Viv beams. “Thank you. I mean, I was sweating through my Spanx and couldn’t make eye contact with the couple next to me, but still. Progress.”
“You’re doing great.” Marin waves her spoon at the camera. “Even if your chakras are still hostile.”
Viv points a jade roller at the screen. “Watch it. What are our grief dares for this week?”
It’s now or never. I clear my throat. “Okay, I have a request. It’s a little out there. But I want to make a suggestion for my dare this week, otherwise I know I won’t do it.” I feel heat rush up my neck. “Do you remember my neighbor, Sharon?”
“The one who makes Bundt cakes for people she openly dislikes?” Marin narrows her eyes in solidarity and suspicion. “The one who flirted with Owen two days before he died and then dropped off a dozen cakes after the funeral out of guiltand possibly confusion? The one we all don’t know, but all dislike?”
I need to stop sharing so much in our text thread.
“That’s the one,” I sigh. “Well, she’s running the neighborhood block party again this year, and she invited me. And the way she said it, like she assumed I’d still be too sad and broken to leave my house, it just, ugh. Then the thought of showing up sad and broken and alone, double ugh.”
Viv leans closer. “So you’re going to go, and you need us to crash it with you in coordinated outfits?”
I let out a small laugh. “Not exactly. I want to wait to cash in my you-two-coming-to-my-rescue card. But I want to go, to prove to her and myself that my life hasn’t completely stopped after Owen’s passed. But I don’t want to go alone. And, before you say it, Iknowlast week’s challenge was a date, but I thought maybe that could be my grief dare this week. To ask someone to go with me. To see if I even remember how to ask.”
Marin’s expression softens. “Birdie, setting your own grief dare? I think that’s a new level of awesome!”
Viv claps her hands. “I love this for you. Can I pick your outfit? I have a top that would make your eyes and chest pop. It has your name all over it.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m already smiling. “No to the shirt. Maybe to some outfit advice.”
Marin narrows her eyes. “Wait,ask someone? You already have someone in mind, don’t you?”
“Of course she does!” Viv gasps. “It’s Butterfly Garden Guy. Iknewit. You’ve got ongoing tension following the trimming session!”
“Viv,” I groan, covering my face. “Maybe.”
She winks. “It’s a real phenomenon. The man handles weeds and shears like a poetic lumberjack. Don’t act like we didn’t notice your swoon when you talked about it earlier.”
“Okay,maybeI’ve considered asking him.”
A look from Viv pulls the rest out of me. “Fine. He’s the onlyperson that I would ask. Besides Frank. And going with Frank won’t send the right kind of message.”
Hearing his name, Frank lifts his head. “But I haven’t done it yet. And I’m not even sure it’s appropriate.”
“You have shared history. Why is this a problem?” Viv never sugarcoats anything.
Marin tilts her head, thoughtful. “What Vivmeans to sayis, he knew Owen, but heknowsyou. And you’re not asking him to be your plus-one for life. It’s one night. At a neighborhood potluck.”
Viv grins. “Exactly. Not ‘till death do us part.’ More like, ‘til Sharon serves her aggressively moist lemon cake.’ Low stakes.”
I laugh despite myself, feeling lighter. “Good point.”
Viv lifts her roller triumphantly. “Operation Weed is a go. The grief dare train is chugging right ahead.”
“It’s a potluck. What should I bring? I always used to bring creamy white enchiladas, but they’re Owen’s favorite, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to make them since.”
My screen fills with a visual of Marin tipping her container upside down, scraping the last remains out with her spoon, as she clears her throat. “May I suggest a chocolate mousse?”
Chapter Eleven
Me: Noah. Salutations. I hope this message finds you well.
Noah: Birdie. Greetings. Why are we talking like we’re in a 1950s job interview?
Me: You told me to text you. About plants. Or lasagna.
