“Even if it was the wedding photo?”
“Even then.” He pulled me closer. “They’re just things, Diane. She’s not in them. She’s here.” He touched his chest.“And she’s not going anywhere. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be here too.”
I leaned into him. Let myself settle against his side.
“This is a lot,” I said.
“I know.”
“Not the apartment. Not Sarah. Just… letting myself have this.”
“I know.” He kissed the top of my head. “Me too.”
Walking home later—he’doffered to let me stay, but we’d both agreed we weren’t quite there yet—I kept thinking about the Thanksgiving story. The way he’d laughed telling it. Not grief-laughed. Actually laughed, like the memory was still more joy than pain.
Twenty-eight years. They’d had twenty-eight years of inside jokes and burnt turkeys and falling asleep reading next to each other. And he’d shared that with me—not because I’d asked the right questions, but because he wanted to. Because he was ready.
I thought about Sarah’s sweater still draped over the chair. The way he’d saidshe’s not going anywhere, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be here too.
There was room. He was making room.
And I’d walked through the door. Actually walked through it, instead of hovering on the threshold looking for exits.
I texted him:Made it home. Thank you for tonight.
His response came quickly:Thank you for wanting to know her.
I smiled at my phone. At the strange, wonderful feeling of being exactly where I wanted to be.
For once, I didn’t need to rush. We had time.
10
THE GIFT, TRANSFORMED
WHERE THE MAGIC FINALLY MAKES SENSE. AND SO DO I.
Sunday brunch at Cassie’s had become a thing.
Not an official thing—we hadn’t named it or put it on a calendar. It just happened. Every Sunday morning, I showed up with pastries from the bakery downtown, Cassie made coffee that was slightly too strong, and we sat at her kitchen table while Luna judged us from her perch on the refrigerator.
Liam usually pretended he had somewhere else to be, but he didn’t. He just felt awkward intruding on what he called “the sacred feminine brunch ritual,” which was adorable and also ridiculous because mostly we just complained about our weeks and ate croissants.
But this Sunday felt different.
I felt different.
“You’re glowing,” Cassie said, squinting at me over her coffee cup. “Not literally—let me check.” She tilted her head, did that thing she did now where she looked slightly past you. “No, not literally. But something’s changed.”
“I had a good week.”
“With Marcus?”
“At Marcus’s apartment. Multiple times now.” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “We’re… figuring things out.”
“Figuring things out,” she repeated, grinning. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Shut up.”
