“You’re not erasing him.” Marin rests her hand on my shoulder. “You’re carrying him forward. But if all you carry is grief, you’re not really carrying him—you’re carrying the weight of losing him.”
Viv nods. “Owen wouldn’t want you stuck in a loop. He’d want you to be happy. You know that, right?”
I wipe at my eyes. “We never talked about moving on or not moving on if one of us died. And he died so suddenly there was no time to process.”
Marin nods. “But knowing Owen, knowing how much he loved you, would he want you to be alone the rest of your life?”
My voice is small. “No.”
Viv leans forward. “Do you love this guy?”
I open my mouth, fumbling for the kind of answer that sounds balanced and responsible—grief-approved, widow-appropriate, emotionally nuanced.
But before I can get a single word out, Viv holds up a hand, and Marin taps the page of my grief dare book.
“TRUTH,” she reminds me gently.
I exhale, my chest tight. “Yeah. I do.”
Marin draws a soft half-checkmark. “And how does that make you feel?”
“Terrified. Excited. Guilty. Overwhelmed.”
“Yep. She’s in love.” Viv gives a satisfied nod as Marin completes the checkmark with a flourish.
“We could sit here and tell you a thousand times that you deserve love and happiness, and that Owen would want you to find joy again.” Marin’s voice is quiet but sure. “But none of it matters if you don’t believe it too.”
“I…” My voice wavers. “I wish there was a sign.”
Viv shrugs. “This isn’t the movies. Sometimes there’s no perfect sign. No lightning bolt. No rainbow or raven. Sometimes it’s just this. Your favorite bench, a sunset, and the quiet reminder that life keeps going. That we carry them with us, not behind us.”
There’s a beat, then Marin gives a little sigh. “I might be moving here.”
“What?” I blink.
“Let’s be honest. I’m not exactly in my thirties anymore. I know what I want and what I don’t want and what I need and don’t need in a man. After my last failed marriage, I swore I’d never fall in love again. But things are going really well, really fast with Dr. Dentist. If they keep going the way they are.” She pauses, blushing. “And if I can find a rental that doesn’t smell like wet carpet, I might move here. The great benefit of working remote. The change would be that hard.”
Viv claps her hands. “See? Everyone’s out here making big moves! And we’ve got two days left before our flights, which means you’ve got about 48 hours to either make up your mind about Noah, or make out with him again.”
I laugh through my tears. “That’s your advice?”
“It’s what Owen would’ve wanted,” Viv deadpans.
I look out at the sky, begging the universe for some kind of sign that this is true. Sighing, I start to rise. This is life and there are no signs to make moving forward easier. At that moment, asplat of white, grey seagull poops and lands squarely on top of Viv’s head.
Owen would’ve loved that.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Viv and Marin left two weeks ago, and much to their dismay, I still haven’t worked up the nerve to talk to Noah. Instead, I’ve perfected a very sophisticated routine: hide out in the back of the house, peek through the blinds when he drops off the mail, sprint back inside, study the current art showings at the museum in preparation for my internship starting next week, then spend the rest of the day marinating in guilt and confusion. Rinse. Repeat.
But this morning is different.
This morning, Harper is perched at the kitchen counter, her long legs tucked beneath her and her laptop open, a half-empty mug of coffee sitting beside her. Now that classes are over, she’s been home more, and the house doesn’t feel quite so cavernous with Viv and Marin gone. I love having her here. It anchors me. Reminds me that not everything is changing at once.
Sunlight streams in through the window, catching the glittery cover of my pink notebook, my grief dare book, casting sparkles all over the wall like a disco ball for feelings. Frank, clearly unimpressed, narrows his eyes at the sparkle display and pads toward the porch, desperate for his morning constitutional.
I open the door for him, then glance at the table. “What’s this doing out here?” I haven’t opened the book in over a week, and Ihave plenty of excuses why. I’ve been helping Marin find a rental, trying to convince Viv to move here too, busy with the internship.
