“I want to go home,” Miri said, pulling me closer. “I want to go home and be with my babies.”
“Okay. I’ll let them know.” How those words had come out of my mouth was beyond me. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back the body-shaking sob I felt coming on. She wanted to go home. She wanted to die in the house she had always wanted, with her children by her side. I would do whatever it took to make that happen for her, even though it was killing me on the inside.
It took me a handful of minutes to find the strength to move. I knew once I did, this would be final. Before I left her room, I glanced at my lifelong best friend—the woman who had been my one trueconfidant and the only one who knew absolutely everything about me—and saw her for who and what she was: a warrior.
It took a couple of hours, but Miri was discharged. While staff members got everything ready, I arranged to have someone come to the house every day from the local hospice center. Knowing or seeing Miri in pain wouldn’t work for me or the kids, and I wanted her comfortable. I emailed work and told them I was taking a sabbatical. If they wanted to fire me, they could. There was no way I was taking precious time away from Miri. Then, I called my mom and cried.
When we arrived home, a few new cars were in the driveway. We walked in, both of us riddled with sadness, to find Miri’s friends there.
“Welcome home,” they screamed when she entered the living room. They’d surprised her with a homecoming, treating her as if she weren’t coming home to die, but coming home because she was going to live.
While they embraced her, I excused myself to the kitchen, where I found my mom. Her arms wrapped around me tightly. She held me as if she was trying to absorb all my pain.
When we parted, she wiped at my tears and kissed my forehead. “There are no words to ease what you’re feeling,” she said softly. “But I’m here for you.”
“Thanks. I just want to make sure she’s comfortable and ...” I paused when I heard Miriam laughing. “And content. Her friends are making her feel that way right now. I guess I can’t be angry they’re here.”
“Nope, it’s how they’re going to grieve. While she’s your beacon, she’s their friend.”
I nodded and stepped away. The counters and small table the kids ate breakfast at were full of food. More food than we’d be able to eat.
“Weston said there’s a freezer at his house we could use,” Mom said as she opened a package of paper plates. “Some of this will need to go there, and some we’re going to eat now. Come on, help me put these platters on the dining room table for everyone to munch on.”
“How long’s this party?”
“Until they want to go home, Antonia.”
More people came throughout the day, bringing flowers and gifts, which were mostly nightgowns. At first, I found that odd but then realized how comfortable and easy to maneuver they were when needed. I never would’ve thought to share Miri this way, but Samira had.
Throughout the day, Samira sat with me and held my hand. She comforted me in a way I didn’t think was possible. She would lose a friend, too, a loss that would be felt by the entire community.
When Nova came home, she was delighted to see so many people at her house, especially her mom. I figured she didn’t understand, but she’d always remember that one time people had come to her mom’s party, and her mom had laughed and smiled. That’s what was important.
Weston brought Cutter home, and he, too, was shocked by the number of cars parked in the driveway. I helped him carry the food to his truck.
“Thanks for storing these.”
“It’s no problem at all,” he said as he stacked tin baking dishes in the back of his truck.
“Feel free to eat whatever.”
He laughed and said he would. With the last dish settled in his truck, he shut the door and looked at me.
This was the first time I’d seen him since we’d gone out to dinner, in what I was calling a nondate, despite what the ladies had told me.
Weston was handsome; there was no denying that. He also had me by twelve years, which I’d only figured out when I was on the phone with my dad. I used this moment, away from the melee in the house and the prying eyes, to see if the women were right—was he flirting with me?
I stood there with my arms crossed, acting as if I was disinterested so he wouldn’t catch me staring as I took him in. It hit me right there and then. He didn’t even need to try and be sexy. He just was. He exuded charm. It was like he had it in spades. Tall, rugged, strong, and so masculine without being macho. The other night, he’d shown me he could be playful, patient, intense. This was a man who accepted achallenge and didn’t back down from hard work. Weston wasn’t the type to ditch out for a tee time in Miami. He was someone who gave up his weekends to help someone in need. My throat tightened as visions of his arms flexing against his tight T-shirt when he’d rebuilt the porch flashed in my mind.
He adjusted his ball cap, showing off the graying at his temples, which, if forced to admit, I found sexy.
The man in front of me exuded kindness and empathy, which showed in his warm brown eyes.
Weston winked, and I blushed, which didn’t escape his notice. The smirk, slow and teasing ... it could melt my resolve if I let it. He tilted his head in question.
I was in trouble if I didn’t put my walls up.
“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Lost in thought.”
