Unbridled emotion hits me like a shovel to the face. My eyes water, and it takes a few swallows before I get out words. “It really is.”
I put Charlie’s booster seat in the back and she climbs inside, buckling herself in.
“Does the top come off like Weston’s car?”
West has a BMW convertible. He almost never puts the top down. For one, it’s Seattle. It rains one hundred sixty days a year. For two, he’s too afraid the wind will tousle his hair. But if Charlie begs enough, he gives in.
“It does. But don’t even think about asking. It’s still cold and we don’t want to mess up our pretty hair before the memorial, right?” I slide behind the steering wheel and catch her frowning in the rearview. “After the memorial, I promise we’ll put the top down.”
Her face brightens. “Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear.”
Grandma Dottie didn’t want a traditional funeral or a gravesite service, but she did agree to a memorial at the park in the center of town. I squeeze Charlie’s hand as she walks next to me. It’s more for me than for her. My heart beats too hard, too fast. But she has nothing to be nervous about. Only I know that she’s meeting her father today.
As soon as Charlie sees Jack and Stella’s son, Max, she releases my hand and ditches me, running toward them. Stella embraces me after I reach her. She may be petite, but her hugs are tight and comforting. She assures me it’s fine for Charlie to sit with them. It’s probably best this way, then I can prepare for my reading that the minister told me would come toward the end of the service.
There’s a song followed by a few words spoken by the minister at the local Lutheran church. Only by the grace of God do I make it through without crying. But now it’s my turn. WhenDottie and I last spoke, I promised her I would read her favorite poem by Sylvia Plath.
The walk to the podium feels impossibly long, but my brain can’t seem to wrap around the fact that’s only a few feet. After I reach the microphone, I don’t glance at the crowd of people. I can’t risk making eye contact with anyone if I want to make it through. Especially not Beck. If we lock eyes, I will combust into a bucket of uncontrollable tears.
But suddenly it’s dawning on me that I don’t even know if he’s here. Maybe I pissed him off last night when I interrupted his date. Or the night before, when I told him I was getting married.
But I can’t risk it. Searching for him will only force me to see the solemn faces of those here. Lifetime friends of Dottie’s. No other family though. My parents couldn’t be bothered with cutting their Italy trip short. I try to put Beck and everyone else out of my mind and focus on my reading.
At first, my words come out shaky, vibrating between the quiet sobs I try but fail at holding back. I swallow and push through it. No one is coming to save me from this or the reality that Grandma Dottie is truly gone.
The rest of the service is a blur after I return to my seat. I don’t know if anyone else spoke or sang. Or cried aloud. The only thing I’m very certain of is how alone I feel at this moment.
The park empties slowly, some people filter toward the buffet set up with drinks and snacks, but I amble toward the tribute table. There’s a framed photo of Dottie in her happy place. She’s on the beach wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a blue pantsuit. There are a few candles, a small garden shovel, and even a pound of espresso beans from her favorite roasting company in Ojai, California. My lips pull into a smile at this little detail.
The poem I just read out loud has been typed up and printed and framed. In a smaller frame there’s a photo of Dottie and me. My chest expands and my heart threatens to push through my ribs. Tears pool in my eyes again.
I pick up the frame so I can get a closer look. It doesn’t take me long to recognize when the photo was taken. I’m wearing a nice but simple white dress, and my hair is pulled up with a few wispy auburn curls framing my face.
My wedding day.
“You looked beautiful that day.” Beck’s voice sounds from over my shoulder.
I jerk and spin to find him hovering behind me. He takes the frame from me and studies it. A fresh tear slips from my eye, and I quickly swipe it off my cheek.
“I mean, you looked beautiful every day,” he continues, but I can’t speak, so I just watch him and listen. “But on that day, you were stunning. I’d never seen you smile so much. I thought your face might freeze that way.” He chuckles, but his eyes are watering. “And I was perfectly fine with that. Because your smile…was my favorite thing to look at.”
“Beck,” I whisper on an exhale, except I don’t know what else to say. The memories from that day hit me like a punch to the gut. So real and raw, forever carved into my brain. Like a tattoo in my mind.
“I was happy,” I finally admit. It’s seven years too late. But it’s true. Iwashappy then. Though happiness wasn’t enough to hold us together.
His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. “We were, weren’t we?”
I stay quiet at first. His question feels rhetorical. Like he just needs the confirmation. And if I can’t give him anything else, I can at least give him that.
“Yeah,” I whisper, and another tear slips out.
“Mama?” Charlie calls.
And what has been the sweetest sound since Charlie learned how to say the word suddenly shatters the fleeting sincere moment we just shared.
I whirl around as Charlie skips toward me. Swiveling my head at Beck, I find him looking at her in a daze. Slightly confused, maybe slightly curious. I sidestep away from the table and into the grass to give us some space I have a feeling we’ll need.
