I felt my phone vibrate again and breathed past the mixture of conflicting emotions. Needing a distraction, I fixed Brenda with a lazy smile.
"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get out of here. What do you say?"
It wasn't until much later when our bodies were sated and I rolled off Brenda's flushed form, that I allowed the aching pit of loneliness and pain to wash over me.
I pulled up to the white, two-story house with a heavy sigh. It was full of weariness and a quiet dread for the night ahead. I wanted to be here. But I also didn't.
"You okay?" Sarah softly asked. She gripped my arm as she peered at me quizzically. Shit, I’d forgotten she was seated next to me.
After hurriedly shooting home after work to shower and change, I picked Sarah up straight from her workplace. We’d been quiet on the drive over, sensing that we needed our private moment of solitude before we sank into our joined grief.
Feigning a stretch, I flashed her a conciliatory grin. "Sorry, I was helping the boys on a roofing job today. It's wiped me."
She let out a soft laugh and rubbed my arm. "Well, you aren't getting any younger," she teased.
I chuckled as I felt for the door handle. "You're telling me."
My smile dropped briefly as I exited the car, allowing my bleak mood to linger a little longer. I needed to get my game face on in order to get through this night.
Sarah threaded her hand through my arm, and we strolled towards the house together.
After Hannah died, Sarah and I inevitably became closer, leaning on each other during moments of profound grief. She was like a sister to me. When Hannah was alive, she regularly came over for dinner and movie nights. I also attended sunday dinners at my in-laws.Formerin-laws.
My family.
The door opened, and Diane beamed widely. Her brown and silver bob was neatly tucked behind her ears, not a hair out of place. She wore a blue dress with an apron over it.
"Oh, you two!" she admonished with a rueful laugh. "Always running late."
Sarah giggled as she leaned in closer to me, touching her head to my shoulder. "Blame this one. He was late collecting me."
I gave Diane a small smile as I subtly moved away from Sarah's touch. "Sorry. I was late getting a roofing job done."
Diane waved me away before leaning up to plant a kiss on my cheek. My hand itched to wipe away the red stain I knew she left there.
"No problem. You're both here now, and we can start celebrating my baby's birthday." Her voice broke on the last words, and I laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, rubbing it in comfort.
I felt Sarah's small hand run up and down my back in gentle circles, offering her comfort. There were a lot of heavy emotions pushing to the surface, as they did every year we remembered Hannah's birthday and death.
As we sat down for dinner, there were a few laughs as we reminisced about the vivacious, kind, and loving person Hannah was. But it was always tinged with a heavy blanket of sorrow. This year was the first time I felt a little reprieve. Like someone had loosened their foot off my throat an inch. I still missed Hans desperately, and I always would, but maybe I was starting to take the next tentative steps in my grieving process.
"So, how's work, dear? I hope you're not doing manual labor every day," Diane tsked as she scooped more potato salad onto her plate. "The last thing we need is for you to have an accident."
I exchanged glances with Sarah, who rolled her eyes playfully at her mom's quip. At thirty-four, I was hardly over the hill. In fact, I was fitter than some of the twenty-somethings that worked for me. But I knew Diane was coming from a deep-seated fear of something else terrible happening to someone she loved. Even though I rarely got dirty with the boys on a job site,there were times when we were short-staffed or had a deadline we needed to meet. I had no qualms about jumping in and getting my hands dirty.
"We had to get this project done before a new one starts next week." I reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry, Di, you're not gonna get rid of me just yet."
She gave me a watery smile before staring down at her half-eaten plate of food. I observed her bowed head in silence, noting the weary lines on her face. Losing her husband and daughter in quick succession had dulled a lot of light from her. Before their deaths, she had been bubbly with a ready laugh. Now, she fretted over the simplest things, constantly checking in with us that we were okay. The previous carefree woman I knew was replaced with someone serious and tense. I was careful not to upset her. She’d been through so much.
I glanced again at Sarah, who watched me with a sad smile. The atmosphere turned heavy as the somber reason we were gathered dawned on us. We tried to chat about our lives as usual, but something always pulled us away from the moment, reminding us that my wife was dead. Their daughter and sister.
Diane cleared her throat before picking up her fork and stabbing at a salad leaf. "Your business has flourished over the last eighteen months," she continued. Her eyes held a muted light of pride. "I'm so glad you decided to stay on."
I focused on my food to cover my strained smile. Staying in New Haven had been a bone of contention for Hannah and I. It was only supposed to be temporary. As a city boy, living in a small town made me lethargic. I was used to big, exciting projects and more than two options for places to dine out.
Before my wife was diagnosed, we’d had several significant blow-ups over leaving. I loved her family. After losing my parents young, I didn't have one to call my own, except for a few distant cousins. When Hannah and I met in college, her familyinstantly folded me into theirs. When her dad fell sick, we moved closer to New Haven to support Diane. I was happy to do it, but we were never supposed to stay permanently. When Hannah passed away, I was so sick with grief and shock that I agreed to stay on. I had no one, so I leaned on them, needing to feel as close to Hannah as possible.
"I'm getting used to the slower pace of life." I stabbed a piece of carrot, smiling brightly at the two people who meant the most to me. "I'm starting to make friends and da-uh dabbling with some hobbies." I cleared my throat and took a sip of my soda to cover up my slip.
