I could do a lot better much of the time, but I try act thoughtfully so I don’t have to have a lot of regrets in life. Sometimes trying doesn’t count for much and I fuck up really badly.
I cannot remember when exactly I committed the crime I am about to relay. I can’t remember much of what happened last spring. It’s no excuse, but I had a list as long as Santa’s of tasks I had to strike off before I could land safely. Setting up separate bank accounts, running around getting the documentation the landlord needed for my rental application, changing my identity, putting my new house up for sale, packing, "therapy" while commuting back and forth to Hamilton ever day – all that I remember. Fine details, no. It was a lot of shit to get through in two months.
Somewhere around this time, maybe even shortly after I moved, I went to lunch with a favourite friend and burst into tears when she told me she was pregnant. These were not, "Oh my God, I’m so happy for you," tears. They were inappropriate, "I feel so fucking sorry for myself," tears. It was no secret that I had been trying pretty hard to have a baby before all this shit with Kevin went down. One of the hardest parts about the whole thing has been accepting that it might not happen for me now. So, I didn’t mean to cry, but it happened anyway.
She gets it, I know. And she knows I was, in fact, very happy for her. I was. It wasn’t about her or her news but that doesn’t change the fact that it happened when she was delivering some of her best news ever. You shouldn’t have to comfort someone else when you’re giving your best news. I can’t ever take that reaction back and I feel pretty horrible about it.
I don’t know there’s much I can do to fix it, except try to be the best "Auntie" to Quinn that I can be.