Noah shrugs, that same infuriating, irresistible grin spreadingacross his face. “Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that the dare’s been extended.” He backs down my porch slowly. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you… and Frank… around.” And then he’s whistling a catchy tune while striding down the street.
I want to tell him that he can shove his dare and his cocky grin where I like to shove coupons for 10% off oil changes and commemorative stamps featuring endangered birds, but instead I just try not to enjoy the way his pants hug his ass.
Something flickers in my chest, something restless and real, the kind of feeling that makes you want to text someone something brave and then throw your phone into a lake. And then it’s squashed by the bottomless guilt.
I stare at the empty driveway for a few minutes before Frank presses his wet nose into my palm, clearly wondering why we were in such a hurry to get out the door only to sit and stare at the concrete. But all I can think about is the worddare.
Maybe that’s the whole thing.
Maybe I don’t need a romance checklist or a grief checklist. Maybe I don’t need structured steps, self-help books, cathartic journaling prompts, or fifteen stages of healing, none of which ever actually feel like progress.
Maybe what I need is a list of good dares.
Not reckless ones. Not eat-an-entire-bag-of-cotton-candy-in-ten-minutes dares (though, let’s be honest, I’d still do it). But brave ones. Silly ones. Hopeful ones.
Like walk into a hardware store and purchase the screws to fix the fan, because Owen isn’t coming back to do it for me.
Or buy something with stripes, polka dots, and patterns because you can still wear color.
Kiss someone when you’re not entirely sure how it will end.
Keep the damn dog, even if he did pee on your favorite rug.
Want something just for you. Not because it’s sensible. Not because it’s expected. Simply because you want it.
Tell someone the truth, even if your voice shakes, especially if it does.
Tell yourself the truth. Not because it’ll fix anything. But because it might remind me I’m still capable of wanting, of choosing, of being me.
Grief doesn’t evaporate. But I can win against it in a stare-off and dare it back into its sad corner now and then.
Maybe healing doesn’t always look like softness.
Sometimes, it looks like saying yes to keeping a dog with a coat that resembles mashed prunes because someone raised his eyebrows and dared you to.
Damn it. I guess that’s it. I have a dog.
Chapter Six
“The eighth… is it the eighth?” I scrunch my eyebrows trying to work the math, but the weeks all blur together. “No matter. This meeting of The Dead Husbands Society is officially starting. I have several things on the docket to discuss today.”
I adjust my headphones as Frank tugs the leash forward. The sidewalk is damp and smelling sweet from a fresh drizzle, and the pink sky reflects in the puddles like cotton candy soup. We never did make it on our early morning walk, so he’s overly excited about our evening one. My boots squish satisfyingly as I walk, one hand holding my phone up so I can see the screen. It always helps to walk when I’m processing, brainstorming, or discussing ideas.
Viv rolls her sapphire eyes so hard that it’s a wonder they stay in her head; then her camera shakes as she flops backward onto what looks like a velvet floor pillow. “GoodGod, Birdie. Who died and made you Parliament?”
“Technically?” I glance down at Frank, who has stopped suddenly in his tracks and is now hyper-focused on sniffing a dandelion. “All of our husbands.”
Marin’s square lights up in a small smile as she pushes a few strands of brown hair away from her pale grey eyes. She’s in her usual oversized sweatshirt, yarn in her lap, cat curled behind heron the couch. “I actually really like the structure. I need structure. It’s the one thing Theo gave me that I still appreciate, a love of structure.”
“I’m walking Frank right now, so breaking structure a little.” I angle my phone slightly to show the pink sunset trying to break through the overcast Seattle sky and the puddle-filled sidewalk. “But I do my best thinking when I walk, so if I cut out, it's probably because he saw a squirrel and tried to end us both.”
“You’re the only person I know who holds a grief meeting during cardio.” Viv tucks a strand of bleached strawberry pink hair behind her ear, lounging like a grief-stricken Greek goddess. “You know I’m all for movement to cleanse the thoughts, but today I’m opting for yoga pants without the exercise. They make me feel emotionally limber.”
Frank veers to the right, yanking me slightly off-camera. “Okay. First item:someoneforgot to mark themselves safe from another round of dating app disasters.”
“Why do you saysomeone?” Marin leans way too close into the camera, giving us a deep and personal encounter with her nose hair. “We all know Viv is the only one brave enough to still date, much less join an app. Although, to be honest, I always thought it looked kind of fun. Like something a spy would do.”
“Marin! You should join! I have a list of viable options.”
