"Okay, okay, sheesh," I say, anxiously twirling a loose strand of curls around my finger. "About what I said a few months ago."
"You say a lot of things," she says exasperatedly.
"About not wanting to, you know, find love again."
She perks up instantly, eyebrows skyrocketing and disappearing behind her blonde bangs.
"That didn't last long," she says with an annoyingly smug look on her face. "What's got you changing your mind? Orwho?"
She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and is only spared from a scathing remark by the timing of the waitress. Once she's walked away, I take one of the fries and throw it in her face.
"Don't make fun," I grumble. "I'm actually having a hard time with this."
Her expression sobers, and she mimes zipping her lips before folding her hands on the table.
"I just," I say, uncertain of what I 'just' exactly. "I think maybe at first I thought that Little One was going to take up all the space in my heart, and I was perfectly fine with that. But I don't know, I think there might be more room than I thought."
"There's always room for more love, my angel," she says. "Whatever kind of love that may be."
"I'm realizing that," I reply. "I didn't think I'd ever have a love as big as Aaron's. Little One blew that clear out of the water. I think I'm open to the possibility that you can have more than one big love in your life."
Her eyes light up, sparkling with excitement.
"And whoooo might this unanticipated big love be?" she asks in a lilting voice, excitedly drumming her fingers on the table.
"Maybe there's not one yet," I say stubbornly, shoving a handful of fries in my mouth. "Maybe this is hypothetical," I lie, voice muffled by the fries.
"Shut the hell up," she scoffs. "I know for a fact there's someone who lovesyoubig, you and Erin. And I'm going to make you say it out loud."
"I know Jack loves us," I say avoidantly. "He's like family. That's not a surprise."
"You know it's more than that," she says seriously. "You know exactly what kind of family he wants to be."
I do know. At least I think I do.
Think or hope?
Things were tense during the pregnancy—the fresh grief, the shock of going from wife to widow to mother, the guilt, the inner turmoil. Navigating my emotions felt like a minefield, like one wrong step would irreparably rip me apart. I couldn't tell the difference between grief and hormones and actual thoughts. But things have changed since Erin was born, particularly in the last few months. I feel like I'm on solid ground, like I can trust my own mind again.
The storm has cleared, the dust has settled. And the one immovable, steadfast thing in my life is crystal clear. And it wears khakis and a button down.
"Would that be such a bad thing?" I ask timidly. "To be our own little version of a family?"
"I think it would be the most wonderful thing in the world," she says, voice thick with emotion. "But it would also be okay if it was just you and your tiny angel forever. It'd even be okay if you decided someday to build a family with a different man."
"You sure about that?" I laugh at the crinkle in her nose. "You couldn't even say that with a straight face."
"Well I would obviously prefer not to have another boy in the group," she admits. "We're already outnumbered. But I'd deal with it for you. What I'm trying to say here is whatever makes you happy is okay. Just because one very bad thing happened to you doesn't mean you have to close yourself off from very good things in the future. You're allowed to be happy, my love. You don't have to wear mourning clothes forever."
"We don't wear mourning clothes at all, drama queen," I say, voice straining with the effort not to cry.
"Thank you," I add in a whisper. "There's always a little voice in the back of my mind telling me that being happy is an insult to Aaron's memory."
"What would Aaron say to that voice?"
"Stop bullying my wife," I say in a gruff imitation of my husband.
"Exactly," she says, reaching across the table to grab my hand. "Aaron didn't have a bad bone in his body. He didn't even have a neutral one, they were all annoyingly good."
