“Ican’t thank you enough,” Jan says, pulling me into a bear hug. “It’s perfect and Brielle would’ve gotten a kick out of it,” she adds with tears in her eyes.
“Don’t thank me.” I shuck out of our embrace. “The idea for the memorial garden was all Stevie’s.” I smile at the beautiful redhead pressed into my side trying to siphon some of my body heat. It’s freaking cold this time of night in mid-November, yet we all felt it was most appropriate to open the memorial garden in Brielle’s name with a candlelight vigil and a prayer service.
“You got the approval from the hospital,” Stevie confirms, “and you worked as hard as Jan, Hadley, Mike, Hudson, and I did planting the flowers and trees.”
“I’m grateful to everyone.” She hugs Stevie. “Especially you two. It’s such a sweet, considerate gesture.”
“This garden gave me a lot of comfort at a time when I badly needed it.” Stevie looks up at me with a sad smile. “Extending it and adding another couple of benches means more people will draw strength from it now, and we have a permanent way of remembering Brielle.”
“It’s helped me too,” Jan says. “Getting to do this for my best friend helps me to overcome the residual guilt I still feel.”
“I can relate,” I admit even if I have come a long way thanks to therapy and Stevie. I no longer harbor the self-loathing and remorse I did, but a part of me will always feel guilty I didn’t give Brielle more of my time at the end. But I have accepted it wasn’t my fault. It’s a tragedy, like what happened to Garrick is a tragedy, albeit in a different way.
Stevie doesn’t mention him as much these days. I don’t doubt he’s still on her mind, but talking about him hurts her. There is no change in his condition, and she’s still iced out. While she continues to wear his ring and the locket he gave her, she doesn’t continually touch them or reach for them at times of stress like she used to.
It’s supremely selfish of me to hope it means she’s ready to let him go, but I do. I’m patiently waiting on the sidelines, being the best friend I can, while I give her time to process all the changes in her life.
We spend most of our spare time together, and she stays over at my apartment every weekend. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays are usually spent at her place at the end of our working days. After dinner, we generally go for a run or a walk or head to the gym before I go home to squeeze some writing in. It’s always difficult to drag myself away from her because I never want to leave. Wednesdays, we catch a movie at the theater. Mike and Hadley, or Law and Jenny, sometimes join us. Fridays, we go out for dinner alone or catch up with our friends, and Saturdays are spent at my apartment, where I write and Stevie works on her dried-flower pictures or her future business plans. We generally stay in on Saturday nights, unless there is a special occasion, and we cook or get takeout before snuggling on the couch to watch a movie. Lazy Sunday mornings with a breakfast of pastries and coffee are the norm before we head to Ravenna for dinner with her mom and nana.
I love it.
I wake every morning with a spring in my step and the image of her beautiful face on my mind.
There’s no doubt she is my person.
The other half of my heart and soul.
It already feels like we’re a couple in most of the ways that count. All that’s missing is the intimacy I crave, but I can be patient. I will wait for eternity, if I must, because she is worth it.
“I’m going to head home because I’m freezing my butt off out here,” Jan says. “Keep in touch,” she adds as she backs up, waving, and we promise we will.
After the last stragglers have left, Stevie and I sit side by side on the new bench bearing a plaque with Brielle’s name.
“We did a good thing,” she says, shivering as a gust of wind whistles by, lifting strands of her gorgeous hair.
“We did,” I agree, sliding my arm around her shoulders and pulling her into my warmth. “It feels good to do something like this. In my new life, I’m going to make more time to do charitable things.”
Stevie picks her head up and stares inquisitively into my eyes. “Your new life? And what charitable things?”
I tweak her nose, chuckling as she swats my hand away and mock scowls. “I’m not sure what charitable endeavors I’ll get involved in, just that I want to give back more. As for my new life.” I pause to draw a breath. “I’m ready to talk to my sisters and cut ties with my father.”
Twisting around, she flings her arms around my neck, and the biggest smile breaks out across her face. “Really? You’re really going to do it?”
I nod. “I’m twenty-eight now, and I’ve wasted enough of my life doing things that don’t fill me with passion.”
My birthday was a couple weeks ago, and I’d selfishly wanted to celebrate it just with Stevie. Of course, she wouldn’t let me do that, so we had dinner and drinks in a new steakhouse a few blocks from my place, and then everyone came back to my apartment to cut the cake Stevie baked. It was another delicious masterpiece and almost a shame to eat it. We were dancing, singing, and drinking until five a.m., and I had the mother of all hangovers the next day. But it was worth it to spend time with all my favorite people.
“I’m proud of you.” She kisses my cheek and tightens her fingers around my neck.
I try to avoid consciously thinking about how good it feels when she’s close like this, touching me, skin to skin, and beaming at me like I’m her favorite person in the entire world. My body reacts automatically, whether my brain goes there or not, and it’s getting harder and harder—pun intended—to hide the almost permanent boner I seem to sport in her company. I’m sure she has noticed, but she never mentions it, and I don’t mention how I’ve caught her looking at my mouth or staring at my body when we work out or if we happen to bump into one another when I’m just out of the shower and wearing nothing more than a towel.
I don’t think she realizes how much she touches me these days. It’s never inappropriate, but she will often reach for my hand before I reach for hers, or cup my face, or brush my arm, and she always seeks my comfort when we’re snuggling on the couch watching TV.
All of it gives me quiet confidence she’s coming around to the idea of us as a couple. I can’t broach the subject. If we go there, Stevie has to start the ball rolling, but I’m hopeful we are getting closer to that place.
When contemplating all of this, I realized my melancholy wasn’t just emanating from my predicament with Stevie but also from the futility of the professional life I’m leading. Working for my father is slowly chipping away at my self-worth and my newly found happiness, and I need to stop the bleed now. I can’t control what happens with Stevie—she will set the pace—but Icancontrol what happens with my father.
“Thank you. Your encouragement gives me the strength to do this.”
