To this day, Mom celebrates Carrie’s birthday and donates clothes, shoes, and toiletries to the local women’s shelter in her honor. I think briefly that I want to do something for Ethan, too.
“It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later, when the mailbox was overflowing, that it hit me that she wasn’t coming back.” Dan chuckles softly, but it isn’t a real laugh. It’s the one he makes when he’s feeling uncomfortable.
“I never thought about the bills. They just got paid.” His voice lowers, “Your mom always paid them.” He looks at Sam, and I know Dan is embarrassed by this confession.
“Hell, I rarely even got the mail out of the box unless I was waiting on a package.” He chuckles his awkward chuckle again. I just watch him waiting for him to continue the story.
“There was so much mail that the postal worker knocked on the door to hand it to me instead of leaving it in the box. I sat down at the table that evening and started going through everything.”
He glances in the rearview mirror again and then looks over at Sam. Dan’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. He focuses back on the road and continues, “Do you know how dumb I felt at that moment? I’m a lawyer and a damn good one. But I had a stack of bills I didn’t know how to pay and another heap of mail I couldn’t figure out what to do with.” He shrugs, resigned. “All I’m saying is, it takes time.”
Dan parks at the curb in front of his office. It’s only when Sam releases my hand to get out of the SUV that I realize he never let go. His hand felt like an extension of my own. The loss feels devastating.
Sam gets out of the SUV, opens my door, and closes it once I've gotten out of the backseat before he walks around and gets into the driver’s seat. Before I can get into the front seat, Dan reaches for my hand and gives it a light squeeze. “It’s going to take time, but the one thing you need to remember is how much Ethan knew you loved him. No matter what. He knew.”
“Thanks,” I choke out. Dan offers me a grimace smile before walking into the building.
Sam and I are quiet as he drives us to the florist. I silently wish he would reach for my hand again. I know I won’t do it myself. I couldn’t handle his rejection.
We spend the next hour choosing flowers. I never knew how many different arrangements were needed, one for on top of the casket, one for the entrance, one or two on stands by the casket. There were so many options that it felt like my head was swimming.
What would Ethan like? Does it matter if he would have liked them? Will my parents like them? Is that more important than what Ethan would like?
I'm feeling overwhelmed, as though I'm slowly spinning out.
I keep getting stuck trying to decide, only for Sam to provide his thoughts on what Ethan would like. Sam’s constant help reminds me of all the times that he helped me while we were in Seattle.
No matter what, he was always there, always present, always offering advice or just simply listening.
Now that we’ve chosen everything, I fill out the necessary paperwork and provide the date of the funeral—this Saturday.
When we get back to my parents’ house, Sam walks me to the door.
“I need to help my dad with some things tomorrow, but—” he hesitates, his expression is tight. “I’d like to spend some time with you this week, if you’d be up for it.”
My heart doesn’t hesitate in thumping its approval because this man has built a permanent home there. I’m nervous to let him back in. My heart wins out. “Ok. I would like that.”
The smile he gives me makes my knees feel weak, and it takes everything in me to keep standing.
“Good. I’ll call you?”
“Yeah. OK.”
He steps forward, pulls me into a brief hug—so brief I don’t have the chance to wrap my arms around his waist—and kisses the top of my head before walking away. I stand there stunned that he just kissed me and watch him walk back to hisdad’s SUV.
The next morning, after breakfast, my parents left the house quickly. They wanted to get a jump start on figuring out what to do with Ethan’s things. Ethan has a safe at his condo that Dad thinks holds his life insurance, 401(k), and investment policies.
I don’t understand why they want to deal with all this right now when all I want to do is wallow. They asked if I wanted to tag along, but the idea of going to his place without him felt too overwhelming.
Liv won’t be here for two more days, and Sam is helping his dad with something. Looking around my parents’ living room, I notice the dust collecting on the bookcase.
Cleaning it is.
I pull up the notes app on my phone and make a quick list of the tasks I want to complete. Wash the bedding. I list out each bedroom separately. Deep clean the bathrooms and kitchen. Vacuum, sweep, and mop the floors. For each major category, I list the smaller tasks, including emptying and restocking the fridge.
Checklists are a great way of tricking my brain into actually completing the task. Otherwise, I get bored and distracted, and it doesn’t hurt to have the little dopamine bursts as I cross items off the list.
When Ethan and I were kids, we would wake up every Saturday morning, watch an hour of cartoons, eat breakfast together, and then help my parents clean the house. Mom would blast music in thebackground for us. I loved listening to her sing along to the Mama’s & the Papa’s or Creedence Clearwater Revival.
