Chapter 24
Brian
I parked up outside Diane's house and took a deep, calming breath. Nerves wracked me as I went over what I would say to her. What I would ask her. How I would explain. Would she be receptive and understanding? Or would she view it as a betrayal of her daughter's memory?
Diane had always been a reasonable and level-headed woman. She was kind, warm-hearted, and understanding. The moment Hannah introduced us, I felt a deep affinity with her. She instantly made me feel welcome, taking me under her wing and treating me like a long-lost son. Even when the bond that initially held us together—Hannah—was lost, she still referred to me as her son and treated me as such.
Still, it was hard to gauge how understanding she would be in this particular circumstance. It was a situation none of us had experienced, and I was very much aware that, while I was part of the family, I wasn't actually part of the family and could easily be phased out. My gut clenched at the thought.
I glanced at the house just in time to catch a curtain twitch.
Shit.
How long had I been sitting here trying to find my balls? I hurriedly grabbed the tulips I knew Diane loved and her empty Tupperware container before making my way to the house.
The door swung open just as I reached the porch steps, and a wary-looking Diane greeted me. My brow pulled down as I swept over her harassed appearance. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes held a pensive warning.
I fumbled a step, momentarily thrown off guard. Oh, fuck, what if she already guessed what I was going to say?
"Hey, Di. Sorry I'm a little late."
Diane reached for the flowers I held out, tucking them close to her chest. "That's okay, honey." She kept her voice low, and her hand stayed on the door instead of immediately ushering me in. "Uh, I know you wanted this to be just us, but –"
"Brian!" Sarah's voice sang out as she came sauntering up behind her mother with a bright, welcoming smile. Diane sent me a discreet apologetic look, her brow wrinkled in worry. Taken completely off guard, I froze. My nerves took a nosedive as my carefully curated speech went out the window upon seeing my chirpy sister-in-law.
Who was not meant to be here.
Sarah's feet were bare and her hair loose around her shoulders instead of the high ponytail she usually wore to work. She had clearly been here a while. And I had an awful feeling she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.
"Uh, Sarah. Hi." The air felt heavy with uncomfortable tension as Diane kept a fixed smile on her face.
Something flickered in Sarah's gaze and I realized I was staring at her as if she'd grown two heads. I swept into the house and immediately bent down to accept the lingering hug she offered.
Why are you here?
"Sarah had a free afternoon, so she surprised me with a visit," Diane answered my silent question.
"When she told me you were coming over, I decided to stay and cancel my dinner plans," Sarah added, much to my dismay.
I covered up my annoyance with another tight smile that I hoped reached my eyes. "Great."
“Mom was going to make chicken parma, but I'm making my meatball spaghetti instead. It'll be ready in ten." With a cheery wave, she returned to the kitchen, where the scent of garlic and tomato floated in the air.
"Sorry," Diane mumbled in the ensuing silence. "I did tell her you were coming over, but only after she said she had dinner plans. I'm sorry, I-I didn't want to offend her by telling her that you wanted to discuss something with me privately, but –"
"No, no," I patted her arm. It wasn't her fault. "It's okay."
Given Sarah's behavior these last couple of months, I didn't think she would take kindly to a dinner that purposely excluded her. I briefly considered postponing my request until another day but quickly dismissed the idea.
If I put tonight off, I would lose my nerve and end up doing something behind their backs that could break their hearts. I already felt like I’d betrayed Hannah's memory over the last four years, and I was thankful that no sordid whispers found their way back to them. Even though I now felt ready to take the next step in my love life, I didn't think Sarah was ready to hear what I had to say. I either had to find a private moment tonight to speak with Diane, or wait until Sarah went home.
"Thanks again for the food you sent, by the way." I held out the empty Tupperware she’d sent to our worksite as we walked together to the kitchen.
"Oh, you're welcome, honey. I'm so used to cooking and baking a feast that I tend to make huge portions. Usually, it would be enough, but with an empty nest..." Her words puttered out, and a familiar sadness shuttered down. I glanced away from Diane's somber face as a wave of joint anguish hit me.
Grief was a tricky emotion. One moment, you're laughing and joking at a dinner party without a care in the world. The next, your gaze falls on the empty placemat across the table, and guilt overwhelms you. Just like that, that small moment of reprieve is gone.
My gaze traveled around the home I’d grown to love. Long-repressed memories started to flow through, and I allowed my mind to wander—to remember.
Everywhere I looked, every item out on display, held treasured moments that bonded us. Like the wooden kitchen table where we gathered each week, laughing and sharing stories about our day. The recipe stand Hannah had gifted her mom one Christmas that permanently held a copy of Joy of Cooking . The green mosaic splashback tiles I had installed for them; my birthday present for Diane after she bemoaned how plain her white ceramic tiles looked. The walls of this home used to hold so much laughter. And noise. So much fucking noise. The good kind, though.
Before my parents died, it had just been the three of us. It was quiet and calm. We were all content to do our own thing in different parts of the house. Our vacations only consisted of visiting my grandparents down at their retirement home in Lake Havasu. We didn't even go during Spring Break when the town became alive and buzzing with activities. We always went in the colder months, when my parents could handle the weather.
It was all I knew, but I loved my parents and I knew they loved me. We were happy. Content. After they passed, I filled my time with a constant stream of friends, partying, and girls. Anything to fill the yawning hole of loneliness that my parent's deaths had created. And it worked. For a while.
But then I met Hannah. She was like a peek of sun through a storm of clouds. It didn't take long for me to allow her warm light to burst through, and I wasted no time locking her down. It wasn't long after that I met her family.
Noise. Warmth. Laughter. Family. Love.
Like those cheesy signs that folks liked to hang around their home, that's what Hannah's family was to me. They'd accepted me into their fold, and any lingering loneliness I felt soon dissipated after I experienced Diane's welcoming hug.
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, that warmth, laughter, noise, and love was brutally torn away from me. First, by the death of my father-in-law—a man I loved and respected like my own. And then Hannah.
My sweet wife.
The dark clouds of emptiness started to close in again, coming quicker and heavier than before. I couldn't stand coming home to an empty, quiet house that held memories of what could have been. Soon, even coming to Diane's felt uncomfortable and strained. My footing had fumbled, and I lost my place in the world again. I became an empty echo, desperate to patch up the growing leaks before the approaching storm burst through and drowned me.
I was able to temporarily sate that loneliness in ways that weren't quite healthy or advisable. But I still sensed that looming shadow of desolation and gloom.
Until a few months ago when I walked into a café to escape a torrential downpour and had my quiet existence flipped upside down.
A gentle clearing of a throat pulled me out of my morose thoughts. Diane took over at the stove, most likely needing the distraction to pull her out of her own painful memories. Sarah eyed me from across the kitchen, arms crossed over her body. Her shrewd stare felt exposing and accusatory.
Fielding a stab of guilt, I moved to start collecting cutlery for our meal.
"So what have you been up to, Brian? I feel like I haven't seen you in so long." There was a definite tinge of bitterness in her tone.
My conscience gnawed at me as I flicked Sarah with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Sar. Work's picked up a lot, and I find myself treating the boys to beers to wind down at the end of the week. You know how it is this time of year."
It wasn't a complete untruth. I was swamped at work and I did go out more often than usual with the boys—if only to break up the monotony of a routine that was losing its appeal. Coupled with the fact that my mind was all kinds of fucked up over a woman who was not her sister.
Truthfully, if I wanted to make time for Sarah, I could. I just couldn't shake this awkward pit of unease that had never been there before. I did plan on reaching out to her after talking with Diane tonight, though. I just wasn't expecting to see or speak to her so soon and so abruptly.
Sarah seemed to buy my plea, although her smile was dimmer than usual. "Yeah, I understand." She waved her finger at me with a smirk. "Don't forget that we still need to finish that series. We're only up to episode four, and I've been waiting for you."
Now, it was my turn to send her a muted smile. Christ, the thought of sitting through that erotic thriller was not making me hurry to carve out time for her. Luckily, I was saved by answering when Diane called us to eat.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Well, it was quiet on my end. Diane and Sarah chatted softly with each other, and every now and then, they'd pepper me with small talk. My nerves were on a rollercoaster ride in my stomach, and I knew I wouldn't be able to recall a single thing we spoke about tonight. It was just as well that Diane didn't cook my favorite meal, considering every bite I took turned to ash in my mouth.
As the meal wore on, Sarah started to cast questioning glances at me, no doubt perturbed by my conservative demeanor. I was never quiet during dinner, often leading the conversation when the prolonged silence became too much.
I sipped my soda before clearing my throat. I needed to act like nothing was amiss. "So, Diane. How's the store?"
Diane's eyes lit up, as always, when discussing Mercy Hospice New Haven. It was a passion project, something to distract her from the loss of her husband and daughter. But the business quickly turned profitable, and she soon had to hire more staff to help. Everyone was looking for ways to become more sustainable and avoid waste, so her shop was popular with the townsfolk for good-quality, second-hand wares. The fact that the store also supported local cancer charities was an added feel-good cherry on top.
"It's going swimmingly. The clothes you donated have all sold, and Sarah also posted on New Haven's socials page for quality menswear. We had a chunk of donations. I've had to put a sign up that we're full at the moment."
"Oh, wow, full already? That's great." I pushed down my guilt over the clothes I purchased from Walmart to donate. There was a good deed in there somewhere.
Diane shook her head, her neat bob moving silkily around her face. "Just the clothing section. We could use more home decor like wall art, candlesticks, vases, photo frames." She rolled her hand in an et cetera gesture. "That sort of thing."
I swirled a chunk of spaghetti around my fork. "I have plenty of those around the house. I stuck a few photo frames at the back of my wardrobe last summer. Plus, you know me and cooking," I chuckled as I shoveled a fork full of pasta into my mouth. "That's why I rely on your leftovers. I'm useless in the kitchen. So there's a lot of cooking and baking stuff I can gift you."
I chased my food down with a large gulp of water. "I even have a few throw pillows that I never use," I continued. "Although, they would need a good airing –"
"Those were Hannah's."
Sarah's words cut through like a razorblade, her tone sharp and firm. My startled glance fell on her, my fork hanging halfway to my mouth.
She stared stonily back at me, her mouth twisted in distaste.
A hollow feeling bubbled in my throat, and I cursed myself for being so careless with my words. I hadn't been thinking. "O-of course. Yes, they were Hannah's."
"It was all Hannah's," Sarah bitingly emphasized. "Those 'baking stuff' were purchased before you moved in together because Hans wanted to be the best wife possible and bake for you every Sunday. Those photo frames were supposed to be for future memories of you two and your children. Those throw pillows –"
"Sarah," Diane admonished, her face red with controlled shock. "That's quite enough."
"But –"
"No more," she snapped, dropping her fork to her plate with a loud clatter. There was a look of distressed sadness on her face.
Sarah opened her mouth but then wisely thought twice. She rolled her lips in as a pink flush climbed up her cheeks. Heavy tension hung in the air as awkward silence lingered following her outburst. I understood where Sarah was coming from. She was protective of her sister's memory. I was, too.
But I couldn't wallow anymore. I couldn't languish in my museum of memories and choosing stolen moments with faceless women. I had seen that peek of sunshine again, and I intended to recapture its beam.
"Sar, I shouldn't have been so blasé about Hannah's things. About our things," I stressed, needing to clarify that I had ownership of all those frilly pillows and throw rugs.
"But I can't keep holding onto it all. It's time for me to start letting those small things go and for new people to enjoy them. Everything that's sentimental to me from Hannah, I'm keeping "
"They're still her stuff," Sarah stubbornly pushed, her face flushed. "You feel ready to get rid of them already?"
Her question had my eyes widening. The way she framed it made me out to be a callous bastard. Annoyance lanced through me that we, again, had to mitigate Sarah's latest outburst. "No offense, Sarah, but that's none of your business."
She flinched as if slapped, and her eyes grew a slight sheen. I knew she was shocked at my candor. I had never spoken to her so harshly before, but I wouldn't tolerate her attempt at making me feel guilty for wanting to move on.
Sarah breathed deeply, her mouth tight. Her head bowed briefly in composure until her shoulders slowly came down. She graced me with a small smile, although her eyes were still fiery.
"Fair enough. I apologize for overstepping." She didn't sound particularly sincere, but I was happy to let it go.
I gave her a complacent smile. "That's okay. I know it's a sensitive topic."
Her gaze dropped from mine briefly before she raised her head and fixed me with a challenging look. "Just let me go through her things and donate what you don't need."
My gut sank. Her words confirmed she hadn't meant her apology at all.
How would you know what I don't need?
I wisely swallowed the retort. I didn't want to start an argument and upset Diane further. Plus, it was obvious that the subject hit a raw nerve for Sarah, and perhaps I was partially at fault for bringing it up so casually during dinner, without warning. This was why I hadn't wanted Sarah here tonight. If this was her reaction to the dated pillows Hannah had loved, then she wouldn't like what I was planning to ask. Once again I wondered whether I should put my request off for tonight and take Diane out to lunch instead. I had to at least try to get her alone.
After that, the conversation never picked up its comfortable flow. I focused on finishing my tasteless dinner while Sarah and Diane attempted amicable small talk.
Finally, after the longest meal, we all retired to the living room with coffee and Diane's banana cake.
I sipped my hot drink leisurely, my outward appearance seemingly relaxed. Yet, inside, I was a ball of anxiousness. I even declined Diane's delicious cake—something I never did. I just knew it would sit like a rock in my stomach.
My glance continuously fell on the giant clock in the living room, wondering when Sarah would leave. I was becoming more and more frustrated as she rambled on about shit I didn't care about. Diane wore a patient smile as she indulged her daughter, although I caught her glance drifting to the clock every now and then. It was starting to get late, and I had an early start tomorrow. I could feel my hope draining.
But then, at almost 9:30 PM, the chance for privacy finally came when Sarah's phone rang with a call she needed to take. I released a tense breath, and if I could fist pump the air, I would.
As soon as she retreated, I wasted no time jumping straight in.
"Diane, I need to talk to you. While Sarah's stepped out," I added, my voice low.
"Oh, of course." Her eyes flickered to the door Sarah disappeared through before placing her mug down. "Tell me," she invited. Her eyes were soft and held an understanding wisdom in them.
"Diane," I started before taking a shuddering breath. "You know I loved Hannah. She was my whole world." I paused again, a clog of emotion stuck in my throat.
What I said was true. I loved Hannah, and a part of me always would. But when I thought of Maria, the heartache and miserable solitude vanished. I felt alive again. I had been a fool to try to lump her in with everyone else.
Diane gave me a sad, perceptive smile. "You've met someone."
My mouth fell open as a wave of surprise flooded me. Compassion and understanding glimmered in her eyes as she held my gaze.
"How did you guess?"
She picked her mug back up and held it close. "Well, honestly, I anticipated this would happen at some point." She waved her hand towards me in a sweeping gesture."You're young and handsome. A hard worker and kind. You're not meant to be alone. I don't want you to be alone. You have too much love to give."
She paused, and her chin quivered. "You were still grieving so heavily for Hannah that I stopped thinking about it. But then...the last few months, you've been a bit distant."
I ran a hand down my face, ashamed she had picked up on that. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be."
"No, I know. It's a difficult situation to balance." She patted her hair before taking a small sip of her coffee. She regarded me over the rim. "So, come on, tell me. What's she like?"
Visions of Maria's beautiful face floated to mind, and I couldn't help the drippy smile that climbed my mouth.
What was she like?
Beautiful. Feisty. Strong. Independent. Self-assured. Confident. Hardworking. Funny. Ties my heart up in knots. Knows her self-worth.
Not mine.
Just as quickly as the smile formed, it faded at the memory of how I treated her. Like she was just another woman I temporarily filled my loneliness with.
"Well...the thing is, I took her on a few dates. They were great dates. Amazing, even. But my...grief got the better of me, and I may have fumbled her." Heat climbed my neck at that understatement. All those wonderful attributes Diane had bestowed on me felt false.
Diane tilted her head. "Your grief? You mean your guilt?"
I blew my breath out. Maybe I should pay Diane to psychoanalyze me. She seemed to be spot on. "Both." I dropped my gaze from hers as I considered how to word my subsequent request.
"Telling you about her was only part of what I wanted to say."
Her brow raised quizzically, so I continued. "I remember you telling me about the grief counseling you had when Frank and Hannah died. Wo-would you please pass the details on to me? Even if things don't work out with her, I think I could really benefit from it."
Diane's eyes lit up with approval, and she leaned forward to place her mug back on the table. "Oh, of course, I would be delighted to." She immediately grabbed her phone and started going through it. "Brian, I'm so happy you're open and ready for it now," she praised.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Yeah, I should've done it when you suggested it, but..."
She shook her head. "You need to be ready for it. You were stuck in your memories of Hannah and perhaps content with that. Now that you're taking those steps to move on, I'm so happy you're seeking professional help."
"Yeah. I will always love Hannah, but –"
" Bull fucking shit!"
We both turned in shock at that eruption.
Sarah framed the doorway, an enraged look on her red face. Her hands were clenched by her sides as she pierced me with a stare laced in betrayal and anger. I had never seen her this upset. Especially at me.
Fuck.
The conversation with Diane had been going so well—better than I ever anticipated—that I stupidly forgot to listen out for Sarah's return.
"Sarah –" I went to stand up, my hands splayed out to her in a calming gesture.
"So, now you're ready to move on?" she spat out. "And grief counseling?" She gave a harsh laugh as she shook her head. "Don't you think you had enough comfort for your grief after Han's died?"
A trickle of unease slid down my spine. "What do you mean?"
She angrily brushed away an errant tear.
Diane stood and paced towards her. "Sarah, please –"
"You think I don't know that you've been fucking anything that moves before Hannah's body was cold in the ground?"
I stumbled back at her words and felt the blood drain from my face. I stared at her in dismay, my mouth flapping like a dying fish. I wanted to refute her claims, but I knew I couldn't.
"Oh, yeah, you really missed my sister," she sneered. "Tell me, how long did you actually wait before you started fucking the first girl? A month? A week?"
Diane gasped, and my stomach plummeted at the sound. I couldn't bear to look at her, to see the betrayal and hurt written all over her face.
"You're a real fucking hypocrite, pretending that you're suffering. You disgust me!"
With that, she whirled and stormed out of the room. Her footsteps pounded up the stairs, and I flinched when a door violently slammed.
The silence that followed her exit was raw with charged emotion. Shame and regret on my end. Probably anger and disgust on Diane's.
She made the first move. "I need to check on her," she murmured as she strolled stiffly to leave.
"Di-Diane," I croaked. "I can explain." But how could I when I couldn't even explain my actions to myself?
She simply held up her hand to stop my flow. "I need to talk to Sarah first." She still refused to look at me. "I'll text you Dr. Grant's details. She does group sessions but takes on private counsel."
"Diane, please, I –"
She shook her head as she finally turned. My gut clenched as I took in her red-rimmed eyes. She sent me a reassuring, if not shaky, smile.
"Brian. I understand more than you think, and we'll chat about it one day. But right now, I need to make sure my daughter is okay. Thank you for coming over."
With those parting words of dismissal, she left me alone.
Taking the hint that I should leave before Sarah composed herself, I made my way to the door on legs that felt hollow.