Penny launches herself into my arms. Lily wraps herself around Penny from behind, looking at me over her daughter’s shoulder, eyes shining. And again, that sensation of being too full assails me. For years, I’ve felt empty, and now, now I have everything.
33
LILY
Four Months Later
“You’re not being very subtle,” I tell Josh as he drops his coffee mug in the sink. We’re alone in the kitchen while Penny gets dressed, and he’s been a nervous nelly since the moment we woke up with Penny bouncing on our bed, yelling she didn’t want to be late for school.
I threw a pillow at her and told her the alarms are set at an hour calculated to give us enough time to get ready, and that she was forty minutes early.
She pouted. And Josh caved, jumping out of bed and scooping her up into his arms. “How about we make Mommy breakfast while she rests a little longer?” Then something must’ve clicked in his brain and he stumbled. Looked back at me with an uncertain expression and has been acting weird ever since.
“Subtle about what?” He lifts the mug to check it’s not broken and loads it into the dishwasher.
I turn to him and cross my arms over my chest. “About being freaked out because today is Daniel’s birthday.”
“Ah.” He makes that sheepish, you-caught-me face, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know where you want me today. Far away and inconspicuous? Or pressed to your side all day?”
I go to him, loop my fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and pull him to me. “It’s going to be difficult to stay glued to me since we both have work.”
I kiss him, showing him that I’m good. We’re good.
I give his waist a reassuring squeeze and step back. “But I want you with me today. With us.” I smooth down the front of his T-shirt, an unnecessary gesture that’s more about keeping my hands on him than fixing his appearance. “If you drop me at the hospital and pick me up later, we can swing by the school for Penny, and go to the cemetery together. As a family.”
Josh’s hands find my shoulders, his thumbs making gentle circles against my collarbones. His eyes—those impossible blue pools I’m still not immune to—search mine with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs. “I don’t want to intrude. This day is about Daniel, about your history with him. I can stay back if that would be easier.”
The concern in his voice warms me from the inside out. We’ve been dating for four months, and Josh still approaches every potentially complicated moment with such care, such mindfulness of the invisible third person in our relationship. He’s never jealous of Daniel’s memory, never competes with it—he just persistently makes space for himself alongside it.
“I’m sure,” I tell him, covering his hands with mine. “The entire family will pay their respects. That includes you now.” I meet his gaze, wanting him to see the certainty in mine. “You’re part of us. Penny wants you to come.Iwant you.”
He dips his head and presses a kiss to my temple, then pulls me into a hug that feels like shelter. His chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. “Whatever you need today, it’s yours,” he murmurs into my hair.
I nod against him, breathing in the scent of his soap and that indefinable warmth that’s just him. “The same goes for you, you know. If this is too much or feels weird, you don’t have to come. We’d understand.”
Josh pulls back to look at me, his expression serious. “I’m good if you are. Besides”—his mouth quirks into that crooked smile—“Penny’s been talking about introducing me to her dad all week. Can’t let the kid down.”
It’s so Penny to want to introduce Josh to Daniel, as if her father were just waiting in another room. She has never been sad during these visits. Unlike me. Daniel’s birthdays have been especially hard, but this is the first one that feels peaceful instead of a day when I can’t eat or think, and that I could only hope to end without breaking apart in front of my kid. And it’s mostly thanks to Josh; my chest constricts with a mess of emotions: gratitude, tenderness, a whisper of sadness.
“She has been looking forward to it,” I agree. I lean up and press a quick kiss to his lips, then step back, shifting into morning-rush mode. “We should get moving or we’ll be late.”
We do the familiar dance of gathering bags, keys, phones—the rhythm of our shared life still new enough to feel like a gift each day. Josh’s things have been slowly migrating into my apartment over the past months. His toothbrush in the bathroom. Running shoes by the door. His favorite coffee mug in the cabinet next to mine. Little colonizations of my space that I welcome, crave even. We’ve decided he’s going to give up his lease as soon as it expires.
I grab my thermos while Josh helps Penny find her lost history book (under the couch, naturally). The domesticity still catches me off guard sometimes, how easily we’ve formed this unit, how right it feels.
We pile into Josh’s truck, Penny chattering about her upcoming history test as she buckles herself into the backseat. Josh meets my eyes over the console, his hand finding mine for a quick squeeze before he starts the engine.
We drop Penny off at school, watching as she races toward the entrance, backpack bouncing, ponytail swinging. She’s grown so much. And Daniel will never see her. A bittersweet pang reverberates through me, but it’s gentler now, less like being stabbed and more like pressing on a fading bruise.
Next, Josh pulls up to the hospital entrance where I climb out, circling to his side and leaning through the window for a goodbye kiss.
“See you at five,” he promises.
“Don’t be late,” I warn him, only half-joking. “If one of your recruits ropes you into narrating your heroics, shut it down.”
Josh loves teaching. He never shuts up about his rookies, and it is such a relief that he has a job that is safe but still fulfills him.
