When I finally finish, she runs over to me, nearly knocking us both over backwards in the wrong chair with the force of her love.
“I am so, so happy,” she says tearfully once we’re upright and more comfortably seated back on the couch. “Aaron was one in a million, and I miss him desperately. And I know you do, too. And you’ll never stop loving him. But this is a good thing, Abs.”
“I know,” I whisper, our hands intertwining in the space between us. “The weird thing is, I don’t feel guilty. Well, maybe I feel a little guilty about not feeling guilty,” I concede. “I have spentso muchtime feeling guilty about everything I've done or not done since the day he died. I don't want to do it anymore."
"And I know it’s fast," I continue. "And it never would have happened if Aaron hadn’t died, but he did. And you don’t need to tell me that he would want me to be happy, because I know he would.”
She nods her head, sniffling, still beaming.
“And strangely enough, the fact that it’s Jack,” I say, voice breaking. “I think he would be so relieved to know that the two people he loved most found solace in each other. He was the gentlest, most generous soul this earth has ever seen. I don’t think he’d be upset, do you?”
She shakes her head vehemently.
“Absolutely not, I think it’s exactly like you said,” she says emphatically. “The two people he loved most survived because they had each other. And the way your love grew with you–I know he would find that so beautiful.”
“What is everyone else going to think?” I whisper. “What if everyone says I moved on too fast, or that I’m not honoring Aaron, or they accuse us of something happening while Aaron was still alive?”
“I will kick their teeth in,” she says, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“You are so sweet,” I giggle. “And so very violent.”
“Do you not remember the conversation I had with Aaron about my violent tendencies? It happened right in your doorway,” she asks, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.
“Oh my god,” I say, shaking my head. “I forgot about that.”
“Hey,” she says, placing her hands on my shoulders and staring at me intently. “Fuck what anyone else says. It pains meto say this as your best friend, but no one has loved you and Erin more over this past year than Jack. I would trust him with your lives, and mine and Griffin's, and anyone in general, actually. He’s just…Jack. Of course you love him. Who wouldn't?”
“So when do you think you’ll tell him?" she asks excitedly. "Because you need to. And it shouldn't just be 'I love you.' You should tell himeverything. Don't be like me, don't hold back. Don't waste a fraction of a second when a great love is right in front of you.”
“As soon as possible,” I say quickly. “We've talked about talking about it, we were just both waiting for me to be ready. But he’s on a double shift right now, he won’t be home until like, two in the morning tomorrow night.”
“That gives you about,” she muses, looking down at her watch. “38 hours to figure out what you're going to say.”
“That feels like a million years and thirty seconds at the same time.”
“I know,” she says, voice softening. “But you’ll figure it out. You’ve never been one to play games or mince words. You’ll find the right time, and the right way.”
“If you say so,” I say, running my fingers through my curls and securing them in a half-ponytail. “Would you mind staying for a few hours? I think I need some time to myself to figure this out.”
“Would I mind,” she scoffs. “Would you mind a library full of romance novels? Would Griffin mind if he suddenly had me all to himself forever? Would David mind…whatever David loves?”
“You’re right, you’re right,” I laugh. “This is your dream come true.”
“I need one of you so bad,” she says, lifting Erin from her jumper and peppering her cheeks with kisses. “I promise I'm making you a best friend as fast as I can.”
“Get to work, Ellie Bellie,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “You better mean it.”
She waves her hand in dismissal, not taking her eyes off of Erin. I roll my eyes, and grab my purse from the kitchen table. There’s someone else I desperately want to talk to about this.
***
The mild and rainy winter has kept the grass over Aaron’s grave from dying, providing a soft blanket of green to sprawl out on as I lay on my side, head propped in my hand as I look at his tombstone. It’s been a year and a half since my husband was unfairly, excruciatingly ripped from my life.
I hate that what they say is true–it does get easier over time. Not that my grief gets smaller, but that I grow around it. Sometimes I get knocked back down by the reality that he’s gone. Sometimes I feel sick to my stomach with guilt when itdoesn’tknock me down. Learning to ride those waves instead of fighting against them has been monumental.
“Hi, honey,” I murmur out loud. “I miss you. So much.”
Tears immediately well in my eyes and spill over my cheeks.
