It stirs an uncomfortable feeling in my chest–not suffocating like the grief, but equally all-consuming. I stare absently out the window into the abyss when my musings are interrupted by a groggy voice behind me.
“You okay?”
I turn to find Jack standing in the doorway, his white t-shirt wrinkled from his unconventional sleeping arrangement. He stifles a yawn, blinking blearily and waiting for my answer.
“Okay,” I say in a small voice, eyes fixed on my half empty waterglass. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he says, eyebrows scrunching together. He looks so much younger like this, his features almost boyish as he leans against the door frame half-asleep. I can almost picture little Jack, and wonder if he was silent and serious even as a child.
“For staying,” I say simply.
“Always,” he says, reaching over me into the cabinet to grab his own glass. He leans against the counter next to me and downs half the glass in one gulp. “You should go back to sleep.”
“I will,” I say with a nod. “So should you, Jack Robbit, but not on my floor. Go tobed.”
“Are you sure? I’m happy to stay in your room if you don’t want to be alone,” he asks. “And don’t call me that.”
I laugh softly, leaning my head against his arm. “You can’t make me stop.”
“It was worth a shot,” he says, laying his head on top of mine. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I’m sure,” I say, answering his question. “I’ll be okay. Go to bed, Jacky boy.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened earlier? It’s okay if you don’t. It’s late, and we can talk about it tomorrow if you want. Or we can talk about it never. Entirely up to you.”
“It should have been our seventh wedding anniversary,” I whisper. “Year seven is copper. He would have told me the only copper he needs is my hair.”
“I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he says, setting his glass in the sink and wrapping his arms around me. “I didn’t realize what the date was. I can’t imagine how hard that was for you.”
“It’s just another ‘first thing’ without him,” I sigh. “It’s so weird to think that at some point the firsts will overlap–I’ll have my first birthday without him, and then Little One will have their first smile or something.”
“It’s a cruel and beautiful thing,” he says solemnly. “To be able to experience grief and joy at the same time. Nothing about life is ever simple, is it?”
“No. I suppose it’s not.”
With one final squeeze, he kisses the top of my hair and lets me go. Grabbing my shoulders, he spins me around and marches me back to my bedroom, making me laugh, like I wasn't just on the verge of tears just moments ago.
“Jack?” I ask, nervously wringing my hands.
“Yes, pretty girl?”
“Can we have a sleepover? Like a few weeks ago? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
His face softens, hand reflexively reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear before resting on my cheek.
“Of course,” he says softly. “C’mon, tuck in.”
I slide under the covers as he moves to the other side of the bed, sidling up next to me and slipping his arm under my head. I burrow into his chest, reaching across his torso to hug him close. It should feel wrong, to have someone else in Aaron’s spot on our anniversary.
It’s becoming increasingly clear that nothing with Jack feels the way it should–and nothing about any of this feels wrong. In fact, some days it feels like nothing has ever felt more right.
Lying next to him in bed, I think about what he said. “Beautiful and cruel.” That can be said about so much of the human experience. But I think it’s worth it. Even if there are moments where I feel I might not survive it, I wouldn’t trade the years I spent being loved by Aaron for anything in the world.
I fall asleep with tears on my face and a smile on my lips–a tangible expression of that coexistence of joy and grief.
Chapter 25
Jack
