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It would be unthinkable to begrudge her time with her man, even though he's my man too -- but, of course, I do. I try to put myself in her position, try to imagine her terror, try to see myself as her sister, not her foe -- yet still I begrudge her that time. I want her to be gone. I have even stooped to wonder what might happen should Gina fail to beat the cancer. Would my relationship with Ted get better? Would I have more of what I want? I know the answer, but the answer doesn't matter.

Last night, as Ted and I were on our way out the door to a movie, the phone rang. It was Gina, feeling panicky and depressed. Ted said he couldn't talk right then but promised to call her back later in the evening.

When we returned, that's what he did. I waited in the kitchen. They spoke for just five minutes, but I think he helped to calm her down. Meanwhile, I poured myself a double shot of vodka straight up, and thought, would I want to be with a man who didn't call her back?

This wild, windy stretch of beach is surrounded by cliffs. Behind me, tall reeds of grass grow in a circle, forming a clearing. When I was a little girl I would have turned that empty space into a secret hideout, or a pretend house. I would have chosen to believe that these grassy walls were shielding me from the wind, keeping me safe.

My son has let go of the kite string, and it falls onto my skirt. He has run to the ocean's edge and is daring the waves to come closer. The undertow is powerful, so I keep careful watch. His presence anchors me to the moment, won't let me drift too far from what's real. And like it or not, Gina is real. The baking pan I saw on Ted's counter last week was probably hers; I suspect she made a cake for his birthday. The casserole dish beside the pan was mine; I made strudel.

I close my eyes and try to visualize the woman I've never met, but with whom I share so much. I stop wondering whether she would outshine me on the dance floor, upstage me at a party, outdo me in the kitchen or the bedroom. Instead I envision Gina standing in the middle of a tall ring of grass, protected from the wind.

I admit that I have often wished she would simply disappear. In moments of jealousy turned to spite, I have even wished her ill. But I have never wished for Gina to endure cancer, its pain and fear; and I know I do not want her to go through it alone.
salon.com | Nov. 4, 1999

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