“You’re good, kid. Promise.” He dipped his chin again, and I patted his upper arm. “Go on, now. Ginger’s going to let you drive back, right?”
Like a lot of kids his age, Leo hadn’t raced to get his license at sixteen—something I never understood about the youngergeneration. Ginger, however, was insistent that he get it by his eighteenth birthday. A braver person than me, she was teaching him on nights and weekends.
He sniffled, nodded, and ran out through the front office, opening the door and shouting for her.
Laughing, I followed, locking up as I watched his progression across the parking lot. Ginger hopped out of the Lupe van, and I winced as Leo pulled her into what looked like an equally crushing hug. She met my eyes and mouthed athank you.
Well, fuck.I swallowed a lump in my own throat.Who knew Leo had it in him?
As I watched Leo carefully pull the van out of its parking space, I noticed Ren, Mr. Paige’s widower, was still sitting in his truck. Mr. Paige had been my high school shop teacher, and his classroom had been the one safe place for me and my queer friends—the Lost Boys—in an otherwise hostile environment.
Mr. Paige had kept in touch with his Lost Boys after graduation, shifting from teacher to mentor. When he passed almost a year ago, he’d bequeathed to us the land under our feet. Today’s grand opening celebrations were as much about him as anyone else.
The parking lot was almost empty, so I let myself out of the office, figuring something must be wrong with Ren’s truck.
As I approached the driver’s side, however, it became clear that his trouble was not vehicular in nature. Ren was slumped over the steering wheel, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he sobbed onto his crossed arms.
In the months since Mr. Paige’s death, I’d only seen Ren cry a few times, and never like this. I’d always wondered whether he wasn’t a crier or was simply hiding the worst of his grief.
It looked as if it was the latter. I hesitated, not sure if I should let him cry in peace or make my presence known.
As I debated, a bird landed on the hood and looked between us. He tilted his head at a questioning angle as if to sayWell, aren’t you gonna do anything?Then he took off in a flutter, his wings flashing red in the dying sunlight.
Weird, the things you noticed.
I tapped lightly on the window, and Ren’s head shot up. His eyes flared with recognition, and he turned away, swiping at his tears even as his shoulders continued to hitch.
I tried the door and was grateful to find I could pull it open. I leaned in and put my hand on his back. “You don’t have to stop crying on my behalf, Ren. I just don’t want you to cry alone.”
He sniffed and glanced at me over his shoulder before looking away again.
Keeping my hand on his back, I softened my voice. “I’m here for you, Ren. Why don’t you come inside?”
CHAPTER 2
ren
What a shitty day.
Actually, no. It had been an amazing day. The new Meeting House was a family project of sorts. Robert, my late husband, had left the land in trust for Beckett, one of his beloved Lost Boys, who was now an alternative preacher and my son’s devoted partner, and the result was better than any of us had expected.
I was proud that Robert’s dream for this community center was coming true, but it was another bitter reminder that he was gone. I thought, as a mostly secular Buddhist, I was meant to handle this loss a little more gracefully, but instead, the ache in my heart had become the counterpoint to every good thing in my life.
Just this morning, Beckett and Holden had told me they were considering fostering a child through some connection of Beckett’s who thought they’d be a good fit. It didn’t hurt that, like the little boy, I was Japanese American, and Holden already knew some of the language and was conversant with the culture.
I could have leapt for joy—while simultaneously wanting to crumple to the ground. I’d wanted to be a grandfather for so long, but I never imagined doing it without my better half. I’d always expected that Robert would be there with me, plying the kid with candy while I showed them the finer details of gardening and drinking tea.
What would being a grandfather even look like without him?
Holden and Beckett were giddy when they told me, and I wasn’t going to let my grief ruin yet another family event. So I did what I always did these days: I smiled and told them I couldn’t wait to meet my grandson.
The grand opening was nearly painless by comparison.
It had helped that many of the gay kids Robert had shepherded into adulthood during his tenure as a shop teacher were there. His Lost Boys had shown up for Holden and me in so many ways during this awful, awful year.
I was also grateful that Robert, who’d known his health was failing, had left a note for me, something I could read and reread on days like this. He’d known, in his infinite wisdom, that I’d struggle with accepting the joyful things.
After six months of intense grieving, I must insist you button that shit up.
