“Hi, Maa,” I said quietly.
A little distance away, another family stood gathered around a grave. A man with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. A child kicking at the grass, bored and restless. Their voices were low, indistinct, carried away by the breeze before they could reach me. It made the place feel less lonely somehow. Grief wasn’t isolated here. It existed in parallel.
I told her about my day.
About my students surprising me at school. How I’d walked into the classroom and everyone had shouted at once, half of them in mismatched costumes because someone had decided a normal party wasn’t enough. Paper crowns, capes made from scarves, one kid in a dinosaur onesie. There had been cupcakes with too much frosting and a handmade card covered in spelling mistakes and hearts.
“They were very proud of themselves,” I said, smiling despite myself. “I think they liked the sugary treats more than me, but I’ll take it.”
I told her about Brandon.
That he’d stayed over last night. That this morning, I’d woken to the smell of coffee and butter instead of an alarm. He’d cooked breakfast like it was a celebration he’d been planning for weeks. Fluffy buttermilk pancakes stacked high, butter melting down the sides. Berries bleeding purple into syrup. Soft scrambled eggs, sausages, a bowl of fresh fruit with figs and strawberries and oranges. Strong coffee, exactly the way I liked it.
“He cooks really well,” I said softly. “You don’t have to worry anymore. He takes good care of me.”
I swallowed, my throat tightening just a little.
“He’s busy,” I added. “Always working. But that’s a good thing. He’s steady. Responsible. I think you would’ve liked him, Maa. I really do.”
The wind moved through the trees, rustling leaves overhead. Somewhere behind me, the other family shifted, the child complaining softly. Life continuing, even here.
I thought about how much she used to worry about me. About my choices. About the men I loved.
She’d carried so much guilt over it. As if my mistakes were proof she’d failed me somehow. As if her own history had marked me beyond repair. She used to say it was abandonment issues, that my father leaving when I was five had wired something wrong into me.
Maybe there was truth in that. Maybe there wasn’t. I didn’t know anymore.
“I don’t think it was all that,” I said quietly. “I think I just loved too deeply sometimes.”
I rested my hand against the cool stone.
“And I think you did the best you could,” I added. “With what you had.”
“I think you’d like who I am now,” I said. “And the people around me. I’m not alone. I have good friends. People who love me.”
I looked toward the other grave again, the family beginning to drift back toward their car. The woman turned once, like she’d forgotten something, then followed the others.
“I’m okay,” I told her. “Really.”
The cemetery was quiet again, the quiet didn’t feel empty, just full of things unsaid. I stayed a while longer, then stood, brushing dirt from my knees.
“Happy birthday to me,” I murmured, with a little smile.
As I walked back to the car, I felt lighter.
I knew she would rest easy knowing that I was loved.
Chapter 2
Ethan
I didn’t know why I’d agreed to come to the business party.
I’d already told my boss I might skip it. Had given him a perfectly reasonable excuse about deadlines and early mornings. He’d waved it off with a look that saidshow your face anyway. Now I stood near the edge of a wide, overly polished room, drink untouched in my hand, wondering why I hadn’t trusted my first instinct.
The answer was standing across the room.
Jack.
