On Second Thought(108)

“Holy crap,” I said, smiling. I didn’t need to ask about it, because she buzzed around the kitchen like a happy bumblebee, scooping up Ollie, smooching his face, putting him on one hip while she grabbed the wine from the fridge.

“I got stuck at his house on Friday night in the storm, and he made dinner, and we had some wine, and then he told me he liked me! I had no bleepin’ idea! But I’ve actually been having these feelings about him here and there, because aside from being sort of an alien-robot, he’s got this Mr. Darcy thing going on, a little bit, anyway. And it was so cute, how he told me! And then we kissed, and next thing I knew, we were doing our best to break his headboard.”

I laughed. She poured me a glass of wine and set the dog down, then took a seat at the counter. Ollie dragged his blanket over to my feet and curled up there.

“So what do you think? Too soon after Eric?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Come on. Give me some big-sister advice. I have a date with him in forty-five minutes. Out of town, of course. He’s freaked out someone from work is going to find out.”

“He’s divorced, right?”

“Yes, and you wouldn’t believe that story! His wife cheated on him with his brother.”

“Are you kidding? Yikes!” Oh, the fun of juicy gossip! It reminded me of happier times with Paige. “Well, all the more reason to be careful with him. I imagine he has trust issues.”

“See? Excellent big-sister advice.” She finished her wine. “All right. I have to change and find some slutty shoes. And, uh, I might stay over at his place.”

My heart sank a little. I’d missed her, too. “Okay. Have fun.”

She must’ve picked up on something, because she said, “You want to do something tomorrow night? Just you and me, or maybe you and me and some friends?”

Hell, yes. I was tired of my own company. “Sure. I’d love to. I’ll invite a couple people from the grief group, okay? LuAnn is hilarious, and she could use a night away from her kids.”

“Super! We can have a party! Put this house to good use.” She gave me a hug, then clattered upstairs.

So. Just me and the dog tonight. That was fine. I could edit the pictures I’d taken today. Or read a book. Or clean the bathroom.

Or start to clear out Nathan’s clothes.

It had to be done sometime.

Ainsley left, and I ate my lonely soup at the counter, feeling a bit like a Dickensian orphan. “Please, sir, I want some more,” I said aloud. Ollie barked and wagged, so what the heck? I scooped him onto my lap and let him lick out the bowl.

There was still some soup in the pot, enough for another bowl, at least.

I dumped it down the drain.

No more bereavement food. I was sick of it.

It’s funny how time is measured after you’ve lost someone. Everything relates back to that second your life swerved. The calendar isn’t measured by the names of the months or seasons anymore, but by those significant dates. The day we met. The first time we kissed. The first dinner with his family. The anniversary of his death. The date of his funeral.

And every day takes you further from the time he was alive, slicing you with the razor-sharp realization that those days would never be celebrated again. Nathan’s birthday would come and go, year after year, but he’d never grow older. All the anniversaries we’d never have. It would’ve been our first, our third, our twenty-fifth. All those dates that held no meaning for anyone on the outside but were slashed into the hearts of those of us who’d been left behind.

In our group the other night, LuAnn talked about that first year, how she’d steeled herself for every first. “The three hundred and sixty-sixth day, though...things inside me, they just kinda relaxed, you know? Like I proved I could survive it, even when I never believed I could.”

Janette, whose husband had died of cancer on their anniversary, said it was the opposite for her. “Every month seems harder. All the things he’s missing. And here I am, pathetically getting older, wandering through life without him.”

“For me,” Leo said, “it was like a car was parked on my chest, crushing me, and even breathing hurt. Now it’s been almost three years. The car’s still there, but it’s moved off and made some room.”

“For Jenny,” I said.

“Yes.” He smiled. “For Jenny. And other people, too. My students. You guys.”

I still had such a long way to go, the newest in the group.

I refilled my wineglass and wandered into the study (or den). Maybe I’d look at those last photos of Nathan, still sitting in the Nikon on the shelf.

But what if I saw that he didn’t really love me? What would I do then?

And then...no matter what I saw in his face...I’d never have anything new of him again. As long as those photos were unseen, it felt like there was something left of Nathan still in the world.

“Not tonight, Hector,” I said. My fish swam amiably in his bowl. Still alive, still bucking the fishy odds of life expectancy.

I clicked on my computer. I had to erase pimples from a dozen high school seniors’ faces and put together a slide show for two sets of newlyweds. Ollie came in, dragging his ratty old blanket, made a nest on the floor and fell asleep, his soft little doggy snores keeping me company.