WONDERING IS IT’S OWN KIND OF SUFFERING
WONDERING IS IT’S OWN KIND OF SUFFERING
NATE
The burial follows—standing graveside, watching Alfie's casket lowered into earth, the finality of it hitting harder than the words did.
People cry. People hug. The whole messy ritual of goodbye.
When it's over, people drift toward the reception at Mom's house.
I hang back, needing air, needing space.
Nick finds me before I can escape.
"Hey." His voice is rough, eyes red-rimmed but clear.
"Hey."
He pulls me into a hug—the kind that says everything words can't.
When he steps back, his hands grip my shoulders.
"Thank you. For doing that. For saying what you said."
"Of course."
"No, I mean it." His jaw works, emotion threatening to spill over. "You were right. About all of it. About him being a father to people who needed one. And hearing you say it—" He stops, swallows hard. "It mattered."
I nod, throat tight.
Kat appears, touching Nick's arm gently.
"You did great, Nate. Thank you for doing that."
"Of course."
"We should head to the lake house. People are going to start arriving." Kat says, looking to Nick with tender eyes.
Nick nods, then looks at me. "You coming?"
"In a bit. I just need a minute."
He understands. Squeezes my shoulder once more, then heads toward the parking lot with Kat.
I'm about to leave when I hear footsteps behind me.
"Hell of a eulogy."
I turn.
Jay's walking toward me, hands in his pockets, expression somewhere between concerned and amused.
"Thanks."
"So." Jay's voice is carefully neutral. "She came."
"She came."
"Alone."
That surprises me enough that I look at him.
I process that, not sure what to do with the information.
"Doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?" Jay tilts his head.
I shake my head.
"It's been five years, Jay. We made eye contact at a funeral. That's not—it doesn't mean anything."
"Right. Because people who don't mean anything to each other regularly forget how to speak mid-eulogy."
"Shut up."
He grins. "Just saying."
He's quiet for a moment, then more serious.
"You gonna talk to her?"
"I don't know what I'd say."
"Well you could start with hello."
"She's engaged."
Jay snorts.
"What?"
He's quiet for a moment, studying me with that unnerving perceptiveness he's always had.
"You know what you two remind me of?"
"What?"
"Magnets.”
“Magnets?”
“Yeah. I mean I’m not a scientist but I don’t have to be to know that the two of you are like fucking magnets that keep pulling back together even when they're trying to stay apart.
" He pauses. "You've both built entire lives.
And yet here you are, same town. Still looking at each other like no time has passed at all. At some point, something's gotta give."
I shake my head.
"Still doesn't change the fact that she's getting married."
"I know. Camilla told me." He pauses. "She also said the dude is an absolute wanker."
Despite everything, my mouth twitches.
"Camilla said that?"
"Her exact words. Well, she used a few more colorful descriptors, but wanker was the main thesis." He looks ahead before a wicked smile crosses his face.
Not the kind of guy I could picture Nora tolerating, let alone marrying. But then again, I don't know who she is these days.
"Camilla gives it a year, tops."
The words land somewhere complicated—half hope, half guilt.
"That still doesn't change anything, Jay," I say finally. "She made her choice."
Jay is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is gentler.
"You want my advice?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really." He shifts to face me more directly. "I watched you nearly die trying to outrun what you felt for her. Watched you put yourself back together piece by piece, and yeah, you did it without her. You should be proud of that."
He pauses.
"But don't confuse doing it alone with having to stay alone. I'm not saying storm in there and make some grand gesture. I'm not even saying you should talk to her today. But if you're still carrying this all these years later—and clearly you are—then maybe it's worth finding out if she is too."
"And if the truth is that she's moved on? That she's happy?"
"Then you'll know and you can finally stop carrying the 'what if' around. Because wondering is its own kind of suffering, and I think you've had enough of that."
I sit with that.
"When did you get so wise?"
"Camilla doesn't tolerate emotional avoidance. Says it's bad for my complexion."
Despite everything, I laugh.
Jay claps a hand on my shoulder.
"Come on. Let's get to your mom's before all the good food is gone."
I follow him toward the parking lot, toward the reception, toward whatever comes next. My hands are in my pockets. The afternoon sun is warm on my shoulders. The cemetery stretches out behind us, quiet and still.