He waits patiently, not saying anything, shifting from foot to foot and looking up at the sky like he's cataloging stars.
I finally get the key in the lock but don’t turn it. Not yet. I lean in closer, my breath catching in my throat. When was the last time I had a first kiss? Am I ready for this?
Noah mirrors my movement, his breath shallow, his lips just inches from mine. His head tilts, like he’s ready—but his hands stay at his sides, clenched now. He looks at me, really looks, and something shifts in his expression.
Regret.
Not for wanting this.
For wanting it with me.
His eyes flick away for the briefest second—toward the ground, toward the past, I don’t know—and then we both pull back like we touched a live wire.
“See you Monday, Mailman?” My voice is lighter than I feel.
“You got it.” He turns to go, stepping off the porch with the easy stride of someone who’s not trying too hard.
I watch him walk down the driveway before he throws open his truck door and backs out. He doesn’t look back.
But I kind of wish he would.
Chapter Thirteen
Zoom meetings with Viv and Marin always start like a group project from hell. Someone’s muted. Someone’s frozen. Someone (usually Viv) is too close to the camera, like she’s trying to have an intimate chat with my pores.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Birdie, unmute!” Viv barks. “You’re muted again!”
“I’m not… wait, okay. There.”
Marin’s face fills the screen, half-shadowed by the glow of her fridge light and a comically large bowl of what appears to be fruity cereal. “I’d like to open this meeting by congratulating all of us! Our grief dares this week were smashing successes.”
“I didn’t realize we were giving ourselves awards now.” I settle back on the couch with a glass of wine.
“Surviving the week is the award,” Viv mutters. “Barely.”
“Oh, come on.” Marin points her spoon at the camera. “Viv, you did a full yoga flow alone in the park. No class. No distraction. Only you and the geese.”
“Don’t remind me about the geese.” I can see Viv visibly shuddering. “Do you know what it’s like to be in a deep squatwhile a flock of waterfowl stares at you like you owe them money?”
Marin snorts. “You did it anyway. That was your dare. Connect with your body in nature. And you didn’t even Instagram it.”
“I did take a photo of my mat. But I didn’t post it. That’s restraint.”
“Progress.” I raise my glass.
Viv nods toward Marin. “And you finally made a decision. Are you going to talk to the kids?”
Marin’s expression shifts. Not sad exactly. More like tired in that bone-deep way only other widows can spot. “Yeah. I think I’m ready. I kept telling myself I was protecting them. But really, I was protecting myself.”
Viv and I go quiet.
“Gonna start with Miles.” Marin stares into her cereal bowl, as though it holds the confirmation she needs. “He’s the oldest. And the most likely to not immediately condemn me about it all.”
“You’re brave.”
