Chapter 3
Brian
Sarah: Can you pick me up tomorrow on your way to mom's?
Giving my date an apologetic smile, I quickly thumbed back a reply to my sister-in-law. Well, technically, Sarah was my former sister-in-law. That's what you're told, anyway. Once your spouse died, the legal bonds that tied you to their family died with them.
Brian: Sure thing.
Ignoring that dull stab of guilt in my chest, I placed my phone face down on the table and returned my attention to Brenda. She beamed at me before launching back into her story about a new fancy restaurant that had just opened in her town. I scraped my fries through the ketchup as I nodded along, making the appropriate noises to show that I was listening. I knew Brenda was angling for an offer to take her there, but I continued to play ignorant. I never took my hookups to five-star restaurants. The most I did were bar dates before heading back to theirs for a night of sexual release.
My phone vibrated again. I ignored it, but just as quickly, another message pinged through. Brenda paused and glanced down at my phone, a look of annoyance crossing her face. I didn't blame her. It was pretty rude of me to keep it on.
It vibrated again.
"Sorry, last time and I'll put it away."
Sarah: What do you think?
She attached a picture of a rather large rectangle cake with white frosting and a light pink border made out in some wavy pattern. My brow furrowed before I read her latest message.
Sarah: I've asked them to write: "Happy Heavenly Birthday, Hannah" in a darker pink icing. Or should it be another color?
I swallowed hard as a wave of fresh grief washed over me. My thumb hovered over the keypad as the previous annoyance I felt from Sarah's constant interruptions bled away, and the inevitable sorrow filled me at the mention of my late wife. And the reminder that tomorrow was another year she wouldn't be here to celebrate. Forever thirty.
The pain wasn't as sharp as it used to be; but there was always this constant aching loss. A scab that wouldn't heal, especially since I was still so close with Hannah's mom and sister. They were my second—or, rather, my only family.
Brian: Pink is good. Cake looks great, I'm sure she'd love it.
Brian: I'm just out for dinner. I'll text you back when I'm done.
Brenda gave me a brittle smile as I pocketed my phone just as I felt it vibrate again.
Ignoring it, I reached across the table and stroked Brenda's hand. "I'm sorry about that."
I gave her a luring smile, even though the anticipation I felt at the start of our date had depleted a little after Sarah's messages. And the reminder of what tomorrow was.
"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"
A soft blush touched her cheeks, and her eyes softened into swirling pools of desire. Brenda and I had been out on a few dates and had slept together after every single one. She was older by eight years and an absolute wild cat in bed. She was twice divorced and adamant she was done with relationships, only interested in physical intimacy. Precisely what I was after.
I felt my phone vibrate again and breathed past the mixture of conflicting emotions. Needing a distraction, I fixed Brenda with a lazy smile.
"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get out of here. What do you say?"
It wasn't until much later when our bodies were sated and I rolled off Brenda's flushed form, that I allowed the aching pit of loneliness and pain to wash over me.
I pulled up to the white, two-story house with a heavy sigh. It was full of weariness and a quiet dread for the night ahead. I wanted to be here. But I also didn't.
"You okay?" Sarah softly asked. She gripped my arm as she peered at me quizzically. Shit, I’d forgotten she was seated next to me.
After hurriedly shooting home after work to shower and change, I picked Sarah up straight from her workplace. We’d been quiet on the drive over, sensing that we needed our private moment of solitude before we sank into our joined grief.
Feigning a stretch, I flashed her a conciliatory grin. "Sorry, I was helping the boys on a roofing job today. It's wiped me."
She let out a soft laugh and rubbed my arm. "Well, you aren't getting any younger," she teased.
I chuckled as I felt for the door handle. "You're telling me."
My smile dropped briefly as I exited the car, allowing my bleak mood to linger a little longer. I needed to get my game face on in order to get through this night.
Sarah threaded her hand through my arm, and we strolled towards the house together.
After Hannah died, Sarah and I inevitably became closer, leaning on each other during moments of profound grief. She was like a sister to me. When Hannah was alive, she regularly came over for dinner and movie nights. I also attended sunday dinners at my in-laws. Former in-laws.
My family.
The door opened, and Diane beamed widely. Her brown and silver bob was neatly tucked behind her ears, not a hair out of place. She wore a blue dress with an apron over it.
"Oh, you two!" she admonished with a rueful laugh. "Always running late."
Sarah giggled as she leaned in closer to me, touching her head to my shoulder. "Blame this one. He was late collecting me."
I gave Diane a small smile as I subtly moved away from Sarah's touch. "Sorry. I was late getting a roofing job done."
Diane waved me away before leaning up to plant a kiss on my cheek. My hand itched to wipe away the red stain I knew she left there.
"No problem. You're both here now, and we can start celebrating my baby's birthday." Her voice broke on the last words, and I laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, rubbing it in comfort.
I felt Sarah's small hand run up and down my back in gentle circles, offering her comfort. There were a lot of heavy emotions pushing to the surface, as they did every year we remembered Hannah's birthday and death.
As we sat down for dinner, there were a few laughs as we reminisced about the vivacious, kind, and loving person Hannah was. But it was always tinged with a heavy blanket of sorrow. This year was the first time I felt a little reprieve. Like someone had loosened their foot off my throat an inch. I still missed Hans desperately, and I always would, but maybe I was starting to take the next tentative steps in my grieving process.
"So, how's work, dear? I hope you're not doing manual labor every day," Diane tsked as she scooped more potato salad onto her plate. "The last thing we need is for you to have an accident."
I exchanged glances with Sarah, who rolled her eyes playfully at her mom's quip. At thirty-four, I was hardly over the hill. In fact, I was fitter than some of the twenty-somethings that worked for me. But I knew Diane was coming from a deep-seated fear of something else terrible happening to someone she loved. Even though I rarely got dirty with the boys on a job site, there were times when we were short-staffed or had a deadline we needed to meet. I had no qualms about jumping in and getting my hands dirty.
"We had to get this project done before a new one starts next week." I reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry, Di, you're not gonna get rid of me just yet."
She gave me a watery smile before staring down at her half-eaten plate of food. I observed her bowed head in silence, noting the weary lines on her face. Losing her husband and daughter in quick succession had dulled a lot of light from her. Before their deaths, she had been bubbly with a ready laugh. Now, she fretted over the simplest things, constantly checking in with us that we were okay. The previous carefree woman I knew was replaced with someone serious and tense. I was careful not to upset her. She’d been through so much.
I glanced again at Sarah, who watched me with a sad smile. The atmosphere turned heavy as the somber reason we were gathered dawned on us. We tried to chat about our lives as usual, but something always pulled us away from the moment, reminding us that my wife was dead. Their daughter and sister.
Diane cleared her throat before picking up her fork and stabbing at a salad leaf. "Your business has flourished over the last eighteen months," she continued. Her eyes held a muted light of pride. "I'm so glad you decided to stay on."
I focused on my food to cover my strained smile. Staying in New Haven had been a bone of contention for Hannah and I. It was only supposed to be temporary. As a city boy, living in a small town made me lethargic. I was used to big, exciting projects and more than two options for places to dine out.
Before my wife was diagnosed, we’d had several significant blow-ups over leaving. I loved her family. After losing my parents young, I didn't have one to call my own, except for a few distant cousins. When Hannah and I met in college, her family instantly folded me into theirs. When her dad fell sick, we moved closer to New Haven to support Diane. I was happy to do it, but we were never supposed to stay permanently. When Hannah passed away, I was so sick with grief and shock that I agreed to stay on. I had no one, so I leaned on them, needing to feel as close to Hannah as possible.
"I'm getting used to the slower pace of life." I stabbed a piece of carrot, smiling brightly at the two people who meant the most to me. "I'm starting to make friends and da-uh dabbling with some hobbies." I cleared my throat and took a sip of my soda to cover up my slip.
Sarah eyed me suspiciously from across the table. Her blue eyes narrowed shrewdly, and I willed my heated cheeks to die down. Sarah and Diane didn't know I was seeing other women. It would invite conversations I wasn't yet comfortable to entertain.
How did you tell two women who were practically family that you missed physical intimacy? In other words, I missed sex.
They didn't know I took women out—at least, I hoped they didn't. I knew they would disapprove even though the women I passed time with were casual bed warmers who knew the score. I was careful not to see anyone from New Haven, and they rarely went out into town, so it wasn't like I would bump into them.
My only exception had been Sofia. And the only reason we connected was because I misread her location on my dating app. I was too mesmerized by her gorgeous smile and warm, pale brown eyes. As far as fuck buddies went, Sofia was perfect. Yet, despite our initial chemistry and ease, I hadn’t been ready to consider dating her seriously.
Two years on from Hannah's passing, the grief had still been raw. Still visceral. I was relieved when she felt the same—there was sexual chemistry but nothing more on her part, either. Now that I was considering stepping my toe into genuine dating, I might have been open to something more with Sofia. The sex had been explosive, and we got on well. Unfortunately, she was now engaged and had slid firmly into the "good platonic friend" column.
"So, Di, how's things at the shop? Must be getting busy with the holidays coming up."
Luckily, Diane hadn't picked up on my Freudian slip as she launched into regaling me with tales of her charity shop that sponsored a children's hospice. Her store was popular and saw a regular stream of shoppers and donations. Hannah had inherited her mom's generous spirit. It was one of the qualities I’d loved about her. Even at our wedding, she’d put a list of local charities to donate to in lieu of gifts.
"We recently had a ton of women and young girls' clothing dropped off, which is great," Sarah piped in. She helped her mom run the store occasionally. "But it leaves a gap in the men's department. You wouldn't happen to have any old clothes lying around that you could donate, would you?"
"Ahh…sure." I didn't. All I had were old work clothes that I would sooner shred than donate to people. Everything else I wore regularly. "I'm sure I can find some things."
Sarah beamed at me. "Great! Maybe I can come by sometime and pick them up. Save you from coming into town to drop them off."
I felt a tug of annoyance at her insistence, but at least she wasn't eyeing me with suspicion anymore. I made a mental note to do a Walmart run to pick up some men's clothes.
After dinner, Sarah carried the cake out, and I held my breath in apprehension for what was to come. Diane sniffled as she watched Sarah light the candles with a shaky hand. And then the saddest rendition of "Happy Birthday" started. I remained silent, drowning out their voices as I stared a hole in Hannah's name on the cake, written in cursive blue icing. Hannah would've hated this. I could picture her face scrunched up in disbelief at the spectacle she was witnessing. I let out a choked laugh at the vision before covering it up with a cough.
After the cake, which I reluctantly swallowed down, I went upstairs to use the bathroom. While I was there, I couldn't resist the urge to peek into Hannah's room. Sometimes, when the memories of her overwhelmed me, I would go out of my way to avoid this room. And other times, I just needed to be close to her.
Her room had been redecorated as a guest bedroom when Hannah had been alive. But after she passed, Diane tried to recreate her bedroom before she left for college. She filled it with all sorts of memorabilia. School awards, photos from her youth, and soccer trophies from when she played at college. She tried giving me a few things, but I declined. It was hard enough living with little reminders of her throughout the house—the kettle she picked, the monogrammed towels, and the shaggy rug she loved. Everything was hers. I didn't need any more reminders.
I picked up a framed photo of us on our wedding day. We were walking back up the aisle, laughing at each other as white confetti blew in our faces. Without realizing it, a tear slid down my cheek.
I rubbed Hannah's face with my thumb. "Miss you, Hans."