Henry
April, Finally
Godspeed, Bruce Willis.
As the credits roll, I say, “Um.”
“What,” says Ian, “you don’t like it?”
I take a handful of popcorn fish and try to come up with an appropriate response.
Our weekly movie club, which is made up of Ian, Bella, Grace, and me—and on two occasions Cal and Kelsey—has been going strong for several months, and in that time I’ve done my best to make the kids feel comfortable sharing their opinions, even when those opinions are ridiculous, like when Bella thought Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was “pretty boring,” or when Ian declared Weekend at Bernie’s “the funniest movie ever made.”
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” I say.
“Oh, here we go,” says Grace, teasing. “Not highbrow enough, professor?”
“I’m just saying, by comparison to the original, Die Hard 2 feels maybe a little redundant. No?”
Ian and Bella stare at me and blink. Harry Styles stares, too, because he’s on the couch with us.
“Whatever,” says Bella. “He killed sooooo many more bad guys in this one.”
It’s Sunday, which has historically been an anxious day for me—the Sunday Work Scaries and all. Things at Art of the Brand are going well, though, and a quick check of my schedule for tomorrow reveals an easy morning. All I have is a video call with Win at noon my time, 9 a.m. his time.
On Christmas Eve, after sending Grace’s dad, brother-in-law, and some uncles back to her parents’ house to get food, Grace and her family stayed at my parents’ place until well after midnight, eating and drinking everything in sight.
Two days later, on Boxing Day, I told her I didn’t want to leave Baltimore anymore.
We were on this same couch wearing our matching Costco sweatpants and finally watching The Holiday. Her feet were in my lap.
“Yeah?” she said.
Neither of us said anything for a moment. Then I clarified. “More specifically, I don’t want to leave you.”
“Good,” she said. “I don’t want you to leave me, either.”
Win and Regina were disappointed when I told them I wouldn’t be moving to L.A.
—Win especially. He moved there a little more than a month ago.
I thought I’d miss him, but that’s the thing about the twenty-first century: I talk to him just as much as I ever have.
We’re creative partners from afar, via Microsoft Teams. I’ll fly out there soon to see him, and that’ll be hard because it’ll be my first flight since the crash.
Being there will be even harder than getting there, though, I bet, because it’ll be so warm and sunny, and I’ll know how much Brynn would’ve loved that.
“So, there are, like, more Die Hards, right?” Ian asks, and Grace laughs.
“There are,” I say. “One could argue there are perhaps too many.”
“Can we watch more of them today?” Bella asks.
“How about we pace ourselves?” says Grace.
“Yeah,” I say. “The Die Hards aren’t going anywhere. Plus, we’ve got work to do.”
Grace sits up and rubs her hands together. “Okay, are we gonna do this or what?”
We look at Ian and Bella. Ian says that he’s ready, but Bella is hesitant. “They’re so cute, though. Look at them. They’re so happy.”
My aquarium on the coffee table has nine mice in it. We take a moment, collectively, to stare at one another—us at them, and them at us.
“I know, babe,” says Grace. “They aren’t meant to live like this, though. They’re meant to be free.”
It’s a romantic interpretation of a mouse’s life, but Bella’s been sad since I brought the aquarium over this morning from the row house, and she needs to be helped along.
Nine mice is technically a lot of mice, I’ll admit, but they really are cute.
And, the good news: As far as we can tell, there aren’t any left in Grace’s actual house.
Cal, Kelsey, and I stopped by Mick’s Hardware a few weeks ago and I gave Mick an update.
I explained that I was set to release the last of the bunch into the wild as soon as it was warm enough.
I thought telling him how the humane trap had actually worked would be a cool flex.
“Well, I stand corrected,” Mick replied. “All you need to do is wrangle them, provide food for them, and house them for a fiscal quarter, and you’re all set. Well done, buddy.”
Cal thought that was hilarious. Kelsey laughed, too, but I think she just likes laughing.
“Well,” I said, “when you put it that way.”
It was so warm in Baltimore the winter Brynn and Tim died—one of the least-wintry winters in decades.
This year, unfortunately, late December through about two weeks ago was the exact opposite, with snow, sleet, and temperatures routinely below freezing.
We’ve come out of that now, though, and spring is here in all its balmy, pollen-dusted glory.
Grace and I are walking side by side. She has Harry Styles by his leash. We aren’t hand-holders by nature, but Grace and I are holding hands now because this feels like a significant moment for all of us.
The aquarium isn’t heavy, but it’s too cumbersome to carry, so Ian and Bella are behind us taking turns pulling it in an old beach wagon we found in Grace’s basement. One of the wheels is loose, so I help them roll the wagon over the curb and into the park. The mice look up at me, nervous.
“I’m glad it’s warm again,” says Bella. “The mice’ll be happier this way.”
We’ve fallen into a nice rhythm, Grace, Ian, Bella, and me.
We’re together every weekend, a few weeknights, too, here and there, although I’ve never—at least to the kids’ knowledge—stayed over.
Last Sunday night Grace and I leaned against the front fender of my car for a bit when she walked me out.
“What now, do you think?” she asked, facing the Rodrigos’ house.
I knew what she meant, and it was a good question.
We’ve talked about logistics, because there are many of them to sort through.
I haven’t seen Brynn again since the day I got stitches, and Grace says she no longer talks to Tim, but our houses are too full of their ghosts for all of us to be together in her place or mine. So, somewhere new, eventually. Soon.
“We’ll figure it out,” I told her.
“As long as you’re there,” she said and leaned her shoulder into mine.
“Yeah. As long as you’re there.”
“When we do find a place, though,” she said, “we should probably check for mice.”
“Yeah, that’s a good call.”
As we approach the playground, I look at the swings to see if by chance the two Goth girls from before are there.
They aren’t, though, just two moms chatting and pushing a boy and girl about Bella’s age.
They don’t notice us as we wheel by, which is a relief, because I’m not sure how we’d answer questions about this.
“It’s up here,” says Ian. “Remember?”
“I do, buddy,” I say.
The little creek is flowing again, and all the melted snow and sleet from the last few months has made everything around it green and lush.
A few tadpoles scatter when we stop at the water’s edge.
I lift the aquarium out of the wagon and set it on the grass.
Grace crouches beside it, takes the screen top off, and she and Harry Styles look inside.
“I’m gonna miss these little guys,” she says.
“Me, too,” says Bella.
When we’re all together, it’s usually at Grace’s house, but she and the kids have enjoyed feeding the mice lettuce and brown food pellets from Petco when they’re over at my place.
The guy with the green hair—whose name, we learned, is Trevor—has been a big help in cultivating the mice’s surprisingly expensive diet.
“I know it’s a lot,” he told us. “But you can’t just feed them anything. ”
“Okay, everyone,” I say, “time to say goodbye.”
“See ya, friends,” says Grace.
“Bye,” says Ian.
“Goodbye, mice,” says Bella, trying not to cry.
I ease the aquarium onto its side, careful not to cause a panic. As usual, with freedom there for the taking, the mice pause, unsure what to do. A warm breeze arrives, rustling the trees, and I see a plane moving across the sky above us, climbing toward somewhere.
I tap the bottom of the aquarium. “Off you go,” I say.
They all start to move, slow at first, just exploring, then at full tilt, running and running.
“There they go!” says Ian.
Harry Styles pulls against his leash and barks.
“Are you sure they’re gonna be okay?” asks Bella.
Grace and I look at each other.
“Yep,” we say at the same time, even though we have no idea. How could we?
But we can hope.