every single day since Estelle and I broke up, even if only for five minutes during service prep, just to check on me.

Hunter hugs us, then settles in a chair with a glass of wine. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Guess who texted?”

“Estelle?” Despite my ambivalence, I’d like to know she’s doing okay.

“The one and only.” He dangles his phone in front of me like it’s a carrot and I’m a rabbit.

“What did she say?” I ask.

“Just that she’s back at her house in Berkeley and misses us.”

“Us?”

“The message was sent in the group chat Bobby and I have with her, so I assume she’s referring to me and my lovely husband, but I’m just a simple gay man, and with you women folk, you just never know.”

“She probably needs a breather from all the turmoil she’s been through.” Suzy sounds suddenly mild. “Her dad died. She quit her job. She met and lost you.” Suzy looks at me. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” I concur.

“How are you holding up?” Hunter scoots over and pats my knee.

“When the restaurant’s open, I do okay, but on closing days… It’s tough.”

“No more one-night stands with visiting makeup artists?” He gives my knee one final pat.

“Oh, god…” I lean my head backward.

“What was it like?” Suzy asks. “I’m just curious. You know how I feel about one-night stands.”

“It was…” I wish I didn’t remember, but I do. I was drunk and ravenous for Bijou but all I could think of, the entire time, was how much I wanted her to be Estelle. “Messy and good in ways it could never be with Estelle but also sad because it wasn’t Bijou I wanted to be with.”

“Even after your night with Bijou, you still want Estelle?” Suzy asks.

“I’m in love with Estelle and even though it was more complicated than I liked, we could have made it work.

” Although, in hindsight, it’s easy enough to say.

Now that I don’t actually have to make it work, words are undemanding.

I can also see Estelle’s point of view. I can even understand her fear.

And her complete unwillingness to go through all of that with me, at this stage of my life, by her side.

“Anyway, it’s over now, so.” I drink to swallow a lump out of my throat.

“Bobby and I were talking about meeting up with her in San Fran,” Hunter says. “First, would that be okay with you? And, second, if so, do you want me to talk to her?”

“There’s no point. She has made up her mind.

She’s done with me.” No wonder Estelle has so many scars on her heart.

Sometimes, it was almost as though she wore them like a badge of honor for all the suffering she’d been through.

I wonder if she loved me long enough for our break-up to add another one.

“I think she was right all along. She’s not relationship material.

” I sigh deeply. “The best I can do is try to get over her as quickly as possible.”

“Rebound?” Hunter tries to sound excited, but we’re all too old for that now. To plan a wild weekend away and go out all night, drink too much, and do things we regret in the morning.

“I already had my rebound sex,” I say sheepishly.

A silence falls until Suzy breaks it the way only Suzy can. “Let’s talk about my birthday then. About the big event in three short weeks.”

“Remind me, do you want a male or a female stripper?” Hunter jokes.

“Everything’s arranged,” I say. “There’s nothing for you to worry your almost-fifty-year-old pretty little head about.”

“Thank you.” Suzy smiles. “Can we talk about my present, then?”

“I thought us organizing the party was the present?” Hunter pretends to be offended, although Bobby is making Suzy an engraved rocking chair for her porch, where she loves to sit and strike up a conversation with anyone who walks by.

“Yes, and I’m very grateful, but…” She looks me straight in the eye. “Now that you’re no longer so busy falling in love, I’d like for you to finally join my support group. It’s not like you’d have to go far.”

Being with Estelle has, at the very least, opened my eyes to how my menopause affects others, so I don’t immediately dismiss Suzy’s idea. The only reason I was horrible to her was because my hormones were in disarray. She was nothing but incredibly kind and empathetic throughout.

“Do it for your fifty-year-old friend, please?” Suzy bats her lashes. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it could really help. Especially now.”

“Okay,” I agree, because I have to fill up the emptiness Estelle has left.

The hours of free time I perfectly knew what to do with before I met her, but have now become a wasteland of loneliness and longing.

Because we might both have acted unreasonably, it didn’t make the love I have for her magically disappear.

* * *

I sit with my arms crossed, sipping the peppermint tea Suzy passed around earlier.

Savor has been transformed for the occasion. The tables have been pushed aside, a few candles flicker along the bar, and the chairs are arranged in a circle.

“All right, ladies,” Suzy says. “Welcome to Hot Flash Hour . Which, you must admit, sounds better than Dry Vagina Diaries .” She grins at us.

A round of chuckles bubbles up, even from me. If I had known it would be Suzy Ireland’s comedy hour, I might have shown my face sooner.

“Let’s do a quick check-in,” Suzy continues. “Mood, symptom, craving.”

“Mood: irritable,” says Linda. “Symptom: joint pain. Craving: murder.”

“For anyone in particular?” Suzy deadpans.

“My husband,” Linda says without missing a beat. “If he tells me to ‘just take a nap’ one more time, I might ‘just take a knife.’”

“I’ll arrange to bake one especially for you into my next batch of brownies,” Suzy replies. “Next!”

“Honestly?” says another woman. “Mood: hopeless. Symptom: night sweats. Craving: a different life.”

The questions go around the circle. When it gets to me, all heads swivel.

I sigh. “Mood: raw. Symptom: missing Estelle. Craving…” I shrug. “Not peppermint tea.”

A few murmurs of sympathy ripple through the group. I don’t usually open up in front of strangers, but here we are.

“At least you’re honest,” Suzy says, giving me a warm smile. “That’s is what we’re here for. Honesty. Solidarity. Shared hormone-fueled rage.”

“I miss wine,” someone says.

“We all miss wine,” Suzy answers. “But wine makes the night sweats worse.” As far as I know—and I do—Suzy doesn’t follow her own ‘no wine’ rule whatsoever.

“I don’t care,” Linda says. “Let me sweat with a cabernet in hand.”

There’s a burst of laughter, which feels surprisingly good in my chest.

Suzy leans forward, ignoring our calls for booze. “Tonight’s topic is: What’s changed about you that you didn’t expect?”

There’s a brief pause, then Linda speaks again. “My tolerance for bullshit. It’s gone. Utterly vanished.”

“I used to be the peacekeeper,” another woman chimes in. “Now I just say, ‘Nope, not today,’ and walk away.”

“I cry during commercials now,” I add. I’ve cried while watching TV three times this week.

“That’s hormones and heartbreak,” Suzy says gently. “Give yourself a break.”

“I don’t recognize myself sometimes,” someone whispers.

“You’re not alone,” Suzy says. “Our bodies are changing. Our minds are changing. And sometimes we mourn the version of ourselves that felt more… in control. But she’s still in there. Just with better boundaries and a worse memory.”

“Worse everything,” someone mutters.

Suzy laughs. “Perhaps, but there’s also the better perspective. More compassion. Deeper friendships. And—this one’s important—finally being done giving a shit about what anyone thinks of us.”

“Except ourselves,” I say. The words escape me before I can think them through.

Suzy tilts her head at me. “Maybe that’s our next topic, then. Forgiving ourselves for not being who we used to be—and learning to love who we are now.”

A silence settles in the room.

“Okay,” Suzy says after a beat. “Now someone please say something inappropriate so we can continue on a bright note.”

“I shaved my mustache for this,” a woman I haven’t met before remarks drily.

And just like that, we’re laughing again. Maybe Suzy was right and this group will actually help me—especially now that Estelle has gone.