Page 7
“Hey, handsome,” I say.
Barret looks back at me with deep uncertainty. He takes one step toward me, then retreats under the table.
Usually, Renny would clap twice and call, “Boys,” and both dogs would launch themselves across the room as if the war were over. I’m the quieter parent. The one who buys the food, schedules the vet, and hides pills in balls of cheese. Necessary, but not exciting.
Jessica’s eyes soften. “They’re confused.”
“That makes three of us.”
She comes around the island and sits on the stool beside me.
My phone buzzes and stops. A text, probably. Or a call. One of a hundred small demands gathering. Jessica reaches for it, turns it over, and checks the screen. Her face tightens.
“Your friend Don has texted and called about a hundred times.”
I close my eyes. “We missed brunch.”
“Don’t answer anything tonight,” she says.
I open my eyes and look at her. I’m competent at building walls. She’s a goddamn architect.
“I’ll come back in the morning,” she says. “We’ll make a list. Whatever needs doing, we’ll do it one thing at a time.”
Everything shifts inside me, just an inch or two to the left.
Funeral home.
Family, all distant.
Friends.
Business.
All the words that make the next thing real.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I say.
Jessica is quiet for a moment. Then, “No one does.”
I look down at the plate.
Jessica places her hand over mine. “I can stay tonight.”
I imagine her on one of the guest beds. Her car in the driveway. Her voice in the morning. Coffee. Lists. Sympathy organized into tasks.
I imagine not being alone. Then I imagine needing her to leave and not knowing how to ask.
“No,” I say.
“You don’t have to decide fast.”
“I know.”
“You’re sure?”
No.
“Yes.”
