Beetles and Bridesmaids

Somewhere between forgiveness and forgetting

I was lying, quietly, hidden under a blanket as my toddler’s breathing slowed and steadied.

I knew better, but still—I scrolled.

Swiped through photo carousels of faces that still make my stomach twist with jealousy and irritation and other feelings I can’t name.

I don’t hold a grudge, but I sure as heck don’t know if I’ve forgiven.

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Now, I sit outside on our porch.

A beetle skitters across the pavement, screeching to a halt when the cat sniffs it. A cricket’s chirp echoes with the nostalgic call of summer.

The silhouettes of the trees lay inky and sharp against last few fading rays of sunset.

It’s a twilit summer’s night.

The kind that reminds me of outdoor drive-in theaters, Grease, and Arizona evenings. The kind that reminds me of summers as a teenager and once-familiar faces that only exist now in highlight reels and the occasional tag of a mutual friend.

The details of how it all happened are blurry. My husband remembers them well; his heartrate skyrockets with righteous indignation every time I bring it up. And it didn’t even involve him.

Sometimes I wonder how it all happened. How it would be different if it hadn’t.

I wonder if I would be one of them, peas in a pod, irreplaceable and tightly knit.

If they would dote over my toddler, me being the only one with a family so far.

Would they have been my bridesmaids? Would I know their birthdays by heart? Join in on the last-minute trips to Seattle?

I’ll never know.

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It makes part of me sad. I remember their usernames and check in once in a while, take in what the highlights of their lives have to teach me. It seems one has become a Christian—that’s cool.

Would she be any different if I talked to her now?

I suppose it’s no use wondering these things. Dwelling on the what ifs and what would it have been likes.

But I can’t help it. There’s a part of my soul forever trapped drifting somewhere between nostalgia and imagination.

I think too much, feel too deeply.

And if I’m being honest?

I guess I wouldn’t have it any other way.