“I’m terrified.” Marin’s voice is matter-of-fact. “But I keep hearing you two in my head. That whole thing about not letting grief shrink your life.”
I swirl the wine in my glass, happy to let the moment breathe.
Then Viv leans forward so close her eyebrows fill the screen. “So… Birdie. You went to the block party.”
I nod.
“Yep.”
“And…?”
I sit back, take a deep inhale, and forge ahead. “And it might’ve changed my life a bit.”
Marin nearly chokes on her huge bite of cereal. “Do tell!”
I let out the breath. “I don’t know where to start.”
Viv crosses her arms and squints at me through the screen. “Okay, so this must’ve been one hell of a block party to shatter your inner Pinterest board.”
“I find that the beginning is always a good place.” Marin’s voice is warm and the push I need to open my mouth.
I groan. “It was supposed to be twenty minutes, max. Just enough time to show the neighborhood I was still functioning, clean pants, polite smile, head held high. Perfectly perfect.”
Marin raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“And… the neighbors started talking. You know, well-meaning but relentless. How are you holding up? You look amazing. Is that your new boyfriend?” I make air quotes and gag slightly. “Then Sharon brought over her infamous Bundt cake, which Noah tried, and something in me snapped.”
Viv leans in. “Define snapped.”
“I insulted the cake. Loudly. Then I accepted a challenge from Noah to a potluck tasting showdown. Then I talked a lot of smack at cornhole but didn’t have the game to back it up, but I didn’t care. And then…” I pause, wince. “I maybe wanted to kiss him at the end of the night.”
Both eyebrows raise on both screens.
“It was probably the stars. Or the lack of human touch for God knows how long.”
Viv and Marin continue to stare, eyebrows raised, bemused expressions on their faces.
“And now I feel like an insane person,” I add, voice pitching slightly higher. “Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s hormones. Maybe I’ve finally cracked like one of Sharon’s dry-ass Bundts. Either way, if either of you has a shred of compassion, please say something to get me to stop talking.”
They both pause. Marin takes another big bite of cereal, and Viv tilts her head to the side, like Frank does when he knows there’s more treats behind my back and I’m refusing to share them yet. Well, that’s not going to work on me. Until it does.
“And you know what?” The words are falling out of my mouth, one after the other. “It was the first timein a long time that I laughed until my ribs hurt. I wasn’t hosting. I wasn’t performing. I wasn’t curating anything. I was in the moment.”
The hush echoes over our tiny grid of digital squares.
“It wasn’t like some thunderclap moment,” I continue. “Not a movie montage or some big rom-com voiceover. Just this quiet click. I realized I’ve spent my whole life trying to control the way things look. I wanted it to look perfect on the outside, so no one could see I was far from it on the inside.”
Viv’s eyes soften, and she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “So what changed?”
“The realization that I’ve lived my whole life trying to look the way I thought I should, show up the way everyone wanted me to… except the people who loved me most. I’ve thrown parties for Owen before. Big numbers deserve big parties. I did his thirtieth at a quaint little rooftop place with string lights, signature cocktails, and a jazz trio. His fortieth was a backyard tent situation with caterers and napkins that I spent two weeks learning how to fold like peonies.”
Viv whistles. “Of course you did.”
“They were beautiful.” I hear the defensiveness in my voice before I pause. “And unnecessary. And not what he wanted.”
I glance at the hallway, toward the room where Owen’s things still sit like they’re waiting for him to come back from a weekend trip. “I made those parties about aesthetics. About me. I wanted them to be perfect. Parties that people would talk about. And Owen went along with it. Smiled for the photos. Ate the fig crostini even though he hated figs.”
“You didn’t know he hated figs?” Marin’s eyes widen.
