Given Sarah's behavior these last couple of months, I didn't think she would take kindly to a dinner that purposely excluded her. I briefly considered postponing my request until another day but quickly dismissed the idea.
If I put tonight off, I would lose my nerve and end up doing something behind their backs that could break their hearts. I already felt like I’d betrayed Hannah's memory over the last four years, and I was thankful that no sordid whispers found their way back to them. Even though I now felt ready to take the next step in my love life, I didn't think Sarah was ready to hear what I had to say. I either had to find a private moment tonight to speak with Diane, or wait until Sarah went home.
"Thanks again for the food you sent, by the way." I held out the empty Tupperware she’d sent to our worksite as we walked together to the kitchen.
"Oh, you're welcome, honey. I'm so used to cooking and baking a feast that I tend to make huge portions. Usually, it would be enough, but with an empty nest..." Her words puttered out, and a familiar sadness shuttered down. I glanced away from Diane's somber face as a wave of joint anguish hit me.
Grief was a tricky emotion. One moment, you're laughing and joking at a dinner party without a care in the world. The next, your gaze falls on the empty placemat across the table, and guilt overwhelms you. Just like that, that small moment of reprieve is gone.
My gaze traveled around the home I’d grown to love. Long-repressed memories started to flow through, and I allowed my mind to wander—to remember.
Everywhere I looked, every item out on display, held treasured moments that bonded us. Like the wooden kitchen table where we gathered each week, laughing and sharing stories about our day. The recipe stand Hannah had gifted her mom one Christmas that permanently held a copy ofJoy of Cooking. The green mosaic splashback tiles I had installed for them; my birthday present for Diane after she bemoaned how plain her white ceramic tiles looked. The walls of this home used to hold so much laughter. And noise. So much fucking noise. The good kind, though.
Before my parents died, it had just been the three of us. It was quiet and calm. We were all content to do our own thing in different parts of the house. Our vacations only consisted of visiting my grandparents down at their retirement home in Lake Havasu. We didn't even go during Spring Break when the town became alive and buzzing with activities. We always went in the colder months, when my parents could handle the weather.
It was all I knew, but I loved my parents and I knew they loved me. We were happy. Content. After they passed, I filled my time with a constant stream of friends, partying, and girls. Anythingto fill the yawning hole of loneliness that my parent's deaths had created. And it worked. For a while.
But then I met Hannah. She was like a peek of sun through a storm of clouds. It didn't take long for me to allow her warm light to burst through, and I wasted no time locking her down. It wasn't long after that I met her family.
Noise. Warmth. Laughter. Family. Love.
Like those cheesy signs that folks liked to hang around their home, that's what Hannah's family was to me. They'd accepted me into their fold, and any lingering loneliness I felt soon dissipated after I experienced Diane's welcoming hug.
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, that warmth, laughter, noise, and love was brutally torn away from me. First, by the death of my father-in-law—a man I loved and respected like my own. And then Hannah.
My sweet wife.
The dark clouds of emptiness started to close in again, coming quicker and heavier than before. I couldn't stand coming home to an empty, quiet house that held memories of what could have been. Soon, even coming to Diane's felt uncomfortable and strained. My footing had fumbled, and I lost my place in the world again. I became an empty echo, desperate to patch up the growing leaks before the approaching storm burst through and drowned me.
I was able to temporarily sate that loneliness in ways that weren't quite healthy or advisable. But I still sensed that looming shadow of desolation and gloom.
Until a few months ago when I walked into a café to escape a torrential downpour and had my quiet existence flipped upside down.
A gentle clearing of a throat pulled me out of my morose thoughts. Diane took over at the stove, most likely needing the distraction to pull her out of her own painful memories. Saraheyed me from across the kitchen, arms crossed over her body. Her shrewd stare felt exposing and accusatory.
Fielding a stab of guilt, I moved to start collecting cutlery for our meal.
"So what have you been up to, Brian? I feel like I haven't seen you in so long." There was a definite tinge of bitterness in her tone.
My conscience gnawed at me as I flicked Sarah with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Sar. Work's picked up a lot, and I find myself treating the boys to beers to wind down at the end of the week. You know how it is this time of year."
It wasn't a complete untruth. I was swamped at work and I did go out more often than usual with the boys—if only to break up the monotony of a routine that was losing its appeal. Coupled with the fact that my mind was all kinds of fucked up over a woman who wasnother sister.
Truthfully, if I wanted to make time for Sarah, I could. I just couldn't shake this awkward pit of unease that had never been there before. I did plan on reaching out to her after talking with Diane tonight, though. I just wasn't expecting to see or speak to her so soon and so abruptly.
Sarah seemed to buy my plea, although her smile was dimmer than usual. "Yeah, I understand." She waved her finger at me with a smirk. "Don't forget that we still need to finish that series. We're only up to episode four, and I've been waiting for you."
Now, it was my turn to send her a muted smile. Christ, the thought of sitting through that erotic thriller was not making me hurry to carve out time for her. Luckily, I was saved by answering when Diane called us to eat.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Well, it was quiet on my end. Diane and Sarah chatted softly with each other, and every now and then, they'd pepper me with small talk. My nerves were on a rollercoaster ride in my stomach, and I knew I wouldn't be ableto recall a single thing we spoke about tonight. It was just as well that Diane didn't cook my favorite meal, considering every bite I took turned to ash in my mouth.
As the meal wore on, Sarah started to cast questioning glances at me, no doubt perturbed by my conservative demeanor. I was never quiet during dinner, often leading the conversation when the prolonged silence became too much.
I sipped my soda before clearing my throat. I needed to act like nothing was amiss. "So, Diane. How's the store?"
Diane's eyes lit up, as always, when discussing Mercy Hospice New Haven. It was a passion project, something to distract her from the loss of her husband and daughter. But the business quickly turned profitable, and she soon had to hire more staff to help. Everyone was looking for ways to become more sustainable and avoid waste, so her shop was popular with the townsfolk for good-quality, second-hand wares. The fact that the store also supported local cancer charities was an added feel-good cherry on top.
"It's going swimmingly. The clothes you donated have all sold, and Sarah also posted on New Haven's socials page for quality menswear. We had a chunk of donations. I've had to put a sign up that we're full at the moment."
